my last prayers.”
“Now that you are not!” Nan said. “You have many qualities, Beatrice. A discerning man would know that the minute he laid eyes on you…”
“…and fall instantly in love with me?” Beatrice said, amused by her aunt’s romantic notions. “Only find me this suitor, Nan dearest—and, if he is not too dim-witted, which I think he may have to be, I will engage to do my best to snare him.”
“You and your wicked, wicked tongue,” her aunt said, smiling even as she shook her head. “And as for not being able to leave your papa—you know that is not so. You were obliged to give up all thoughts of marriage when your mama fell ill. To have left your father then would have been careless in you—but my brother has been kind enough to offer me a home for the rest of my life…”
“Unless you receive an offer of marriage, Nan!”
Her aunt pulled a wry face. “I could not be tempted. I am comfortable here, and here I shall stay. Since it does not take two of us to run this house, you are free to do as you wish…”
“Yes, I see that it makes a difference…” Beatrice looked serious. “It might be better if I started to look for a position…Papa’s funds are limited, and since…”
“He would never hear of it, and nor should I,” declared Nan roundly. “If anyone should look elsewhere, it must be me.”
“No!” Beatrice spoke quickly. She had been afraid her aunt would take that attitude, which was why she had not spoken her thoughts aloud before this. “You do not understand, Nan. I am not speaking of hiring myself out as a governess or a companion…I would only leave here if I could go back to Mrs Guarding’s school as a teacher.”
Her aunt stared at her, eyes narrowing. “Is that why you have been so long this afternoon?”
“No, indeed, for I have not yet spoken to Mrs Guarding about my idea. I went to see Ghislaine de Champlain, who, as I told you, is the French mistress there. We spent some time talking, and then had tea together in her room, which overlooks the river. It really was most pleasant.”
“You speak of Mademoiselle Champlain often—and of the time you spent at the school,” Nan said. “Would it really make you happy to return there, dearest?”
“Yes, I think so,” Beatrice replied, smothering a sigh. It wasn’t that she was unhappy with her life in her father’s house, but she sometimes longed for some stimulating company—a friend she could sharpen her wits on now and then without feeling that she was either hurting or bewildering that friend.
She briefly remembered her long-dashed hopes, which had been destroyed when she was a girl of nineteen—just the same age as her sister was now!—but their situations had been very different. Olivia was in London enjoying a brilliant season, and engaged to one of the best “catches’ of the Season. For Beatrice there had been no Season, and only one suitor she might have taken—if he had asked. However, after toying with her hopes and affections for a whole month one summer, he had taken himself back off to London and proposed to an heiress!
“Pray do not look so sad, my love,” Nan said. “Come, sit by the fire and let me dry your poor feet. You look as if you have had a tumble in the mud!”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” Beatrice said, forgetting her disappointments as she recalled what had happened to her that evening. “I walked home through the Abbey grounds, Nan.”
“You never did!” Nan looked horrified. “Never say that monster attacked you?”
“In a way,” Beatrice replied, then shook her head as Nan looked fit to faint. “Oh, nothing like that. I heard something…a scream, I think…then this horse and rider came up out of the darkness and I was forced to throw myself out of his path. Had I not done so, I must have been crushed beneath the hooves of the horse. I am sure it was the Marquis himself, and in a fearful mood.”
Nan crossed herself instinctively. Neither she nor any member of her family were Catholics, but in a matter such as this, the action could be very comforting.
Beatrice laughed as she saw her aunt’s reaction. “I must admit to doing much the same as you when I heard the scream,” she admitted. “It was the most horrifying sound imaginable…” She broke off as their one little maid came into the room, carrying a silver salver. “Yes, Lily—what is it?”
“Bellows fetched this letter for you from the receiving office this afternoon, Miss Roade. It’s from London.”
“Then it must be from Olivia,” Beatrice said, feeling a flicker of excitement. “Perhaps it is an invitation to the wedding at last.”
The longcase clock in the hall was striking the hour of five as Beatrice took the sealed packet from her servant.
Beatrice had been anxiously awaiting the invitation since learning from her sister that she was about to become engaged to Lord Ravensden, the wealthy Lord Burton’s heir. Not that Lord Burton’s wealth was of any interest to his heir, who, according to rumour, already had far more money than any one person could possibly need.
Olivia had been adopted by their rich relatives when she was a child. She had been loved and petted by them ever since, living a very different life from her elder sister, who had been overlooked by Lord and Lady Burton when they agreed to take one of the children as their own.
The sisters’ parting had devastated Beatrice, who, being the elder, had understood what was happening, and why. She had kept in touch by letter since the day Olivia was taken away, but they had met only twice since then, when her mother’s sister-in-law had brought Olivia on brief visits. Having seen the engagement announced in The Times, which her papa continued to subscribe to despite his meagre funds, Beatrice had expected to hear from her sister almost daily, and was beginning to think she was to be left out of the celebrations.
She ripped the small packet open eagerly, then read its contents three times before she could believe what she was seeing. It was not possible! Olivia must be funning her…surely she must? If this was not a jest…it did not bear thinking of!
“Is something the matter?” asked Nan. “You look upset, Beatrice. Has something happened to your sister?”
“It is most distressing,” Beatrice said, sounding as shocked as she felt. “I cannot believe this, Nan. Olivia writes to tell me that she will not now be marrying Lord Ravensden. She has decided she cannot like him sufficiently…and has told him of her decision.”
“You mean she has jilted him?” Nan stared at her in dismay. “How could she? She will be ruined. Has she no idea of the consequences of her actions?”
“I think she must have.” Beatrice gave a little cry of distress as she read over the page something she had missed earlier. “Oh, no! This is the most terrible news. Lord and Lady Burton have…disowned her. They say she has disgraced them, and they will no longer harbour a viper in their home…”
“That is a little harsh, is it not?” Nan wrinkled her brow. “What she has done is wrong, no one could deny that—but I should imagine Olivia must have her reasons. She would not do such a thing out of caprice—would she?”
“No, of course not,” Beatrice defended her sister loyally. “We do not know each other well—but I am sure she is not so cruel.”
“What
