This party offered the chance to court Bee, but it was filled with endless chatter. That was nothing he relished. In truth, he was not accustomed to social niceties. The hum of conversation like the buzz of bees made his mind swim. His thoughts blur. He needed solitude—and he'd learned when to seek it during months in hospital. This afternoon, he'd indulge himself and take one of Griff's fine horses to ride south to the Crown's Customs offices. He had business there. All the better to learn if or how or when Belinda Craymore might consent to marry him.
Chapter 5
Carlson, Bee noted as he fumbled with the strings on the garlands, was not skilled with his hands. Nor was he alone. The party of house guests sat in the ballroom assembling—or trying to—branches of pine trees and holly. Pushing all the formal cushioned chairs against the walls, staff had brought up old wooden chairs from the servants hall. These, the guests sat upon trying to weave prickly bits together for the grand decorations. They uttered more cries of injury than of delight.
Whether summoned by Simms or by instinct, Aunt Gertrude appeared in the ballroom to commiserate and announced that the footmen would tend to the finishing touches. 'Finishing' was more the polite way to say that the guests were all thumbs at this task.
"A light supper,” she said, “is be served. Might you wish to follow me in, please?"
They all but jumped to their feet.
Bee noted with curiosity that among the guests she saw no sign of Alastair.
"Where is he?" She stepped to Marjorie's side as they walked toward the dining room.
"Gone to town."
"Oh? Why?"
"Why would you ask?" Marjorie looked a bit too innocent as she inquired.
"Because the three of you had your heads together earlier. He appeared distressed or ill. What did you discuss?"
"Your refusal to marry him."
"He told you," she mourned.
"Did you think he'd keep it secret?" she snapped.
Bee had never seen her sister so cross with her.
"Oh, Bee. You care for him. You always have. Do you realize what you give up in the name of pride?"
Nettled, she shot back. "You do not bear our disgrace any better than I."
Marjorie bristled. "If you mean—?"
"Your gambling," Bee whispered to her ear. "I fear you take chances, too many. Why?"
"Cards are one skill I learned from our father. He lost. I win."
"And pocket the money."
"And why not?"
"I worry, Marjorie. You seem to choose opponents who won against our father."
Marjorie turned quiet and sly as a cat. "You've noticed."
"Have they?"
"I doubt it. I've told you before I’m attentive, skilled. I'm not merely lucky. I'm strategic."
Bee sucked in air. "Father lost so much. We've suffered for it. Our friends made fun of us. Cut us cold."
"Ourformerfriends, you mean? I cannot value them."
Bee grasped her sister's wrist. "Your game is dangerous."
