The man below was a peacock. Even in the rain, he sauntered toward the door, smugness wrapped around him like a cloak.
“I swear, Bea, you have gone daft.” Carolyn peeked outside once more before shaking her head. “There is no way to tell from two floors up who he is or isn’t.”
“Care to make a wager on that?” Beatrice’s voice was more sarcastic than she intended, but she suspected she knew exactly who was outside: Mr. Godfrey.
Jocelyn raised a pale brow, then turned her attention to her twin. “No, you wouldn’t, Caro. She’s got that look about her when she knows something the rest of us are too slow to catch on to.”
Why did he not simply give up the hunt? She didn’t want to be stuck with him now, not when Colin could come at any moment. Beatrice turned to her sisters suddenly, her eyes beseeching. “Oh please, please come with me when Mama calls me to the drawing room. I do not want to suffer that man alone, and I know Mama wouldn’t turn him away.” Why should she? Beatrice had never addressed her concerns about Godfrey with her mother. She had never thought it necessary—her cold shoulder with the man was practically frozen.
Carolyn regarded her with her wide, brilliant blue eyes. “Good heavens, don’t tell me you, of all people, are scared of a man. If that’s the case, then where’s the hope for the rest of us less stalwart females?”
“Oh, shush—being afraid of and being repelled by are two very different things. Now please, be sisterly and support me in my time of need.”
Jocelyn snorted. “Now look who’s being dramatic.”
“Think of it this way—you are always looking for all the gossip about the gentlemen of the ton. Well,” she said, putting her hands palm up, “here’s your chance.”
At least now she had their attention. The soft tap of approaching footsteps had her on her feet. “He’s the handsome third son of the Viscount Ashworth.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice, desperate to pique their interest. “I believe he has a secret gambling problem, mounting debts, and he is on the hunt for a wife wealthy enough to set him up for life. Gossip doesn’t get any better than this.”
The footsteps paused at the same moment someone scratched on the door.
“Well?” she whispered, looking back and forth between them. Surely they wouldn’t abandon her. Neither one of them was giving her any tells, their faces both impressively blank as they exchanged looks. Honestly, communicating without any outward signs would be so useful.
Jocelyn grinned and craned her neck toward the door. “Enter!”
A maid popped her head in and curtsied briefly. “Begging your pardon, my ladies. Lady Beatrice, Lady Granville wishes for you to join her in the drawing room to greet Mr. Godfrey.”
“Thank you, Emily. I’ll be right down.”
The girl bobbed another quick curtsy and started to close the door.
“Emily,” Jocelyn called, halting the maid in her tracks, “please let them know to bring enough tea for five.” She waited until Emily withdrew to turn to Beatrice, hands on hips. “Before you thank me, just remember that you owe us.”
Even so, Beatrice blew out a relieved breath. Holding her hands out to her sisters, she smiled. “Whatever you say, my dears, just so long as you don’t leave my side.”
Chapter Six
Well, of course—Granville House would be the largest house on the block.
Colin shook his head, sending raindrops flying from the brim of his hat. As if he needed a reminder that he had no business calling on someone like Lady Beatrice. But he was here now—practically at her invitation—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand around in the pouring rain and dither on the subject.
He dashed the last few yards and was lifting his hand toward the knocker when the door whooshed open. An austere, balding butler offered him a remarkably blank look. “Yes?”
Taken off guard, Colin fumbled inside his jacket for his calling card. “Good afternoon,” he said, locating the card at last and handing it over. “I’m Sir Colin Tate and—”
“Very good, sir,” the man said, interrupting him. Then he stepped back to allow Colin entrance. “If you will wait here, I will let her ladyship know you have arrived.”
Well, that went much more easily than anticipated. Had Beatrice warned the butler that Colin would make an appearance? She must have, because none of the other butlers today had made things nearly so simple. As the man headed up the great marble staircase, a footman stepped forward to help him out of his dripping-wet overcoat and take his hat.
Colin nodded his thanks before stomping his feet a few times to shake off the excess moisture from his boots. Duly relieved of as much rainwater as he could manage, he glanced around the entry hall, taking in the cavernous space. And here he had thought his aunt’s house grand. Opulence extended in every direction, from the black-and-white marble floors to the velvet-covered walls, and of course, the mural on the ceiling—all the hallmarks of a family with exceedingly good taste and a budget to match.
The butler reappeared, descending the stairs with measured steps. “If you’ll follow me, please.”
By the time they stepped onto the landing, the soft sound of feminine voices reached Colin’s ears. Her sisters, perhaps? The low tones of a male voice interjected, and Colin slowed, taking stock of the situation. Was it Beatrice’s brother? Her father? He didn’t know if he was quite ready to meet either of them.
The butler paused outside of the door and murmured, “Mr. William Godfrey has called upon the family as well.”
Colin’s jaw tightened. He really did not want to make small talk with one of Beatrice’s beaux, for God’s sake. Especially half-drowned and feeling like a damn fraud for having come in the first place. But with no other choice, he followed behind the butler as the man opened the door and announced, “Sir Colin Tate.”
Five pairs of eyes turned in his direction, but there was only one gaze he had any interest in. Framed on either side by a matching blond sister, Beatrice smiled at him from her place on the sofa. “Sir Colin, I’m so very glad you decided to join us today.”
She set down her teacup and came to her feet as he stepped toward the conversation area. She was exceedingly lovely in her simple green-and-white morning gown, her hair loosely arranged atop her head. Though the dim day offered little in the way of flattering lighting, she looked sweet and fresh and almost . . . relieved? The light must be playing tricks on him. “Lady Beatrice, it is a pleasure to see you once more. And Lady Granville, too, of course.”
Her mother smiled and nodded from her place in front of the tea service. “May I offer you some tea, Sir Colin?”
“Yes, thank you. Just the thing to take the chill from the day. No sugar or milk, please.”
Beatrice grinned as his gaze naturally fell back to her. “Allow me to introduce you to my sisters Lady Jocelyn”—the blond head on the right bobbed—“and Lady Carolyn”—the one on the left followed suit. “They will both be making their debuts in the spring.”
If he’d met them in the street, he never would have known that the twins were younger than Beatrice. Their direct gazes, surprisingly voluptuous figures, and broad smiles were no doubt going to keep Lady Granville on her toes next Season. “Lovely to meet you both.”
As strange as it was to think, the pair of them were almost too pretty. He much preferred Beatrice’s loveliness, where her sweet but imperfect features made her eminently more approachable. Her slender figure, her wide-set eyes and slightly pointed chin, the way she covered her mouth when she smiled—all of these were endearing to him. His father sought perfection; Colin preferred character.