“No. I was too far off. I—” He shifted uncomfortably. “I happened to have an opera glass with me.”
“Well, she cannot return here,” Bea stressed. “Really, Father, it is too much.”
“If only the man would do his duty,” Mr. Lamb shook his head somberly. “Plenty of other children have come into the world in such a manner. Many have been granted educations and gone on to marry well. Some have even been given titles ...”
“Father. I doubtthisfather has any title to bestow beyond that of assistant gravedigger.”
“Beatrice!” Amelia gasped.
“Have you another theory, Aunt? Another explanation?”
“She assures me the man in question is a gentleman of good repute.”
“How can that be?”
“She declines to blame him, but it seems clear that he must have chosen to marry another.”
“She said so?”
“Not directly, but I gathered this from her certainty that there was no way to bring him around.”
“I have another theory,” Gareth Lamb said with a frown. “Perhaps the bounder has intentions for her sister and refuses to yield.”
It was Bea’s turn to gasp. “Father! I forbid you to speak so of Mr. Bentley! It’s slanderous!”
“Well, the young man has yet to ask for your hand. Has all but disappeared. Haveyouanother explanation?”
Bea raised her chin. “If it has anything to do with Charlotte, it is that our family’s disgrace has somehow come to his attention.”
Bea flounced out of the room, more for escape than out of any true emotion. She was off to meet her friend Althea. They were to attend a reading together in the bustling market town of Faversham. Buxley was already waiting for her outside with the carriage as she had requested.
Arriving in Faversham a quarter hour ahead of schedule, Bea asked Buxley to let her down near the town center. She would walk to the library from there. It was a market day and vendors filled the streets surrounding the old guildhall, their carts, baskets, and makeshift tables overflowing with sausages, cheeses, bread, fish, and fruit. Taking her time, she strolled past the booths, then paused to look at the hats displayed in the milliner’s window, noting with disdain that they were terribly out of fashion. She sighed. It was too bad they did not live closer to London town.
Ahead she saw a tearoom. Outside its doors, several tables stood beneath a striped awning. She noticed two couples enjoying refreshmental fresco, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm spring day.
“Mr. Bentley!” Bea called before the scene fully registered. Then her breath caught and she nearly stumbled. There was no mistaking the smile William was giving the young lady across the table from him, how close he was leaning ... that light in his eyes. Bea had seen all these before. She knew. It was either slink away, ashamed, and hope he had not heard nor seen her, or mount an offensive. Beatrice Lamb had never slunk away from anything in her life, and she decided not to start now. She wouldn’t give him—or her—that satisfaction. She squared her shoulders and waved a handkerchief. His handkerchief.
He saw her and quickly excused himself from the redhead. Squire Litchfield’s daughter, if she was not mistaken. Pretty, yes. Dumb as a mule. That her father had more money than hers, there was no doubt.
Did she imagine the slight sheepish expression, the flush of his fair cheeks? The awkward smile now as he approached? Surely she had, for the man clearly had no shame.
She summoned her most confident smile and stood tall. “How fortuitous to happen upon you, Mr. Bentley.”
“Yes. Miss Lamb, um, how good to see you again. How do you fare?”
“Wonderfully well, I thank you. And so relieved to see you out enjoying yourself on such a fine afternoon.”
“Yes?”
“I have been hoping for an appropriate time to return this to you. Trite thing, this, but how glad I am to happen upon you in a public place. There you are. Now I am relieved of that obligation. I do thank you, sir. And wish you well.”
She turned to leave, smile stiff but resilient. If only she could manage not to trip and disgrace herself on her departure.
“Bea!”
She started, which she hoped he did not notice, and forced herself to turn around slowly at his unexpected call.
“Yes, Mr. Bentley?” she began, but fearing she sounded too hopeful, added breezily, “Did I forget something? Oh, forgive me, please do give my regards to your companion. I must hurry to a reading with a friend or I would adore meeting her.”
