“Bea? Oh, Bea, whatever is the matter? You have not even opened your primer this morning.”
“I am still forbidden from any sort of book learning, Bertram. Mama came to my room last night especially to tell me so, and to point out that my time is running out to find a husband.”
“It is true that you will soon be leaving Landerby Manor, but that does not mean all is lost,” he said.
“No, but I am one and twenty, and Mama believes I am quite on the shelf. She is thinking of taking me to Bath for the winter,but Bath is full of gouty old men and I donotwant to marry a gouty old man.”
“Not even for a title?” Bertram said teasingly, tipping his head to one side in a manner that reminded her of a bird. A robin, perhaps, for he wore a burgundy waistcoat this morning.
“Not even if he is a duke,” she said despondently. “There has to be more to a man than his title. Oh, Bertram, it is so difficult! I want to marry, and to marry well, so that Mama and Papa will be proud of me, and the Bucknells will not sneer at me, but I also want a man who—” She had been about to say‘whose kisses set me on fire’, but stopped herself in time. That would lead to awkward questions that she could not answer — at least, not to Bertram. He must never suspect how he had made her feel, for that brief, glorious moment.
“Who is congenial?” Bertram suggested gently. “Someone, perhaps, who is a friend as well as a husband?”
“Yes,” she said, for it was as good a description as any. “Someone I like to be with. And someone who permits me to learn Latin,” she added, with some heat. “I am not cut out for tapestry work.”
“I cannot imagine anything more tedious,” he said, laughing. “It is so disappointing that Lady Esther is still of the same mind. I was so sure her opinion would soften once she saw how well your recitation was received. It was my idea, you know, to show you off to everyone, and you did it admirably, Bea. I was enormously proud of you.”
“Were you?” she said shyly. “Then it was worth it, even though Mama disliked it. I enjoyed it, too. The words roll around in my head in such a majestic way. Will you let me listen to you, sometimes? Will you read Horace to me… or any of the poets? And pity me whenever you see me with my tapestry.”
He reached across the table and took her hand in his. She almost gasped at the sudden contact. His hand was warm,sending energy pulsing through her. Such lovely hands he had, with long, sensitive fingers that she longed to stroke. Her heart took off at speed, and when she dared to look into his eyes, she was mesmerised, held fast in his gaze. Brown, but such a light, vivid brown, so alive with… affection? The affection of friendship, perhaps. But how odd, because Walter had never looked at her that way, even when they were betrothed. He had never made her heart race, either, or made it hard to breathe, or kissed her in a way that made her melt into an unfathomable swirl of emotion. He had never kissed her at all. Not like Bertram…
His voice swirled around her, warm and intoxicating.
“You must not worry about it. I promise you will find a husband, and a congenial one, too, and you will be able to drown in Latin, if you want. I promise, Bea.”
And that just made her angry. Snatching her hand from his, she jumped up and away from him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” she spat at him, her old Newcastle accent rising up to overcome years of Mama’s careful training. “You can’t promise anything!”
“But I can. I mean it, Bea.” He followed her, reaching out to cup her face.
At the first touch she stilled, her anger replaced with… what? Some whirlpool of emotions she could not even identify. Fear was in there somewhere, and confusion, and wariness, and agitation, and uncertainty, for what could he possibly mean? But she stood, her breathing uneven, waiting… waiting…
Out of that raging torrent of feelings, it was hope that bubbled to the surface. Hope, because he was so close, so unbearably close, holding her face in his hands and surely he would kiss her again? How could he not? She wanted it so badly she ached inside, longed for him to hold her against him, to put his mouth on hers.
He would, hemust…
A brisk rat-a-tat-tat on the door sent them spinning apart. Of all people, it was her father.
“So this is where you hide yourself away, Bea. Good morning, Atherton.”
“Sir.”
“Oh, is this your Latin book, daughter?‘A Schoolboy’s First Latin Primer’.So this is what the sons of gentlemen learn.”
He was so cheerfully normal, as if he had not just burst in upon them on the brink of kissing. Bea could not look him in the eye, and was utterly incapable of speech. Fortunately, Bertram contrived some degree of composure and the two men talked of Latin lessons and tutors and school lessons, with only the slightest stumbling now and then on Bertram’s side to suggest his own agitation. Was that merely embarrassment at being so nearly caught out, or was there more to it?
Eventually, her father said, “I was not looking for you in particular, Bea, but now that I have found you, perhaps you can help me. Is there such a thing as a large blackboard in here?”
“Oh… um… yes, I believe so. In the big cupboard over there, I think.”
He rummaged around until he found what he was looking for, then called on Bertram to help him retrieve it. It was certainly large, and it was also filthy, coated in decades of grime and cobwebs.
“That will need a good scrub,” Bea said.
“So it will. I shall send some footmen to take it down to the nether regions for the attention of the maids.”
“What are you up to, Papa?”
He grinned boyishly. “The board is to keep the scores for a fencing tournament. Since the rain is likely to keep us indoors all day, the gentlemen will need some way to expend their energy. I have already recruited the duke and the marquess to theenterprise, and I believe Grayling is an exponent of the art, too. What about you, Atherton?”
