Present. The future. You must only consider the future now. I don’t believe anyone is really aware of the events of the night yet,’ Andrew mused, ‘so I want us to be noted today. A pre-emptive move for when Tilly’s words are spread about.’
He ignored the scepticism on her face. ‘Also, you might adopt a worthy cause and pour yourself into it. A cause which shows your heart. With your ability to draw attention you’ll gather print. At first people will be unimpressed, but over time you’ll gain acceptance. People are fascinated when others change from what is expected. Think reformed rakes. Ordinary people into war heroes. Women who sacrifice for others. Those gather a lot of discussion.’
‘So you think to tame the Beast.’
‘I think for you to tame her,’ he said. ‘Things have been exaggerated in your past and now you will merely control what is noticed and embellished.’
She gave a distinctive grimace and touched the blue at her sleeve. ‘Not the carriage incident.’
‘You must also refrain from rolling your eyes in public, I suppose. And smirking. And using scissors.’
‘Is this better?’ She brushed her shoulder against his again, kept her chin down and looked up at him. Her lips parted. ‘This is my entranced gaze.’
‘You do that very well.’ Too well. He could become quite lost in it. But that would never do. Her volatile nature caught his attention, but concerned him at the same time. He could help her become less explosive in public. True, she didn’t deserve all the bad reports. Those did not concern him in the least.
But the bursts of energy—the disorder of her spirit—those concerned him. She’d dressed in a mob cap and impersonated her companion. He smiled at the thought. His friends sometimes did outlandish things. Harris had once worn a bonnet and cape—nearly scaring Waters into an early grave. They’d all laughed for months over that. But friendship was one thing. A romance something else. And someone like Beatrice was best kept at a distance. He could not let himself become close to her. She was too much like wildfire and the night before he’d been closer to being dry tinder than steel.
There was a definite discreet nudge of her elbow to his side. She kept her eyes forward, but her head tilted in his direction. ‘You’re not terribly unpleasant to look at either, Andrew. Have you had your portrait done before?’
‘As a child. I hated it beyond belief. I had to stand still for hours while the artist scowled at me from head to toe.’
‘Trust me, I would not frown if I painted you.’
The lilt in her voice caused a similar response inside him. ‘It will not hurt for us to be seen about together. We can use the abruptness of it to your advantage and to add interest. We can both attend my older brother’s soirée and then, a few days later, the theatre. This will bring everyone’s attention to you afresh. You’ll have a chance to attract the right kind of notice.’
She did need some guidance concerning how her actions were interpreted by others and he could assist with that.
Her lips thinned. She sniffed in and then expelled the air with more force. ‘They may be wondering at what moment I will begin to attack you. The suspense of it all.’
‘Let that work in your favour now.’
‘It sounds like acting a part. A grand performance. I might like it a lot. Though you are sure your brother will not mind my presence?’
‘He will be delighted.’ Not really, but it didn’t matter. He’d be too refined to show even the flick of an eyebrow to anyone but Andrew.
She smiled and he could see the remains of the boisterous child she must have been. And something he didn’t think would ever be tamed. And some sort of planning of her own.
‘Beatrice,’ he said, firmly, reprimand in his words. ‘Think demure.’
With a little smirk of agreement, she blinked away her thoughts. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’d like to be seen differently. With my brother being such a bear, and me being a beast, it would be wonderful to be invited—anywhere. My mother doesn’t know it, but she reminds me of a dragon.’
Now the portrait above the mantel in her brother’s house made sense.
Two public meetings with her should be enough. Perhaps three. He’d make sure some of the more retiring men noted her. Women were not the only wallflowers. Lord Simpson could hardly raise his eyes to anyone and he lived an exemplary life. Palmer was rough at every edge, yet he’d been faithfully married until his wife passed. Either of those men would be suitable for an adventurous woman such as Beatrice.
‘I understand. When Riverton and I courted, his past was seen as a youthful indiscretion. Older women smiled at us as if remembering how it felt. Young women looked enviously at me... Then, reality.’
Coldness replaced the warmth in her voice. ‘I was blissful—blissfully unaware of what a pit I was dancing into. Trust me. Marriage is a lovely thought, but a bad reality. If murder were not frowned upon so much, few marriages would last beyond two years.’
‘Your opinion is harsh.’
‘That opinion wasn’t pulled out of the air. It is based upon careful study, my marriage and eavesdropping.’
‘But my plans work on the premise that you are correct in how research is done by others. Now we must assume everyone is also taking careful study and eavesdropping. That will be to your advantage.’
‘It’s not been a boon in the past.’
‘It will now.’ He would guide her. She wasn’t the only one involved in this pretence, but his role in it would be short.
‘I would love to attend the duke’s soirée—if you are certain your brother will not toss me out—and I will act quite the perfect lady.’ She stretched her arm forward, fluttered a gloved hand at a passer-by and smiled warmly.
Without looking his way and in an undertone, she said, ‘I feel no one wishes to see me, but everyone wishes to watch me. But I will attend the soirée.’
He paused, reminded again of a baby bird fallen from its nest. He did not want Beatrice to feel alone in the world.
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