you had it all planned!’
‘I know, but something else has transpired.’
‘Something such as…?’
Taris did not answer and a slight awkwardness filled the room, though it was dissipated by Lucinda when she knocked over her wine and sent that end of the table into a flurry, until the footman mopped it up.
Taris was glad when his brother dropped the subject of the journey out to India. He could not go because the child Beatrice carried would be almost born and there was no trip in the world that would justify missing the birth of a son or daughter.
A cousin for Ruby, Ashton and Ianthe, missing pieces of the Wellingham family puzzle falling into place. Tonight Beatrice was beautiful. To him. Beautiful in the way of a woman who did not know that she was, no vanity or artifice in it, her husky lisp answering questions and giving opinions and laughing at exactly the right time when Ashe chanced a joke. He imagined her dimples deep shadowed in the light, and her leaf-green eyes and the swell of bosom above the silken creation she was in.
He felt the unseemly rise of his sex beneath the table as he mulled over the chances of being accepted into her bed tonight. Cristo’s rooms were easily accessed from his own and he was pleased about his mother’s unexpected intervention.
The thought that perhaps the sleeping arrangements had not been as coincidental as they appeared did cross his mind, as he had spent a greater part of the past two hours fending off questions from Lucinda and Asher about his relationship with Bea and her presence here at Falder.
Beatrice was speaking now on the topic of banking, proposing that country banks be monitored by the Bank of England, much to the delight of Emerald and the chagrin of his brother.
‘The panic for cash is hardly the fault of the country banking system, Mrs Bassingstoke.’ The tone in Ashe’s voice was firm, but Bea replied quickly.
‘Oh, I disagree, Duke. When people lose faith in an institution’s ability to meet their obligations, one would imagine Parliament would elect a stronger body to step in and lay down stricter rules.’
‘I have always favoured a less vigorous approach—’
Emerald did not let him finish. ‘Because he is a partner in a number of the country banks.’
‘A vested interest, then?’ Beatrice continued, her tone full of a feigned rebuke. ‘Making it harder to be impartial?’
‘Two against one is a difficult way to win any argument,’ Ashe parried, ‘though if you had supported me, Taris, we might have managed it.’
‘After my last public drubbing at the hands of Mrs Bassingstoke, I dare not risk another one.’
‘Public drubbing?’ Lucinda had joined the fray. ‘Oh, do tell us of it, Beatrice.’
‘The argument that your brother refers to was hardly a good example, as I always felt that he lost it on purpose.’
‘On purpose?’ Her suspicion was so evident that Taris began to laugh, though his mother was nowhere near as amused.
‘In my day well-bred young ladies went to all lengths to stay out of any argument not pertaining to the running of the marital home.’
‘We have come a long way since the 1770s, Mama,’ Lucinda managed.
‘Thank goodness!’ Emerald interjected. ‘Besides, women these days are encouraged to have an opinion on whatever they fancy, Mama, and it would be most unwise not to take up such opportunity.’
Taris felt Asher move beside him. ‘A Wellingham man would not swap a feisty wife for all her weight in gold.’
‘Or all the money still left in the besieged country banks.’ Emerald laughed.
Bea watched as the Duchess of Carisbrook smiled down the table at her husband. A woman who was happy in her world and cherished. For her opinions and her debate, for her originality and her arguments.
And right then, at that very moment, something thawed inside Beatrice. Some icy guilt that had insisted her husband’s intractability was somehow her fault. That she deserved punishment for not being pretty enough or interesting enough or barren.
For twelve years she had laboured under a false premise and a dreadful error. For twelve long years she had obeyed and submitted and conformed.
Tears filled her eyes and she stood, excusing herself from the table under the pretence of feeling ill. If she stayed, she would embarrass everyone, for her long held-in tension was finally demanding release.
Taris heard her sobbing as he opened the unlocked door. Crossing the room, he felt her shoulders shaking and the tears on her cheeks as he held her close.
‘Shh, it may not be as bad as you think.’
‘I…am…sorry,’ she said, when the tempest seemed past. ‘Rudeness is something that should never be excused and your mother will not be thanking me for my strong opinion at the table.’
‘You think you were being rude to offer an opinion? My God, Beatrice, if you cannot say what you think, how could you live?’
When she burst into tears again Taris knew that he had said the wrong thing.
‘I did…didn’t live,’ she whispered after a few more moments. ‘I was always…scared…of him.’
‘Your husband?’
She nodded and her whole body shook. ‘He would hit me if I did not say the right thing.’
‘God.’ He pulled her closer.
‘He would hit me and hit me and hit me.’
Her heart raced at twice the normal pace and made Taris want to find the dead man and strangle him anew.
‘I have never told anyone that. Not anyone,’ she repeated.
‘Then I thank you for telling me,’ he replied, liking the way her fingers buried themselves beneath his jacket as though his warmth was her sanctuary.
‘But I won’t be that way again,’ she vowed a few moments later when she had collected herself. ‘If I think something is wrong, I will always say it.’
‘Good for you.’
A teary half-laugh ensued. ‘And I will read books in bed till after midnight should I wish to.’
‘Would you read them to me?’
‘Yes.’
‘In bed, you say?’
She laughed again. ‘Thank you for bringing me to your family home.’
‘Falder has a legend that insists those who love the place will always return.’
Return!
Bea smiled into the superfine of his well-cut jacket. Taris’s voice was soft and his hands were
