“I haven’t had a roast of beef since I don’t know when,” she admitted.
“Roasted with potatoes and onions ...” The butcher closed his eyes, savoring the thought.
“The roast it is, Mr. Doughty.”
“Excellent choice, ma’am. Excellent choice.” He wrote himself a note.
She raised a brow at the paper he scribbled upon.
“I’m to account for how the pounds is spent, ma’am. Seems your admirer has more generosity than trust in an old scuff like me. Afraid I might take your two quid and leave you none the wiser.”
“Then he doesn’t know you, Mr. Doughty. A more trustworthy butcher I’ve never known.”
“Thank you, ma’am. And here you are. You enjoy that, now.” He handed her the wrapped package.
“Indeed we shall.”
“You’ve company, then?”
“Oh, just my niece come to call.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
It didn’t. Not fully, Margaret knew. But she was wise enough to know the village butcher didn’t need to know her great-niece’s troubles. He might not cheat on the fair weight of meat, but he wasn’t above handing out juicy gossip along with his chops.
Tibbets announced Lady Katherine’s arrival and her father stood. Bea merely laid aside the book she had been reading. Her cousin strode into the room, looking—Bea noted begrudgingly—elegant in a feathered hat and a full pelisse that did not quite conceal her figure, still somewhat rounded from her confinement last autumn.
“Lady Katherine. Niece!” Father boomed.
“Good day, Uncle. You’re looking ... well, rather tired, actually. Are you not well?”
“I am not getting any younger. But I cannot complain.”
“And Beatrice. How nice to see you again.”
Beatrice merely nodded.
Her father smiled in her stead. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Is it unexpected? Surely you heard that we were returning to Fawnwell.”
“We did hear that the repairs were nearing completion, but not that you—”
“Yes. I’ve shut up my London home for the season. We’re doing everything quite the wrong way round this year. Now that most of our friends have left their country homes and are returned to London, we have quit town to stay here for the spring and summer. I detest the thought of missing the London season, but Charles believes the country air will be so much better for Edmund. Oh! You must meet him.” She turned to the servant. “Do ask the nurse in as soon as she’s done changing the child.”
“Yes, m’lady.” Tibbets curtsied and left the room.
“Won’t you sit down?” Beatrice offered coolly.
“Thank you. That gown ... Rather severe, is it not? Yet it fits you somehow.”
“I think so.” Bea liked the high-necked frock in a color she thought of as storm grey.
“I would have called sooner,” Katherine chatted on, filling the silence. “But first I had my recovery, of course, and then this dreadful winter. Did you not find it so? I do detest traveling in inclement weather. The roads get so rough and rutted. How glad I am that spring is here at last and I can be out calling again.”
Tibbets returned a moment later with a tall horse-faced woman holding a chubby baby in a satin gown. The nurse bobbed a curtsy, then carried the child to his mother and placed him in her outstretched arms.
Katherine, smile bright, turned the baby around to face them.
