* * *
Lady Beckham was not alone.
She sat at the head of the table, her brother standing behind her. There was no doubt what the earl had told her, for his eyes gleamed with anticipation for this interview. Lady Beckham’s features might have been carved of stone. It did not appear that either of them had eaten, although there were two full cups of tea on the table.
“You summoned me?” Arthur asked as soon as the door was closed behind him. He did not sit down for he suspected his audience would be short.
“You have defied me,” Lady Beckham said in a low voice. “You have disregarded every principle you have been taught in this house, and you have done as much at the instigation of that common chit.”
“I have challenged only one of your edicts, in wedding a bride whose family are in trade. To be sure, Uncle Reynaud was determined to wed me to another such bride a mere fortnight ago.” He met the other man’s gaze. “How fares your courtship of that lady, Uncle?”
The earl’s eyes flashed but Lady Beckham waved him to silence before he uttered a sound. “I am not interested in Reynaud on this day, but with you. You are my son. You are my heir. You are to be my pride and my joy, but according to my own brother, you have dishonored me by choosing, secretly, to abandon your birthright and become a tradesman.” She almost shuddered at the last word.
Arthur took a chair in that moment, crossing his legs as he regarded her. “Forgive me as I consider which detail to challenge first.”
Lady Beckham’s lips tightened. “We will not speak of origins,” she said and the earl frowned in confusion.
“But I believe we must,” Arthur said. “You fear that my natural tendences overwhelm all of my education and the influence of your example, do you not?”
The earl’s frown deepened as he looked between his sister and her supposed son.
“And perhaps you are right,” Arthur continued. “I find myself with the very good fortune of a lovely wife, one who is much enamored of honesty, and admires those who make an effort to improve the world around them, rather than simply entertaining themselves. I find her views persuasive. In fact, the lady is a delight, and there is little I would not do win her happiness.”
“Do not confess that you are in love,” the earl muttered.
Arthur smiled. “But I am, and I believe, Lady Beckham, that you know as well as I how love can change one’s view of the possibilities.” The lady in question flushed a little. “I believe that you might best understand how such affection might persuade one to defy convention.”
“But you cannot do this. I forbid it!”
“And it may not be done, but not because of your disapproval.”
“You are defiant and ungrateful,” Lady Beckham said. “You would discard all that has been given to you, all the dignities that have been bestowed upon you, and you would stain the honor of my name and my household…”
“Never that,” Arthur said. “Such a stain lies entirely within your own power to bestow or withhold.”
She ignored him and continued with barely restrained fury. “You insult me and the memory of my husband, and I will not stand silently while you do as much. You must choose before you leave this room. You must choose either to resume your former habits and remain my son, or you may leave with your humble bride and never cast your shadow upon my door again. I will deny you in every quarter if you choose her, and you may be sure that I will not relent.”
The decision was remarkably easy. Arthur had been impoverished before and he had survived. He had possessed nothing but his name, and survived in its absence. But he could not willingly survive without Patience.
If she denied him, that was another matter, but he would not surrender all chance of happiness simply for financial security—and the satisfaction of a person who had never truly valued him for himself.
He thought of Patience’s expression after his confession and he dared to hope that she felt some fondness for him. Perhaps her reluctant heart could be won in time.
He could think of no more noble pursuit.
As so often he did, Arthur made a calculated gamble.
“Alas, Lady Beckham, my choice is both evident and made.” He rose smoothly to his feet and bowed to both of them before stepping toward the door.
“Yvonne, you go too far in this,” the earl whispered. “He is your son!”
Arthur paused to survey the other man when Lady Beckham did not speak. “But I am not her son, Reynaud. And thus, you are not my uncle. Perhaps you finally understand why I would not cede to you arranging my nuptials for me. There was a limit to how much I was prepared to surrender for the good of the Tattingers, and you exceeded it.”
The earl opened his mouth and closed it again, his eyes so round that he resembled nothing so more than a gaping fish.
“You will regret this,” Lady Beckham insisted when Arthur reached for the door.
“No, I will not. I thank you for your generosity over the years, but I believe my balance to you has been paid in full.” He glanced toward the earl. “If you could see your way to returning the sapphire stolen from me last night, I would appreciate it. I have always been fond of it, and it will not sell for a sufficient sum to make a difference to your finances.”
