The Rake's Ruined Lady (11 page)

‘Yes...I was...’ Bea avoided looking his way, although she felt the side of her face burning and wondered if he’d guessed that she’d just heard an intriguing hint about his sordid way of life.

‘He is your brother-in-law’s good friend, is he not?’ Mary Woodley picked up on her ladyship’s unspoken thought that Miss Dewey might have caught Hugh Kendrick’s interest.

‘I believe they’ve known each other since their schooldays,’ Bea answered with a neutral smile.

‘Do
you
have a beau, my dear?’ Lady Groves had already taken a surreptitious look at the young woman’s pretty white fingers and noted they lacked any rings. ‘A sweet gel like you must have admirers buzzing around like bees about a honeypot.’

Mary discreetly nudged her companion in the ribs, having just brought to mind a stunning titbit. Dolly Pearson had told her recently that a swine of a country doctor had jilted her niece. No names had been mentioned, and Mary had taken little interest in the tale as she’d doubted she’d know such provincial folk. But it seemed she did! Obviously the niece in question could not be the viscount’s wife, and that only left...

‘I am not being courted,’ Bea answered as cheerfully as she could. ‘Well, I did promise Elise I would visit the nursery and see baby Adam before he goes to bed.’ She rose gracefully. ‘Apparently we are all to be given dinner soon.’

‘Such charming hosts,’ Lady Groves murmured. ‘I hope Mr Kendrick changes his mind and stays. I should like to have a chat with him.’

‘I’m afraid
I’m
hoping he will disappoint you,’ Beatrice murmured beneath her breath, walking away. She had seen the sudden intelligence on Mary Woodley’s face and knew that Dolly hadn’t after all kept the news of her jilting to herself. Philosophically, Bea realised people would soon know—and besides, what occupied her now was imagining how debauched Hugh might have become in the years since she’d last known him.

The two ladies exchanged a look as soon as they judged Miss Dewey was at a safe distance.

Lady Groves shook her head. ‘I doubt it, Mary. She might be his friend’s sister-in-law, and a beauty too, I must add, but rather mature to seriously catch the eye of such an eligible gentleman. She is the senior of the two gels and it must be galling for her to have nothing when her sister has done so well. Miss Dewey could pass for twenty with that perfect complexion...but she must learn to control that forward nature.’

Mary nodded vigorously. ‘She is twenty-five; Dolly told me her niece’s age and said she’d be lucky to come so close again to her wedding day. I expect the doctor has found someone younger and more demure and that’s why he jilted her!’

‘Jilted?’ Lady Groves sounded horrified. ‘Poor child! That
is
a setback. Gentlemen like to think they’ve won a prize with a wife, not a cast-off—’

‘Hugh Kendrick has just watched Miss Dewey leaving the room, Gloria,’ Mrs Woodley interrupted excitedly. ‘I think he likes her...’

Chapter Nine

A
ghostly shroud appeared to be hovering over the sodden ground as Bea stepped out of a side door onto shingle. Following yesterday’s downpour a thick early-morning mist had formed and cool droplets tickled her complexion as she crunched over gravel towards the stable block. While surveying the pearly landscape she drew in a deep breath, savouring its earthy effervescence. It was barely seven o’clock and, apart from the servants, nobody else was yet up at Blackthorne Hall.

Bea was kitted out in sturdy boots and one of her sister’s riding habits, with a hat sitting jauntily on her fair tresses. As she jumped a puddle, one hand on the brim to prevent her hat flying off, she felt inexplicably joyful, considering the ordeals of the last few weeks. Others might pity her, and think there was little in her life to celebrate, yet Beatrice was determined that failed love affairs would never crush her while she had Elise and her papa close by. And her little family was expanding all the time: yesterday, after dinner, when the gentlemen had taken port and cigars, and Lady Groves and Mary Woodley had settled down in the drawing room to play cards, Elise had quietly confided to Bea that she suspected Adam might soon have a little brother or sister.

While pondering on the lovely idea of a little niece to cherish alongside Adam, Bea realised being a spinster aunt held a certain warm appeal. Vigorously she brushed a splash of mud from the fine cloth of her sister’s bottle-green skirt. The viscountess had a collection of the most exquisite silks and satins stitched by feted
modistes
and would press on Bea any garment she might praise—not simply to borrow, but to keep. Bea understood the sweetness behind Elise’s generosity but rarely accepted such lavish gifts, quipping that there was little need for pearl-encrusted ball gowns in her neck of the woods.

Having traversed a courtyard, Bea glimpsed the stables situated beyond a walled physic garden. As she approached the neat shrubs and plants some of her child-like delight at being up early on this fresh new morning dwindled. The sight of the herbs had reminded her of Colin. His work as a doctor had necessitated him knowing about natural remedies for ailments and Bea had taken an interest in the healing powers of plants too.

Her fingers brushed against rosemary spikes, filling her nostrils with a pungent perfume. Suddenly she crouched down, unable to pass by without touching the velvety leaves of lady’s mantle, cradling their watery jewels. The image of tiny diamonds jolted her upright, thinking of another gentleman who had the power to disturb her peace of mind.

She marched briskly on, trying to shake off the unwanted memory of Hugh’s degeneracy. Mulling the secret scandal over in private, she’d guessed, from Lady Groves’s hint, that it had occurred abroad, and that Hugh’s investment in India held the clue to the outrage he’d committed. When she’d joined Elise in the nursery yesterday she’d asked her sister—quite casually—if she could shed any light on the matter alluded to by Lady Groves. The viscountess had given a little shrug, reminding Bea that Hugh was a notorious rake and saying that she doubted he’d remain celibate just because he was on foreign soil.

Bea had already arrived at the same conclusion: the idea of Mr Kendrick having foreign affairs, as well as a few closer to home, had probably sent the elderly ladies into a tizz...but it certainly didn’t surprise
her
.

Of course Bea knew the only way to find out for sure what it was all about was to ask him...and she’d no intention of doing that! Why would she bother when she didn’t care a jot what he got up to...?

‘You’re up early, Beatrice.’

‘So...so are you, sir.’ Bea had swivelled about and automatically stuttered a reply, despite her amazement at seeing the very person who’d been intruding on her thoughts.

Hugh was emerging from the first stall she’d passed, leading a large chestnut horse. ‘Are you riding alone?’

‘I am... Elise told me last night she would not stir herself before ten o’clock. She and Alex often like to lie in...’ Bea cleared her throat, wishing she’d kept her answer brief.

‘I’m sure they do...’ Hugh muttered, glancing at the house.

‘I thought you would by now be in London,’ Bea blurted, unable to curb her curiosity at his reappearance.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ Hugh drawled. ‘But it was foolish of me to suppose I’d get even as far as Enfield last night. Half the road had been washed away by the flooding so I turned back after a couple of miles.’

Bea found the idea of him, unbeknown to her, sleeping beneath the same roof rather disquieting. And if he had returned to the house he hadn’t joined them at dinner yesterday. ‘You stayed at the Hall last night after all?’

‘I was tempted to,’ he said huskily. ‘Too tempted...’ he muttered at the leather he was tightening on the chestnut’s flanks. ‘I put up at the Red Lion instead.’

His tawny eyes ran over her smart figure and returned quizzically to her lovely face. He was too polite to voice the obvious: that she was dressed in her sister’s expensive finery. Bea’s gloved fingers adjusted the tailored jacket; she wasn’t too proud to hide the fact that she wore borrowed clothes. Besides, he already knew her father’s income wouldn’t stretch to such luxuries.

‘Elise kindly loaned me one of her habits,’ she said carelessly.

‘And very becoming it is too.’ Hugh fondled the chestnut’s ears soothingly as the stallion continued nudging him to gain attention. ‘Will you accompany Elise to London when she returns there?’

‘No, we are going back to Hertfordshire this afternoon.’

‘The roads will still be hazardous to travel on.’

‘My brother-in-law has given us a good sturdy coach and the driver is skilled. The journey to Berkshire was very comfy despite the potholes.’

Bea was aware that they were politely skirting about the obvious. Much as she wanted to forget him holding her close yesterday, the incident constantly played over in her mind. And she believed he was also brooding on it. A solid heat seemed to be building between them, despite the yard or two of cool atmosphere separating their bodies.

‘Molly, is it, for you, ma’am?’

A young stable lad had poked his head above the door, startling Bea with his question about her choice of ride.

‘Yes...thank you...’ Bea managed a smile for the youth. ‘She suits me very well,’ Bea explained as the ensuing quiet stretched. ‘I always take her out when I visit. I hope she remembers me...’

‘You’re not easy to forget,’ Hugh muttered. ‘You were right in thinking your father wished to thank me yesterday for reminding Burnett of his manners.’

‘Are you hinting I should follow his suit?’ Bea crisply enquired. ‘Because if you are I must disappoint.’ She avoided a pair of preying eyes, glad of the distraction of clopping hooves ringing on cobbles as the ostler led a small dappled horse towards her.

Once the lad had assisted her in mounting the mare Bea felt energised and calmer. She smoothed Molly’s nose, murmuring affectionately as she heard her snicker softly. The opportunity to ride was a great treat for Beatrice; Walter Dewey hadn’t owned any quality horseflesh for many years. In her early teens Bea had shared the use of a pony with Elise and they had both delighted in galloping about under their father’s strict supervision. Then the sisters’ world had crumbled when their mother had abandoned them and their father had bankrupted himself trying to win her back.

Bea had retained a modest skill, despite the intermittence of being in the saddle, and she wanted to savour her morning constitutional. She dipped her head at Hugh in farewell, trotting on towards the beckoning open space off to the south.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Hugh had swung easily onto the stallion’s back, bringing his prancing under control within a matter of seconds.

‘Not at all...’ Beatrice called over a shoulder. ‘Don’t feel obliged to try to keep up, though...’

With that bold challenge she prodded her mount into action and Molly sprang forward immediately, covering ground.

As soon as Bea had leapt the small brook that edged the meadow she gave Molly her head. The mare might be small and pretty but she was a wiry little animal, and Bea’s exhilaration soared as stinging air battered her soft cheeks. She laughed softly, racing on, but it was just seconds later that she registered the thud of hooves closing on her. She knew when he reined in to allow her to retain the lead as the drumming rhythm subtly changed tempo. Bea allowed Molly to slow down too, reluctant to appear determined to outpace him in some silly contest. She’d known from the start that docile little Molly was no match for the sleek thoroughbred on her tail.

Having reached the valley where the brook fed a fast-flowing stream, Beatrice slackened the reins so the mare could take a drink and crop grass.

Hugh came to a halt some yards away, then dismounted. He strolled over, wordlessly extending his arms, inviting her to get down.

Bea hesitated, then went to him because she could see he imagined her wary of his touch. And she wasn’t afraid of him. Neither had she any need to be. In an instant he’d lifted her easily, swung her about with giddying speed, then put her down on the turf and walked off.

Feeling flustered by his efficient handling, she wandered towards the water’s edge, glad to stretch her legs, while he tethered the stallion to a branch.

‘He’s a fine beast.’ Beatrice was keen to make conversation. The tense silences between them seemed more awkward than an exchange of barbed remarks. ‘He must be new; I don’t recall seeing Alex ride him.’

‘He’s mine.’

‘You brought your own horse with you?’ Bea turned about.

‘I rode him here; I left London quite late and I didn’t want to miss Susannah’s funeral.’ He came slowly closer. ‘Travelling across country is quicker than using a carriage on the roads.’

He assessed Bea’s thoughtful expression.

‘You’re wondering why I didn’t make it home yesterday, in that case.’

Bea nodded, aware of his eyes roving her flushed complexion, making her wonder if mud had flown up from Molly’s hooves to dirty her face as well as her hands.

‘I found I didn’t want to go home, Beatrice. I wanted to stay here for a while longer...’

Beatrice turned away, then bent down to dip her fingers into the cold water, sluicing off the soil stains. If he thought she’d ask him if he’d returned to see her, he was mistaken. She’d no intention of giving him an opportunity to scoff on that score.

‘Elise is worried Alex will pine for his mama as he has no brothers or sisters.’ She sent that over a shoulder before standing and drying her hands on her skirt.

‘Siblings can be more of a burden than a support.’ Hugh joined her on the bank of the stream.

Bea glanced at his harsh, chiselled features. She was sorry that he felt that way, considering how close she was to her beloved Elise. Hugh had a sister and a brother, and she wondered to which he’d referred when making that damning comment about his kin.

Curiosity loosened her tongue. ‘Are you not a close family?’

‘I visit my mother regularly, but my sister only rarely now she’s settled in the shires with her husband. We have no quarrel with one another.’ A chuckle grazed his throat. ‘Which is remarkable, considering how Sarah has tested my patience and my pocket in the past.’