“But not your aunt and cousin?”
“Milord, may I inquire as to why you are asking so many questions of me?” She stood abruptly, feeling suddenly trapped in the small space. Lord Hughes’ chair stood between her and the exit, but perhaps she could squeeze by.
“I am merely trying to understand why I have never met or heard of you before,” he said with far more patience than she’d seen from him previously. “When I made Violet’sacquaintance, her parents were also in attendance at the Milfords’ summer party. As a member of their family, it would seem that you should have been in attendance as well. That you should have had a Season—even if it was some years before your cousin’s. And I should have remembered that or recalled your name or meeting you. Thetonis not so enormous that most of us are not at least somewhat acquainted with the names of those in the various families. Yet I cannot recall having ever heard yours until this week when you presented yourself and told me of Violet’s disappearance. I mistakenly—until this afternoon when you told me your age—thought you to be a much older relation, one far past middle age. Which would have explained my not knowing you.”
“I can see how that might seem suspect,” Beatrice said, attempting to view things from his perspective. “I can explain the reason for my absences and why you have never heard my name before—if you will allow me.”
He nodded. “Please.”
That word again.Beatrice closed her eyes briefly. His kindness was almost harder to bear. “I have never been included as part of my aunt and uncle’s family. My uncle encourages it when he is home, but that is rare. He keeps his own apartment near the House of Lords and is very invested in his work there. My aunt...” What could she say that was truthful, yet would not come back to hurt her if Aunt Margaret heard of it? “When I first arrived back in England, I had little use of my arm. The surgery to mend it had not been entirely successful, and it was many more months before it could bend properly and I was able to use it to do things like eat or dress myself—simple tasks one does not think much of until they are suddenly impossible.”
“I understand completely.” The earl’s mouth twisted in a wry smile as he patted his legs. “It is frustrating, is it not?”
“Very,” she agreed. “I am most fortunate in that I regained the use of my arm. But even now, it does not look quite as it should, and I have some scarring.” How strange it was to be telling this to him, to one who—had he been able to see—might have been easily repulsed by her oddity. Her aunt and cousin certainly were and had warned her repeatedly that any man who ever saw her arm would be doubly so. “To shelter me”—to protect herself from gossip—“Aunt Margaret has kept me away from events where I might be shunned.”
“So you were never given a proper Season? You never attendanyevents with your uncle and his family? Even a country soiree was considered too much for you?”
She shrugged. “It has never been my choice whether or not to accompany my aunt and cousin, but the company they keep is often cruel. I am not certain that, given the opportunity to attend with them, I would have actually chosen to.”
Lord Hughes nodded once more. “I understand that as well. It is partly why I have elected to convalesce here in the Highlands, away from the eyes of those who would judge and find me wanting.”
“I do not find you so,” Beatrice said, without thinking before her mind had considered the consequences of such an admission.
“Yet I have found you lacking at every turn, have not even had the grace to allow you to explain yourself, have not considered your words or position.” He shook his head as if disgusted with himself.
“Until now?” she suggested, working to keep the hurt from her tone. His disbelief and easy dismissal of her that first day had stung, as had his complete ignoring of her the past week. They had not spoken once during her tenure working in his home, though their paths had crossed as she lit fires, cleaned, and even delivered his tray a time or two. Dare shehope his opinion of her had been revised? It ought not to matter if it had or had not—she was leaving tomorrow—but somehow, it did. She wanted just one person, wantedhim, to know her heart. That it was pure and good. That she bade him no ill and had not consciously brought any upon him with Violet’s disappearance.
Lord Hughes said nothing for several long seconds. Quiet shrouded the little garden. Even the birds and insects seemed to have taken themselves elsewhere. But it was not peaceful. Beatrice sat once more, tense and silent, wondering what he would say or do next. What did he think of her now? Her aunt was not here to plant the seeds of doubt and distrust that she had sewn so completely at home. There the neighbors had all heard how suspect it was that Beatrice was the only survivor of a fire that killed her entire family—a fire whose origin no one was quite certain of.
She’d heard the gossip and seen the fingers pointed on too many occasions to count.Murderess. She killed her family. Watch out for her.For years, she’d never understood what she’d done to unleash such hatred or why her aunt had gone to such lengths to promote such an awful rumor. Until that day when her aunt and uncle had argued loudly in his study.
Lord Hughes rolled his chair closer until their knees were nearly touching. “I owe you an apology—several, actually. I have mistrusted you, suspected you of misdeeds, and then today, accused you of terrible things. I have no excuse for that, but I wish to explain anyway. Ifyouwill allow it.”
“Of course, milord.” Beatrice’s heart raced at his nearness, even as her feelings soared, then plummeted, then soared again at his words. He wanted to apologize—truly apologize—to her!He suspected me.He regrets his actions.
“Your news about Violet brought hurt and humiliation, both of which I reacted to with anger and sent hurtling at themessenger. I was too busy thinking of my problems to even consider yours, notwithstanding you had outlined them clearly for me. I am sorry. Truly sorry for my actions that day and this week.”
“It is all right. You had reason to be upset.”
He shook his head. “But not at you. For that, I apologize. As for suspecting you, since the war I have had difficulty trusting anyone. I am often fearful and think the worst of everyone. It is probably a blessing Violet did not come—for whatever reason,” he added hastily. “I am not the man I was. I would only have disappointed her. I have disappointed you.”
“You have not. I had no expectations of your character,” Beatrice assured him. However, that was not entirely true. She’d believed she knew him quite well before coming. But he couldn’t know that. Neither would she ever divulge how she had come upon such knowledge nor the way she had admired him for some time. She’d come close enough to such revelations with her admission a few minutes before.
“It has been the poorest behavior, severely lacking. Can you—willyou—forgive me for it? For not believing that all you spoke and presented to me was truth and nothing more?” He held his hands out blindly.
“Yes.” Her whispered word felt almost like a promise as she placed her hands in his. She’d already forgiven him, truth be told. He was hurting in body and soul, and she could not hold him fully accountable when he was already suffering. “Think no more on it, I beg you.”
“You are too kind.”
Beatrice blushed again. “You are the first person to ever tell me that. Or to apologize. I thank you for both.”
“Will you allow me to show my thanks to you? For your courage and fortitude in coming here to face me?” His fingers folded over hers.
“It is not as if you were a lion in his den,” she said, her heart light at their continued touch.
“Not far from it though.” He growled.
Beatrice laughed. “Actually, a lion might have been more preferable that first day.”
