“He mentioned it.”
Lady Bridgewater gave a subtle lift of her brow. “Did he? I would’ve thought he’d want to keep that to himself.”
“Oh, Dev and I don’t hold any secrets from one another.”
Beatrix was definitely toying with the countess, and she should stop, truly, but she couldn’t seem to.
It wasn’t that she was having fun with the woman’s emotions, but she thought the countess could stand to have her horizons broadened.
It would be to her benefit.
The fact was Beatrix didn’t take issue with the countess.
Simply, the woman was a product of her environment—an environment that told women their only value was in their beauty and the fecundity of their wombs. A society that pitted them against one another when it grew bored, which was often. A society that discouraged women to use their minds critically.
What was clear to Beatrix was that the countess subscribed to it all—many women did.
Yet though she understood this about the countess, that didn’t mean she could ever be friends with the woman.
They didn’t view life from the same angle.
And now that she’d gotten to know Dev, she wouldn’t have thought he did, either.
But that only illustrated how much she understood about the motivations of men.
“No secrets? How very convenient for you, Lady Beatrix,” said the countess. “I’m sure that bodes well for your wedded bliss. Although—” She snorted. If a snort could’ve been ladylike, hers was. “If there is bliss to be found in the wedded state, I wish someone would tell me the secret.”
Like that, Beatrix felt badly for every unkind thought and opinion she’d entertained of this woman. Certainly, the countess had been a title huntress, but the Earl of Bridgewater was known to have cruel proclivities of the sort both publicly acknowledged and those only whispered about. The countess had likely already paid the price for securing a title—and would continue to do so.
Until she ran off with Dev, that was.
More than ever, the possibility appeared an inevitability.
The countess shifted her gaze, her cheeks uncharacteristically high with color. Abashment hung about her, as if she’d said too much and was now embarrassed.
“Dev has nothing but wonderful things to say about his childhood,” said Beatrix. Then for some unfathomable reason, she added, “And you.”
Lady Bridgewater blinked, and for an instant, her mask slipped. She looked younger and fresher, her beauty so vibrant she was almost too much to behold directly.
In this instant, Beatrix saw the Imogen he knew.
“He does?” she asked, slightly breathless.
Beatrix nodded.
An unguarded smile flirted about the countess’s mouth before her arch mask slipped back into place. “How very sweet of him.”
And she left that as her farewell as she pivoted in a swish of silk skirts and took her place at the card table to join a game of Whist just forming.
As the room settled into card play, Beatrix understood she had a choice.
Stay and endure a long, slogging night…or slip discreetly away.
Before her mind could counter instinct, her feet were on the move and exiting the room at a swift clip that couldn’t be characterized as a run—just.
She pointed them in the direction of the kitchens. That was where she would find Cumberbatch. He would be awake, of course. His intermittent naps throughout the day served to bank his energy for the night. She needed to see how he was faring.
His bunions might need tending.
