I frown up at her. “Why don’t you like him?”
“I do like him. He seems too good to be true, is all.” She sips from her mug, watching Beresford.
“You’re protective of us,” I concede. “But Mama, he’s been nothing but good to me.”
“He bought this estate a few years ago,” she murmurs. “He was a recluse for most of that time. It was even rumored that hehad a wife somewhere in his mansion, that they were both invalids. Why would he suddenly decide to become part of the community and begin hosting these events? What changed?”
“Maybe he recovered from whatever sickness kept him inside.”
“Look at him, Sybil. That man doesn’t look as if he has been sick a day in his life, much less for years.”
“Appearances can be deceiving. Illness can be a hidden thing. Sometimes a sickness ebbs and flows.”
“True, and yet I don’t believe that is the case with him.”
“Do you really think he’s married?” I ask. “He doesn’t seem like he is.”
“Have you asked him outright?”
I wince, looking away from her. “No.”
“I think you should ask him tonight.”
“He doesn’t want me prying into his past.”
Mama sighs. “Tell me that isn’t suspicious, Sybil.”
“Do I want him looking intomypast?” I counter. “Trust works both ways. What if I want to keep my secrets? I should let him keep his, too.”
“Except when it comes to marriage, my girl. You need a straight answer from him on the wife question. If he’s married, he’s off limits… unless you’re prepared to throw away every moral principle I ever taught you for a fine piece of manly ass.”
I roll my eyes, but I know she’s right. “I’ll ask him that one question, but nothing more. If he has other things that he needs to tell me, he will reveal them when the time is right.”
“I hope so. Ah, there is my dance partner from the other night, the Honorable Justice Iserac Oellin. He’s quite handsome, isn’t he? His particular shade of gray is so distinguished. Here, darling, finish that for me, won’t you?”
She hands me her mug and swirls away to greet Iserac Oellin.
I sip from the mug and find a pleasant orange drink inside, strongly laced with honeyed rum. It’s delicious, and it warms my body in a delightful way as I watch Beresford’s gorgeous body and long limbs move through the steps of the waltz.
Once more couples have joined the dancing, Beresford passes my sister along to Henry Partridge and returns to my chair. He unlocks the wheels, pushes me deeper into the shadows of a corner, then lifts me in his arms and shoulders his way out a side door of the barn. He does it all with such silent determination, such latent intensity, that I don’t protest or inquire what he’s going to do with me.
The black, star-flecked night is so cold that Beresford’s breath and mine create wisps of white cloud in the air, fleeting puffs of visible heat.
“I didn’t realize how cold it had gotten,” he mutters. “Are you all right?”
“As long as we’re not going far.”
“Not far at all.” He strides down a path toward a small shed. When we reach it, he says, “Put your arms around my neck, love,” and holds me easily with one arm while he opens the door.
I would expect a shed near a barn to be filled with tools like rakes, shovels, rope, old bits of harness, and various other practical and unattractive items. But whatever used to be in the shed has been cleared out, replaced with a mattress and a couple of pillows. In the corner stands a lantern with star-shaped cutouts, casting fractured golden light onto the walls. It’s a simple space, hastily arranged for one purpose.
“It’s naughty of you to bring me here, Beresford,” I tell him. “You’re going to utterly ruin my reputation.”
“Do you mind it?” He smiles, blue eyes twinkling with lascivious humor. “Being utterly ruined?”
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
“In a moment, once you’re settled and I’ve shut out the night.”
