“Admit it, you were wool gathering,” she said, laughing up at him, eyes twinkling. “This must be so dull for you, this basic work and my beginner mistakes. I expect you are planning for your talk to your friends. When is it to be?”
“Oh… let me see… tomorrow, I think. Yes, tomorrow.”
“Cras.”
“Ita. Cras. Hodie… loquor pro Embleton.”
“Oh. Today Lord Embleton speaks? No…pro, so you speak for Lord Embleton? He has written a paper, but it would be difficult for him to read, so you read it for him, is that the way of it?”
“It is, except that he writes poetry, not research papers.”
“Original poetry? His own composition?”
Bertram nodded. “It is excellent stuff. If you like Horace, you should come along and listen. I know you lurk in the gallery sometimes, but you could sit with everyone else if you wish to.”
Her face lit up. “May I? Your friends would not mind?”
“Mind having an attractive young lady in their midst? Of course not! But I shall not be able to translate for you, since I shall be reading the poems, and all the discussion will be in Latin.”
“Oh, I just like to listen. If I need any translation, I am sure Lord Brockscombe or Lord Thomas would be happy to help.”
No! She is mine!
Bertram was shocked by his visceral response to Bea’s artless comment. Now he would be forced to stand at the front of theroom while she was surrounded by his ever-helpful friends, and no doubt Fielding would be hovering around her too. Yet was that not precisely what he had wanted? Was it not the very reason he had invited her to Landerby Manor, so that she could attract the attention of suitors? So why did the thought of it distress him so much?
Fielding’s words echoed in his head.‘What is the matter with you? Anyone would think you want the girl for yourself.’
Whatwasthe matter with him? How foolish to be jealous of them! But he had brought her here and thrown her in their way, and now he could hardly blame them if they began to appreciate all her good qualities. Nor could he blame her if she were to choose one of them…
Yet the more he thought about it, the more he realised it was true — he wanted her for himself.
He licked his lips nervously, but he had to know. The uncertainty burned within him like fire. “Have you… reached a decision yet? About Brockscombe and Medhurst?”
She pulled a face. “I cannot say that I have, although I managed to extract a kiss from each of them. Their kisses were… not satisfactory.”
Bertram laughed, his spirits soaring at her words.
“But I still have another possibility,” she said calmly.
“Fielding?” he said tentatively.
“No, silly! He is no lord, nor likely to be, although he is very charming, and looks at me so adoringly. If he were even a baronet, I should be tempted.”
“Then you must mean Grayling,” Bertram said, alarmed. “Bea, you must not. He is… heseemspleasant enough, but he is not in the market for a wife, I assure you. He has said as much.”
“Oh, I know he is not on your list, but he is a lord and he seems to like me, so perhaps he will be tempted, who knows? He has until the end of next week to declare himself, if so, and if hedoes not… well, I shall not break my heart over him, you may be sure.”
“Do you have a heart to break, Bea?” he said teasingly, and for some reason, she coloured up a vivid red.
“It must be time for breakfast,” she muttered.
A little surprised, Bertram followed her down the stairs, but her response threw him into a fury of wondering. She might not break her heart over Grayling, but her fiery blushes suggested that she might break it over someone else. But who could she mean? Brockscombe and Medhurst offered her unsatisfactory kisses, and Fielding had no title. Was there someone else? Perhaps she was now regretting her precipitate jilting of Walter. He was a handsome fellow, his cousin, with a careless charm that ladies seemed drawn to. It would be easy to throw him over on a whim, and then discover later that she had been more attached to him than she had supposed.
But Walter still had no title, and could never have one, and that would never do for Bea. Her heart, breakable or otherwise, was still firmly set on marrying into the nobility.
And what of Bertram himself? Even if he were to decide that he would like to marry Bea after all, he could not be sure he would inherit the earldom. His uncle was young enough to marry again and sire a whole brood of sons. No, he could not in all honesty pursue Bea, even if he wanted to marry her.
He pulled himself up sharply. Of course he did not want to marry! A wife would distract him from his work, would be constantly interrupting him in the library to ask if he would prefer goose or mutton for dinner or to complain about the scullery maid. There would be children crying at all hours, and no peace to be found for a man of scholarly bent.
