By the time the coach pulled to a halt in front of the London post office, he felt like a coiled spring, ready to explode. He made it to his aunt’s street in record time, heedless of the damp chill pervading the city or the disgruntled glances from the people he rushed by.
As he vaulted up the stairs to his aunt’s town house, the door opened and his cousin appeared, as impeccably groomed as ever. “Colin,” he said, taking a step back in surprise. “Wasn’t expecting to see you for a few more days yet.” His eyes fell to the items in Colin’s hands. “I say, is that what I think it is?”
There was no stopping the triumphant grin that came to his face. “Perhaps you’d best come inside with me.”
John agreed readily, trailing behind as Colin rushed to the drawing room. “Simmons,” he called as he passed the man, “I’ve a missive I will need sent momentarily.”
Carefully depositing his precious cargo, he went to the writing desk tucked in the back of the room and rifled through it, unearthing paper, pen, and ink. “I must say, it has been quite an eventful fortnight,” he said over his shoulder. “I can hardly wait to show you.” More important, he could hardly wait to show Beatrice. He didn’t care that he was chilled to the bone, hungry, and in need of a bath. He dashed off a quick note, tossed a handful of sand across it, and folded it into a neat square. By the time the thing was sealed, a footman stood waiting just inside the door. “Please, have this sent to Lady Beatrice at Granville House in St. James’s Square at once.”
The moment the man was gone, he turned to John. “Anything disparaging that I ever said about my father?”
“Yes?” John said, his lips already turned up in a grin.
“I take it all back.”
“I’m afraid you have not caught me in the best of moods, Sophie.” Beatrice smiled wanly to her friend, patting the sofa beside her. “Though it is nice to see a friendly face.”
“Oh dear—have you recently been in the presence of an unfriendly face? Shall I seek them out and knock them over the head with my oboe? It’s quite stout, and I’m rather handy with it.”
Rotten mood or not, Sophie was impossible not to smile at. With her cheery daffodil gown and slightly mischievous smile—not to mention her sweet disposition—she was like walking sunshine. “Perhaps not. I should hate to get you in trouble.”
“Are you quite sure? It fits rather handily inside my cloak. No one would be the wiser.”
Beatrice couldn’t help but chuckle at her earnest expression. “You, my friend, are a treasure.” The moment the words left her mouth, her mood crashed to the floor once more. A stór. It was a sentiment she would probably never hear again, and if she did, there was no way to know if she could trust it.
Sophie hadn’t missed her reaction. Her constant smile slipped a bit as her brow puckered in concern. “You truly are unhappy. My dear, you are to be married soon. And you were able to choose your husband. I think there is a law somewhere that says you must be giddy with excitement. If nothing else, think of the trousseau!”
Grabbing a biscuit from the plate left over from tea earlier, Beatrice took a bite and shook her head. “Ugh, I’d rather not. At this point, I’ve done little else. I’ve been poked, and pinned, and prodded, and fitted within an inch of my life.” And she had felt like a fraud the entire time. Godfrey’s damning words repeated in her head, tightening her mouth and flaring her nostrils. Of course Colin would deny the allegations, but it was yet another thing that he would be unable to prove. She bit off another huge bite of the biscuit, taking comfort in its buttery deliciousness.
“Blasphemy, I declare,” Sophie said, shaking her head with great dramatic flair. “Well, fiddlesticks. In my mind, assembling a trousseau would be the most fun of all of it. I think I’ll pretend we never had this conversation, thank you very much.”
“I warned you I was dreadful company.”
The butler’s measured footsteps caught Bea’s ear, and she turned to the doorway. He appeared a few seconds later, holding a silver salver. That got her attention. Generally, any correspondence would be held until after a guest had left. “What is it, Finnington?”
“A letter, my lady, sent from Sir Colin Tate. He asked that it be delivered at once and his family’s footman is awaiting your response.”
Colin was back? She didn’t even wait for the butler to reach her before jumping up and meeting the man halfway. “Thank you, Finnington. I’ll ring when I’m ready.”
She waited while he nodded and headed back to his post. Sophie popped up and hurried to join her, her dark eyes sparkling like sunlit bronze. “He sent you an urgent missive? How romantic—he must miss you! Don’t you think it’s romantic? Oh, I wonder what he wants.”
Nodding vaguely, Beatrice turned the note over in her hand, her heart racing so fast, it robbed her of her breath. If he was in town, this could mean only one of two things. Either he was willing to concede defeat, or he had found a way to prove his intentions.
A flutter of nerves started deep in her belly as she slipped a finger beneath the wax seal, almost ripping the paper in her haste. The handwriting was crisp and clean, exactly as she would have expected. As angry at the situation as she was, she hadn’t expected the sudden welling of emotion as she held his words in her hands.
My dearest Beatrice,
I have returned this very day, and I must see you as soon as possible. Can you meet me at my father’s studio? Ever your servant, I await your response.
Yours,
Colin
“Well? Yes, I know, it is dreadfully rude to ask, but is it a romantic letter?” Sophie put her hands to her heart, clearly already expecting it to be so.
Beatrice looked back down at the letter, reading his brief missive once more. What had happened on his journey? He seemed anxious to see her. After what the blackguard Godfrey had said, Beatrice was determined to shield her heart, but it seemed to defy her wishes. Her wildly fluttering pulse was proof enough of that.
“Not romantic, really—just matter-of-fact.”
Sophie’s face fell. “Oh. Well, I suppose he doesn’t wish to put such sentiments in writing—I imagine many men wouldn’t. But now that he’s back, he wishes to see you, doesn’t he? I’ll bet he’s thought of little else since he’s been gone.”
It was likely true—but what were his real intentions? For a person who prided herself on being able to read others, there could be no more frustrating or infuriating question. She refolded the paper and turned her attention to Sophie. “In fact, he does wish to see me. Today, actually.”
That was all the encouragement Sophie’s romantic mind needed. “See? I knew it. Of course you probably already knew it as well, knowing you. Are you going to see him?”
“That depends. Would you mind terribly if we cut short our visit?”
Grinning broadly, she gave a little wink. “Would you look at the time? I simply must be on my way. Enjoy your evening, Beatrice.”
Easily said, impossible to do. Two hours later, she and her maid stood on the landing outside the studio, Bea’s heart pounding so loudly, she could scarcely hear the traffic on the street below. “Rose,” she said, her voice a bit unsteady, “you do realize that Sir Colin and I are betrothed?”
Her maid flushed at once, from her neck all the way to her hairline. “Yes, my lady.”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m not going to say or do anything untoward. I was merely going to say that we were hoping for a private conversation. That is why I said we were going out for art supplies. I don’t wish for everyone to be privy to our conversation. Do you understand what I’m saying?”