“Coward.”
Beatrice set the empty brandy glass on the table. “Castlemare originally banished me from London because I couldn’t provide him an heir. It was common knowledge. Barren Beatrice—that’s what he liked to call me. I won’t be able to give you a child, Blythe.”
“I have a cousin,” he roared back at her. This entire discussion had gone completely wrong. “I don’t care if you are as barren as that stupid field behind your house.”
“Not now, you don’t,” she said calmly. “But in time, you would regret your decision. Once your lust for me has cooled. I want—”
My lust?
“To hide? Lick your wounds some more?” He nodded at her ledger. “Write in your little book and pretend? You don’t even have the courage to apologize to anyone in person. Instead, you run about hiring cheese mongers. You certainly aren’t brave enough to confront Andromeda Barrington.” Ellis bellowed so loud, the entire household could probably hear them. “I thought you loved me.”
Beatrice turned back to the fire with a choked sob. “Stop.”
“Clearly, I was mistaken. I would have walked through fire foryou, Beatrice Howard. Flames searing my flesh. Burned myself to a crisp. And you refuse to evenconsidergetting into a damned carriage and going to London with me.” His chest heaved. “It wasn’t as if I meant to parade you about in Hyde Park.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I think I do. Contrary to reports otherwise, I do possess a decent degree of intelligence. Go on, then. Sit in your parlor and make your notes. Live your life in Chiddon brewing ale with Gates. Maybe you should get a dog. You always say I remind you of one. Your scars are merely an excuse. A way to burrow farther away from the world that may not likethisversion of Beatrice Howard any better than the first.”
“Blythe—” Beatrice paled.
He stomped to the parlor door and threw it open, unsurprised to see Mrs. Lovington and Peg standing just outside.
“I’ve another engagement, Mrs. Lovington. I won’t be staying to sup after all. Pity, your chicken smells delicious.” Ellis inclined his head to both women before storming out, slamming the front door of Beresford Cottage so hard, he might have torn it from the hinges.
He’d made her a heartfelt carving. Practically proposed, though that hadn’t gone well at all. He’d also been unnecessarily cruel to Beatrice, but he’d learned early on not to coddle her. Didn’t she know Ellis couldn’t possibly leave Chiddon without her? It would be akin to tearing himself in two.
I bought her a bloody mill.
He strode over to Dante and mounted, turning the horse toward the hunting lodge.
When his temper cooled, as it eventually would, and Ellis had gotten over the thought that Beatrice meant to toss him to Lady Anabeth Swift like an extra biscuit she didn’t want, he would speak to her once more about London.
He wasn’t leaving her in bloody Chiddon. He loved her far too much to do so.
22
Beatrice paced back and forth across her parlor, arms crossed. She looked at the empty chair Blythe usually occupied before dinner, frowned, and paced some more. This room, once a cozy haven, now seemed bleak. Devoid of sunshine. Empty of the one thing that infused life into it.
Don’t be ridiculous. I got on quite well without that fop. I will do so again.
She paused in her careful steps to take in the bee on her mantel. Barely a bee. He was terrible at carving. His sculptures in marble must have been quite hideous to behold. Beatrice caught the scent of roast chicken coming from the kitchens. Blythe’s favorite. Mrs. Lovington kept expecting he’d just reappear one day. Hopefully he’d bring some brandy because Blythe had drunk all of hers.
Beatrice missed him quite desperately.
Five days had passed since Blythe had lost his temper and stormed out of Beresford Cottage. Imagine how a lifetime without him would feel.
The night of their terrible argument, Beatrice had been served dinner in silence, Mrs. Lovington making no secret of her disapproval at Beatrice’s treatment of Blythe. After dinner, she’d read for an hour or so before deciding to make some notes in her ledger. The green leather notebook fell open, on the very page containing the entry for Andromeda Barrington. Slamming the ledger shut, Beatrice had gone to bed, telling herself that she would feel better about Blythe and her decision in the morning.
Tomorrow would be better.
Noneof the following days had been better. Blythe’s absence permeated Beatrice’s entire existence. She’d stopped sleeping through the night. No glorious earl had appeared in her breakfast room, tossing bits of bacon into his mouth while charming Mrs. Lovington into making him an omelet. Even Jasper regarded her with a great deal of judgement.
She had gone about her usual business. Visiting Gates. Melinda. Checking on Milhenney. Riding by the mill, Beatrice had hoped to catch sight of Blythe, but there had been no sign of him. Part of her hoped he would ignore her dismissal. She expected to arrive home and find Blythe sitting calmly in her parlor once more, wondering why there was no more brandy to be had. He would smile and chide her for behaving like a spoiled brat. Kiss her and take her upstairs.
But Blythe had not appeared. Or sent a note.
I may have well and truly driven him away.
