her and Joshua, then the town might actually change its opinion about her and Joshua, too.
She could only hope so, since she feared that despite her aunt’s efforts, she was well on her way to becoming a spinster. Especially if Joshua refused to allow her aunt to give her a come-out.
Oh, but she would give him what for if he balked. Just see if she didn’t.
Emboldened by that thought, she entered the empty yard that adjoined the kennels, a limestone structure at the other end. The yard, too, was surrounded by limestone—high walls meant to keep the hounds in when they were dashing about.
At once she spotted her brother leaning on his cane and speaking to the Master of the Hounds, Mr. MacTilly. She closed the gate behind her, so no dogs could escape.
When Mr. MacTilly saw her coming, he halted his conversation to tip his hat to her. “A good day to ye, miss. Come to take some of the wee beasties for a walk, are you?”
“That . . . and to speak to my brother.”
Joshua swiveled to face her, his weathered face wrought in a frown. “What about?”
“And a cheery good morning to you, too,” she said acidly. “You must have risen quite early. If you came home last night at all.” When Joshua’s frown deepened, she cast Mr. MacTilly a meaningful glance, who hastily said, “I’ll go gather the hounds most in need of exercise,” before hurrying off into the building itself.
“What do you want, Beatrice?” Joshua asked.
“Aside from desiring to know where you were last night that had you coming in so late I never saw you?”
His face closed up. “I had things to attend to in Leicester.”
Leicester was three hours away by post. He’d been making frequent trips there in the past few months, for no reason she could see. “Oh, and what might those things be?”
“None of your concern.”
“Joshua—”
“I don’t have time for one of your inquisitions!” When she stiffened, he rubbed his hand over his face. “Just tell me what you need, all right? So I can get on with my work.”
What she needed was to hear why he’d been disappearing to Leicester for several nights in the past year, but she’d asked before, and “none of your concern” or something of that ilk was all he ever said. She would worry he spent the time drinking in one of the taverns, except that he never smelled of spirits and there were taverns in Sanforth he could go to more easily. So what was he up to that required such secrecy?
It didn’t matter. That wasn’t why she was here, anyway. Let him keep his secrets, as long as they didn’t involve her. “I need to talk to you about something concerning our aunt and cousins.”
He muttered an oath. “I went to the funeral as you demanded, even though you know I’d rather bite off my tongue than go to such an affair. So, in my estimation, I’ve more than met my obligations to our relations.”
Egad, sometimes the man was so testy it made her insane. “Well, just barely, since you didn’t even come back to the house after the funeral to speak to my aunt or the other ladies.” When he bristled, she added hastily, “But don’t get your dander up. I’m not asking you to do anything more for them.” She thrust her hands behind her back to hide how her fingers were already forming fists. “I merely need to inform you of something they’re planning to do for me. Unless the gentlemen already mentioned it yesterday?”
His frown vanished. “No, no one mentioned anything. Thankfully, they spoke to me very little.”
“I can’t imagine why,” she said dryly. “You’re always so amiable in company.”
To her surprise, he laughed, which was rare enough that it heartened her. Perhaps this would go better than she’d feared.
“Anyway,” she went on, forcing some softness into her voice, “Aunt Lydia wishes to help me have a come-out. Along with Lady Gwyn.”
His amusement vanished as myriad other emotions washed his face, none of them readable, even to her. “A come-out,” he said dully. “In London society.”
“Of course, ‘in London society.’ Where else would it be? It’s hardly considered a come-out if I show up at an assembly in Sanforth, not that I ever could, since you won’t accompany me.”
“Your precious aunt Lydia could accompany you,” he said snidely. “Or even that Lady Gwyn woman, now that they both live at Armitage Hall.”
She stepped close to hiss, “Before long, they may be living in our house, and we may be living in the street. Once Sheridan takes a wife, he might wish to move Aunt Lydia into the dower house. And then where will we be?”
Looking away, he rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin.
“At least I am trying to endear myself to them,” she went on. “Not that it’s any great trial. They’re nice people. They treat me like family. And they don’t go hieing off to places at any hour of the night to do Lord knows what without a word to anyone. Nor do they expect their sisters to hang about for years, futilely hoping for some . . . some future beyond—”
“Enough, Beatrice.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “If you want a come-out, have one. I’ll see if I can’t . . . scrape together some funds.”
“You don’t need to. My aunt says she can afford to pay for mine since Thornstock is paying for his twin’s. Indeed, both Aunt Lydia and Lady Gwyn seem eager to help me gain a husband.”
“Which is all you want, isn’t it?” he said bitterly. “To get away from me.”
Of course he would see it like that. “I want to have a life, blast it! Yes, I want a husband and children to love and a home of my own that I can be sure won’t be pulled out from under me! Is that so unreasonable?”
He gaped at her, clearly thrown off by her fervent expression of her true desires, which she did try to hide around him, because she never knew what might set him off.
“It’s not unreasonable,” he finally said, tightening his hand on the head of his cane. “I just wish you would find a husband here, in town.”
“Yes, because there are so many young men around with a war on.”
The minute he went rigid she regretted mentioning the war. “Right,” he snapped. “All those men off serving their country while I hobble around here—” He caught himself. “Forgive me. I’m merely . . . annoyed that I can’t be the one to help you gain what you want. To ensure you have a proper debut.”
That stuck a pin in the balloon of her anger. “Oh, Joshua. I know where your heart is. I do.” She couldn’t resist lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. When he shied away from the affectionate gesture, she stifled a sigh and dropped her hand. “And it’s not as if you could do it on your own, anyway. I must have a woman present me. It’s really very kind of our aunt to offer.”
“Very kind, indeed,” he bit out. “That lot is nothing if not ‘kind.’”
The
