Beatrice (6 page)

“God, I
see now why you rarely ventured in here when your uncle was alive.
With as many papers as this, it is inevitable that you will
dislodge something.” He took a moment to reposition a pile of books
that teetered warningly on the edge of the desk, and shook his head
in disbelief.

“I know
that at some point I need to go through it all. Unfortunately,
these piles don’t just contain the papers my uncle needed for his
botany work. The house paperwork is in here somewhere too.” She
glanced at him. “You know, bills, details of the people we have
accounts with, that kind of thing. I have no idea if there are any
outstanding bills I need to settle, or other papers that I need to
deal with. I must go through everything at some point but I just
haven’t known where to start.”

Ben
studied the vast array of books, pamphlets and paraphernalia that
lay practically everywhere and didn’t envy her the task that lay
ahead. He now knew just how much of an arduous task she had before
her just trying to find the books that were relevant to the
mysterious plant. The thought that the smooth running of the house
depended on contents that were hidden in this chaos made him
shudder.

Although
he tried hard not to take a deep breath, the desperate need to
breathe was just too much to ignore, and he sucked in a deep breath
which unfortunately included a lungful of the awful aroma of the
plant. His nose immediately began to twitch as the pungent smell
invaded his senses and he had to struggle not to nudge the wretched
thing a bit further under the desk.

“We can
leave it here for the time being,” he growled when he heard
Beatrice sniff. “Meantime, let’s choose a few of these books to
look through to see if we can find what this plant is?”

“Pardon?”

Ben
studied her. She looked vague, as though her mind was miles way.
However, he rather suspected that she wasn’t thinking about the
past, or her dearly departed uncle. She had started to wonder how
she was going to tackle the mess before them. He couldn’t help but
feel a little sorry for her, and instinctively placed a comforting
hand on her arm in an attempt to ease her worries.

“I am
sorry, Beatrice. I didn’t realise that this was the way your uncle
worked. I didn’t mean to upset you in any way.” He felt a cad now
for having scared her into thinking the house had been broken
into.

“You
haven’t upset me,” she assured him. “I just think that I need to
leave tidying this place up for a while, that’s all,” she sighed.
“Look on the bright side, if anyone does break in they are likely
to give this room a miss because it looks like it has already been
rifled through.”

“I quite
agree,” he conceded. “Fair enough. There is no rush to sorting it,
is there? I mean, if there are any outstanding bills, or paperwork
that requires your attention, people will contact you. You can
quite legitimately explain about your uncle’s death. I am sure they
will understand.”

She
nodded and was, for a moment, too choked to say anything else. It
wasn’t that she had been particularly close to her uncle, it was
just that he was her last surviving relative – well, who she knew
about at any rate. To think that she was now all alone in the world
was a little daunting.

“Now,
about those books?” Ben prompted when she didn’t seem inclined to
focus on the task at hand.

“What
about them?” She looked blankly around the room at the heavily
laden shelves.

“Which
ones do you want me to pick out to take into the sitting
room?”

She
opened her mouth to speak only for movement by the window to snare
her attention. Her eyes widened and a scream escaped her before she
had even finished lifting her hand to point at the dark silhouette
that had been briefly outlined by a jagged flash of
lightning.

“What
the hell?” Ben demanded.

“A
m-man,” she stammered. “There was a man staring into the house.
From over there,” she pointed again. “Did you see him? Ben, did you
see him?”

Ben
stared at the window but couldn’t see anything other than the
shadowy outline of the garden and his own reflection. It was too
dark outside to see much of anything except shadows. To protect
them from prying eyes, he drew the shutters closed and slid the
curtains across them, which did little to help light the room.
However, at least it drew her attention back to him.

Given
that everything was now pitch-black, it was a miracle that he made
it to the door without falling flat on his face but he eventually
managed to stand before her. When she turned her gaze up to his,
the terror that lingered in the depths of those beautiful blue orbs
haunted him.

“Let me
go and see if someone is out there,” he murmured. “Stay here and,
if you can, find a candle or two to light. Try to stay off that
foot as much as you can though.”

He
didn’t wait to see if she was going to follow instructions but, if
she didn’t, she would just remain in the dark.

He only
went outside to take a look around to appease her, and wasn’t
altogether surprised when he found nothing untoward. The outhouse,
conservatory and stable were locked up tight and undisturbed. There
was no sign of anyone in the gardens at either the front, or the
back of the house. He wondered if she was just a little spooked by
her ordeal this afternoon and had in fact seen nothing more than
her reflection, but had no intention of suggesting it to
her.

When a
cold gust of wind blew around him and made him shiver, he realised
that he was now, for the second time that afternoon, soaked to the
skin. With one last look around, he quickly made his way into the
house and locked the door behind him.

While he
had been gone Beatrice had indeed lit several candles, and bathed
the sitting room in a warm glow that welcomed him in. Although it
was still mid-afternoon and the middle of summer, the ferocity of
the storm had obliterated all trace of sunshine to the point that
it was nearly dark outside. He suddenly didn’t relish anyone being
caught in such weather, and considered that anyone who was stupid
enough to lurk outside deserved to get wet, or struck by lightning.
One thing was for certain; it wasn’t going to be him.

“Anything?” She asked hopefully as he hurried into the
sitting room and stood before the fire to get warm, and dry off
again.

He knew
from the hint of a quiver in her voice that her fear still
lingered. One look into her wide, frightened eyes was enough to
clinch it for him, and he held his arms out to her.

“Come
here,” he murmured as he walked toward her.

To his
relief, she didn’t hesitate to stand up, and he wasted no time in
drawing her into his arms. Thankfully she settled against him with
a deep sigh. He then did something he had really wanted to do from
the first moment he had seen her earlier that morning, and placed a
tender, non-threatening kiss on the top of her head.

“It’s
alright. Everything is fine. Whoever it was you saw, they are
outside and we are in here where it is warm and dry. I don’t know
about you, but I didn’t hear anyone knock on either the front or
the back door. Whoever it was cannot be all that bothered about
getting wet, or have too much of a need to see you.”

“Do you
think it was the person who delivered the plant?” She whispered but
didn’t even want to lift her head off his chest to look up at him.
Beneath the wonderfully warm material of his shirt, she could feel
the rhythmic thud of his heart and the sound had started to soothe
her fears.

“I don’t
know, darling. Whoever delivered it, when and why, certainly didn’t
seem all that bothered whether you received it or not, or else why
didn’t they speak to you directly, and hand it over to you
personally? Why just leave it on the doorstep? Right now,
everywhere is locked tight and the house is secure. As long as I
haven’t just locked Mrs Partridge out of the house -” He leaned
back to smile down at her. “I am sure that I would be in her bad
books if I did.”

Beatrice
shook her head and smiled at him as the last of her fears started
to fade. “She would be hammering on the door by now. Besides, she
has a key to the front door and can let herself in. It is only
bolted at night before everyone goes off to bed.”

“Maud
lives here now, I take it?”

“She has
her own quarters at the back of the house, yes.”

He was
relieved that Beatrice didn’t live in Brantley Manor all by
herself. At least Matthew had done something decent to look after
his young charge, even if he hadn’t included her in his life much
from the sound of it.

“Right,
now, about those books.” He hated to release her, but his body had
already started to respond to her nearness. If he didn’t put some
distance between them, she would soon be left in no doubt as to
just how attracted to her he really was. “I will go and pick a
random selection of books and we can start with those while we have
a fresh pot of tea.” He leaned back to look at her and lifted his
brows. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay until the storm
passes?”

“I hope
you do stay until the storm passes,” she replied with a smile. “It
is silly for you to head out there if you don’t need to. You are
more than welcome here.”

“Thank
you. Now, you wait here. I will put some more water on to boil;
then pick out some books at random. If we start with the ones on
Matthew’s desk, they may have something in them that relates to his
recent projects and the plant may be in one of them.”

He
didn’t wait for her to reply and only stopped long enough to pick
up one of the candles before he hurried out of the room.

When he
had gone, Beatrice sat on the sofa and realised that the curtains
to the window behind her were open. However, she daren’t turn
around and look to see if anyone was there.

She was
positive that it was a man she had seen through the window in the
study. While everything within her screamed at her to forget it and
think about something more mundane, she forced herself to recall as
much detail as possible about what she had seen. What she could
remember quite clearly was that the figure had been about average
height, and of a relatively slim build. It couldn’t possibly have
been Maud because she would have let herself in through the front
door if the back was locked. Nor was it likely to be any of their
neighbours given that Mr Portland was a farmer and rather rotund,
and Mrs Dexter rarely left the house. There was really nobody of
her acquaintance who would be likely to linger around the gardens
of her house, especially in the middle of a
thunderstorm.

The
thought that a stranger had been watching her from the safety of
the shadows left her feeling slightly sick, and she suddenly had
the desperate urge to be somewhere else. In an attempt to keep the
fear at bay, she quickly gathered the tea things but, when she
sneezed and dropped one of the cups, she realised that she had yet
to change out of her wet clothes. She quickly restacked the tray
and stood back to assess the distance between the sitting room and
the stairs. Could she make it by herself?

“Alright?” Ben asked as he entered the sitting room with an
arm full of books.

Beatrice
sneezed again. “I am sorry. Please, forgive me? I need to get into
something dry.” She tugged at the cold, clammy material of her
dress and felt goose bumps break out on her arms.

“Let’s
get you upstairs so you can change out of those wet clothes,” Ben
suggested wryly. He deposited the rather large stack of books
beside the couch and turned toward her. “Then we can start to take
a look at these.”

Beatrice
half expected him to hold out a gentlemanly elbow to assist her.
However, she forgot that this was Ben, the man who seemed inclined
to want to carry her everywhere. The effortless way he hefted her
into his arms and swept her up the flight of stairs left her
amazed, and rather delighted that he could manage to climb stairs
with her weight in his arms.

“Which
way?” He asked and tried desperately to ignore the fact that she
was staring at him again.

“Second
door on the left,” she replied with a shiver.

She
could only hope that there was no hint of the emotions that had
begun to unfurl deep within her written on her face. It felt rather
intimate to have this man; this wonderfully handsome, charming man,
carry her to her room, and she tried not to wonder what it would be
like if this was for real.

“I will
wait out here until you are ready to go back downstairs,” he
whispered huskily once he had deposited her in the
doorway.

“Thank
you,” she replied, and watched him close the door with a soft
click.

She
stared at the wood panelling for several moments before the need to
see him again propelled her into motion. She hurriedly changed out
of her clothes and put on a blessedly dry dress, and accompanied it
with not one, but two of her thickest shawls. Now that she was
fairly dry and warm, she realised how cold she had been, and just
how foolish she was for not getting out of her wet clothes as soon
as she had arrived home.

While
she re-pinned her hair, she heard him putting more water on to boil
downstairs but, by the time she opened her bedroom door, he was
back in the hallway with his shoulders propped against the wall
directly opposite.