“Oh… sorry. I forgot.”
There was some laughter around the table, but Miss Hand was clutching her cross in distress. “You speak the language ofpagans!”she hissed.
Bea raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Latin is the language of civilisation, ma’am. It is the language of poetry and philosophy and rational thought. The Romans established agreat civilisation when Englishmen were still rolling in the mud. I am not even sure therewereEnglishmen then. The Romans built beautiful monuments and aqueducts and roads, they had laws and education and houses that were heated by warmth beneath the floor. They were great engineers.”
“But so many gods! They were not Christians.”
“Well, I hardly see how they could have been!” Bea said, with a spurt of laughter. “Julius Caesar was BC — before Christ. They could not have been Christians before the birth of Jesus Christ.”
That brought another ripple of laughter around the table.
“The Romans converted to Christianity in the 4th century AD,” someone said from the other end of the table, and Miss Hand was immediately distracted. Someone else pointed out the widespread use of Latin in the church, and although Miss Hand muttered about Papists, and the Anglican church using civilised English, the heat had gone out of her protests.
The conversation became more general again, but Bea lapsed into miserable silence. When would she ever learn to hold her tongue?
Mr George Atherton leaned towards her, and said in a low voice, “No one could doubt your enthusiasm for the language, Miss Franklyn. I look forward to hearing the rest of the poem at some future date, with perhaps a less critical audience?”
“You are very kind, sir,” Bea said miserably. “I am very bad at recognising the inappropriateness of my behaviour, and I apologise for it.”
He reached across and rested his hand on hers. “It is not you who need apologise. In fact, I would go so far as to give you this advice — do not ever apologise for being yourself. You have not an ounce of artifice, and that is to be commended.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, but she could see her stepmother eyeing her from across the table, and knew she would be receiving a reprimand later.
Well, she was used to that, but both Bertram and his father smiled upon her, so she felt the evening was not entirely a disaster.
29: Lady Esther Has A Plan
“Latin again, Bea?” her father said, the instant they had made their farewells and the carriage was rumbling down the drive.
“Never mind that!” her stepmother said. “Did you seethat woman?”
“Which woman was that, my dear?” her husband said equably.
“Miss Hand. Do you know why she is here?”
“She is an old friend of Jane Atherton’s,” he said.
“Yes, but she is here for Lord Rennington!”
“Indeed? She is an old friend of his, also?” There was a puzzled tone in his voice.
“No, no! She has never met him, but she is here tomarryhim.”
Mr Franklyn only laughed, but his wife tutted at him.
“It is no laughing matter, I assure you. It is a disaster for Bea. Here she is, betrothed — after a fashion — to the heir to the earldom, and now we discover that the earl isnot, after all, goingto remarry Lady Rennington. He is planning to marry again and have legitimate sons, and then Bertram and his father will be cut out.Thatis why Lady Rennington went away, do you see? Jane Atherton planned it all, the scheming witch, and of course Lord Rennington is such a weak sort of man he will do whatever he is told.”
“I do not see that it is such a disaster,” Mr Franklyn said mildly. “Bertram is heir to Westwick, after all, with an income of three thousand a year.”
“But notitle!”Lady Esther said despairingly. “I did not mind Beatrice refusing Lord Embleton… not very much, anyway, when I imagined she had an understanding of some sort with a future earl, but to turn down a marquess — a duke, one day — for a commoner, no matter his income, is beyond all reason. Fortunately, this betrothal is not yet publicly known. I have merely hinted to one or two good friends that we expect an announcement very soon, and it could as well be one as the other.”
“Mama, what are you planning?” Bea said in some alarm. “I shall not marry the marquess, I assure you.”
“No, no, although perhaps that could have been revived… but no. We must aim for the original target, I believe, and since the heir is now uncertain, it would be safest to look to the current holder of the title.”
“You cannot mean—?” Bea cried in horror.
“Tomorrow we shall call upon Lord Rennington,” her stepmother said triumphantly. “He will not look at this Miss Hand when you are in the room. In fact, he will not look at any of Jane Atherton’s suggestions. All older women — some widows, even. Men far prefer youth and freshness.” She chuckled. “I wonder it did not occur to me before. You will be the Countess of Rennington before the year is out, Beatrice, you mark my words.”
