Reforming the Rake. Sarah Elliott

continue if it’s too painful.”

      He looked away. Now that he’d started, he couldn’t just stop. “It’s all right. Mark was killed instantly. My father was brought to Eton—the accident happened quite close to school—and he survived for another week.”

      Beatrice didn’t know what to say. She had no experience with loss on quite that scale, but she understood. Her mother had died giving birth to Helen, and Beatrice had never quite gotten over her death. She didn’t think she ever would.

      Beatrice felt Charles’s hand on her shoulder and looked up at him, realizing that she had become absorbed in her thoughts. He appeared concerned. “I’m sorry—I’ve made you sad. I really don’t know why I brought that up.”

      “I don’t mind…perhaps you just wanted to talk about it?”

      He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it, actually.”

      Beatrice looked uncomfortably at the gate to the street. “Well…I suppose I should go. Louisa will wonder where I’ve been.”

      Charles nodded. “Don’t want to make her angry.”

      They passed through the gate and crossed the street, the dogs behind them.

      “Perhaps I’ll see you later on this evening,” he said as they reached the other side.

      She turned around. They were in front of Louisa’s house and Beatrice didn’t want to linger. Hoping her voice didn’t reveal her nervousness, she asked, “This evening?”

      “I assume you’re going to the Dalrymples’ dinner party. Am I wrong?” Charles had been invited to the event weeks ago, but hadn’t actually planned on attending until now.

      “Oh. Yes. I mean, no, you’re not wrong.”

      “Well, then, I shall see you there.”

       Chapter Eight

       S everal hours later, Beatrice was almost ready to sigh in relief. Dinner had come and gone, and Charles had not appeared. She had been all but wringing her hands, during supper, expecting him to materialize at any moment. Louisa had shot her several dirty looks for her inattentiveness, but now, at this late hour…perhaps Beatrice could stop worrying. Charles had probably changed his mind about coming. She hoped so, or at least tried to convince herself that she did. She knew, however, that if she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she was bored without him and that her anxiety that he wouldn’t show surpassed her anxiety that he would.

      Luckily, she wasn’t in the mood to be honest.

      It was about ten o’clock, supper had just ended. The men remained in the dining room to drink their port and the ladies had retired to the sitting room where, for the most part, they were discussing the men.

      “—well, I would have said yes, Bea, but I simply cannot be a pauper. I mean, a title is fine, but a girl must draw the line somewhere, mustn’t she?”

      Beatrice nodded weakly in response to Georgina Emerson’s incessant chatter. Beatrice let her gaze wander around the room as her mind began to wander, as well. She wished the men would finish up. That was the only thing that would drag Georgina away from her…that or a second round of dessert.

      Lady Summerson caught her eye from across the way and waved. She began making a beeline toward her.

      “Hello, Beatrice! Georgina.” A smile for the former and a rather curt nod for the latter accompanied her greeting before she turned toward Beatrice. “I’m sorry to interrupt, dear, but I was hoping to see you this evening. I promised to introduce you to Lucy, remember? Would you please excuse us, Georgina?”

      Miss Emerson nodded meekly, cowed by the woman’s commanding presence. Lady Summerson quickly whisked Beatrice away to the other end of the room.

      “I hope you don’t think me presumptuous, but you seemed to be in need of rescuing.”

      Beatrice smiled. “Well, a bit.”

      “You’ll have to pardon me for having a less than favorable opinion of Miss Emerson. It’s just that she was courting my son last year—yes, she was courting him—and I found her rather grasping. Ah, here is Lucy. Lucy, I’d like you to meet Miss Beatrice Sinclair. She is currently staying with our neighbor, Lady Louisa Sinclair.”

      “How do you do, Miss Summerson?” Beatrice inquired, curtsying. Up close, Lucy looked even more alarmingly like her brother.

      “Call me Lucy, please, and I have been better. Do you know Lord Dudley?”

      “Has he declared his undying love for you yet?”

      Lucy rolled her eyes comically. “I’m wounded! You mean I’m not the only one?”

      Beatrice giggled, truly enjoying herself for the first time this evening.

      Lady Summerson smiled. “Ah…the life of the unmarried girl. It’s hard, isn’t it? I had several persistent suitors myself.”

      Lucy rolled her eyes once more.

      Her mother just patted her hand and continued. “Although my daughter finds that hard to believe. You know, Beatrice, I was hoping to introduce you to my wayward son, as well, although he hasn’t appeared yet.”

      “Perhaps he is not coming then?” Beatrice hoped that her voice didn’t betray her anxiety.

      Lady Summerson sighed. “Perhaps he’ll stop by later. He and Lord Dalrymple have been friends forever. They’re beyond politeness.”

      Beatrice nodded, trying to seem disinterested. She supposed she should inform Lady Summerson that she’d already met her son, but wasn’t sure, at this point, how to work that tidbit into the conversation. She was saved from her deliberations, however, by Lady Dalrymple, who announced that the men had finished their port and that there would be music in the drawing room.

      Lady Summerson scurried off to visit with another friend, and Lucy took her place, linking arms with Beatrice.

      “Shall we?”

      Beatrice nodded, asking as they made their way to the drawing room, “So have you been meeting with much success this season?”

      Lucy sighed forlornly. “Frankly, it’s not at all what one is led to believe as a girl. I cannot imagine how you did it so many times.”