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Beatrice tried—she really did—not to cast a covert glance at his mother’s swollen feet bulging over the tops of her slippers.
Schooling her features into a benign expression, Beatrice lifted her lilac-scented handkerchief to her nose on the pretense of covering a dainty sneeze. A more loathsome pair, she’d never had the misfortune of meeting. For the life of her, she could not conjure a single redeeming quality for either mother or son.
I cannot stand much more of his putrid odor.
As if his malodorous putrid breath wasn’t stomach-turning enough, the man reeked of sweat—an onion-like acridity that lingered heavily in the air. A cloying sweet aroma, reminding Beatrice of rotting over-ripe fruit, a cheesy pungency—potent and nauseating—that wafted outward every time he moved, and a sour, yeasty odor that clung to his clothing, made it necessary for her to repeatedly swallow the bile climbing the back of her throat.
The little dinner she had gagged down threatened to reappear.
And still, Uncle Cedric looked on with a cruel air of satisfaction.
Why did he hate her so?
“Shall we take a turn about the terrace, Miss Fairfax?” Mr. Dungworth smiled, revealing a row of yellow, seldom cleaned teeth. “I’m sure the outdoor temperature is more inviting.”
“What an excellent notion!” Uncle Cedric exclaimed too enthusiastically while nodding.
Still, outside, Beatrice might avoid a degree of the malodorous assault on her senses.
“Yes, indeed. My dogs would enjoy stretching their legs.” If Beatrice must stroll with the repulsive man, at least she’d have her faithful pets nearby should he try anything untoward. “I shall fetch them from my bedchamber.”
Uncle had relegated Nala and Teddy to Beatrice’s chamber for the evening.
Given how often Mr. Dungworth’s bulgy, peat-brown eyes sank to her bosom, she expected he’d not act as the gentleman when they were alone.
Mr. Dungworth scowled. “I do not like dogs.”
“Horrid, awful creatures,” his mother put in. “They scratch and snuffle and smell.”
Had she sniffed herson of late?
Or considered the lingering offensiveness of her digestive indiscretions?
Beatrice lifted her chin. “My dogs are my closest companions. They go everywhere with me.”
Nala and Teddy might be the very thing to put this offensive toad off the scent.
“I’m sure the dogs can forfeit a walk this evening, Niece.” Steel edged Uncle Cedric’s seemingly innocent suggestion. “Mrs. Dungworth and I shall have a nice chat while you enjoy the terrace with Mr. Dungworth.”
Rising, Beatrice fashioned a polite smile, though she wanted to tell her uncle and the Dungworths what she thought of them and damn them to the scorching environment the three of them deserved to spend eternity sweating in. “As you don’t intend to act as chaperone, I must insist my dogs accompany me as they do when I walk about Brighton. Otherwise, I shall have to refrain from taking the air. I’m certain no one here would have me smudge my reputation.”
Except, Beatrice believed, her uncle didn’t give a beggar’s curse about her reputation. In fact, he might very well hope Dungworth would compromise her, and then try to force her into marriage with the beastly man afterward.
“Very well.” With considerable effort, Mr. Dungworth hoisted his enormous frame from the settee, which creaked in relief upon being spared his immense weight. “I suppose I can manage with the dogs outdoors. Cannot abide them in the house, however.”
“Goodness, how ill-suited we are.” Beatrice couldn’t conceal her triumphant smile, and surely victory glinted in her eyes. “I sleep with my pets. Every. Single. Night.”
His mouth dropped to his barrel chest as his mother simultaneously exhaled an outraged gasp.
Feeling quite chipper and confident, Beatrice headed toward the doorway, calling over her shoulder, “I shall fetch my dogs and meet you on the terrace, Mr. Dungworth.”
Dungworth gave a disgruntled nod and sent Uncle Cedric a blistering glare before trundling toward the open French windows.
Highbury House Terrace
TEN MINUTES LATER
Nala and Teddyat her side, Beatrice inhaled a cleansing breath.
