Ann Lethbridge - Regency Society

Radcliff was dressed very fashionably as he made his way towards her, his height giving him an appearance of almost gaunt thinness. He sported a small moustache, meant, she thought, to cover the thinness of his lips. He spoke with an accent that Beatrice could not quite determine.

‘Thank you for allowing me this meeting, Mrs Bassingstoke. I realise that it is most impolite of me to simply come to you like this, but I have only the smallest amount of time in London.’

‘Indeed?’ She could not understand why he was here and her perplexity suddenly seemed to communicate itself to him.

‘Oh, I am very sorry. I shall come to the point immediately. I worked for Mr Nelson in Ipswich during the difficult years of your husband’s illness, and was never quite certain as to the legality of that firm’s stance on the lack of finances that you seemed beleaguered with.’

Bea’s interest sharpened. Most of the Bassingstoke money had been returned to her before she had made the journey south, but according to the few records she did have there had been a shortfall. Her own desire to keep well away from the legal fraternity had put paid to the idea of having someone look into the discrepancies, yet today here in her very own home was a man who might explain them.

‘You say you worked for Mr Nelson?’

‘I gave in my resignation as soon as I realised the calibre of his practice, for as the son of a gentleman I could no longer condone what I saw there. I was a junior clerk, ma’am, and was seldom allowed to do anything of real value because of my inexperience, you understand.’

The whites of his knuckles showed through the taut skin as he wrenched his hands together, and Bea’s eyes flicked to the closed door. It was not done, of course, for a woman to be alone with a man and a strange man at that, but the very nature of his confession was beguiling.

‘I felt sure that some of the margins were not quite right, Mrs Bassingstoke, for I had seen a few things when I was not supposed to.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘If I were to have a guess, I would say that some of your revenue was missing and were I to hazard another guess I would say the monies were almost certainly embezzled by Mr Nelson.’

‘And you have proof?’

He blushed again and shook his head. ‘That is part of the reason I have come today, Mrs Bassingstoke. A friend of mine was at a discussion on the ills of piracy that you held a few weeks back and when he told me of your being here in London I decided that perhaps fate had sent me a message. I hoped that the missing numbers might lurk in the ledgers sent to you.’

‘Ledgers, Mr Radcliff?’ She could not remember seeing any such books.

‘Books released to you on the death of your husband? Bound in brown leather, I think, and stamped with the Nelson name.’

Beatrice frowned. ‘I do not recall any such thing.’

‘Perhaps they slipped into your possession unnoticed.’ His eyes glanced around the overfull shelves of her library. ‘I would be more than happy to place myself into your service regarding this matter, ma’am, for I have always been highly thought of by the many clients I have had the pleasure to serve.’

The sound of the bell at the front door pulled Bea’s attention away and she waited as another card was presented to her.

Taris Wellingham was here with his sister-in-law. Wiping down the crinkles in her skirt, she would have liked to have gone to the mirror, but Mr Radcliff’s presence did not allow her this one small vanity.

This afternoon Taris was dressed all in black and he looked enormous and masculine compared to Mr Radcliff. The names of the newcomers had wrought a considerable change in the demeanour of the clerk—now he looked as though he just wanted to be gone.

‘My lord.’ Bea tipped her head in Taris’s direction and then turned to Emerald. ‘Lady Wellingham. Might I present Mr Radcliff to you.’

Taris’s scowl was noticeable and she hurried on. ‘He is one of the men who handled my late husband’s properties.’

Emerald smiled slightly, though Taris merely fixed the man with his dangerous amber stare.

‘Well, I really ought to be going,’ Radcliff began as Emerald made her way over to the sofa in the corner by the fire and readied herself to sit. Taris had his hand on the back of her wingchair, his fingers splayed against the plane of the header. A touchstone. Her eyes flicked to Emerald Wellingham and the glance she gave indicated that she had noticed too.

‘My maid will see you out, Mr Radcliff.’

James Radcliff followed Sarah from the room.

‘For a minion of the law he seems remarkably awkward.’ Taris spoke as soon as the door shut.

‘He is rather a junior, I think,’ Bea replied.

‘Then what is he doing here? Surely a more senior partner should be sent to do business with you?’

Beatrice didn’t quite know how to answer and so chanced the first thing that came to mind. ‘He said that he would be pleased to help me get my affairs into order should I wish him to do so.’

When his glance met hers she blushed brightly and hated herself for doing it. Taris might not see such a reaction, but Emerald Wellingham definitely would.

His fingers against her skin and lips brushing the sensitive lobes of her ears. Whispering.

Emerald coughed once as she readied herself for speech. ‘ We are here because, although Lucinda is a lovely young woman, she is also one who is rather loose of tongue. It seems she has been remiss in the keeping of your secret.’

Taris stayed silent.

Was she speaking of the secret of her barren years and her lack of children? Suddenly the import of just what they were saying began to sink in.

‘I did not request her to keep quiet about this,’ Bea enunciated into the growing silence, for although Taris’s sister had seemed rather scatty she had also come across as a girl who did not mean harm.

‘A most unwise omission, then.’ Taris’s voice ran alongside that of Emerald, who was far more diplomatic.

‘You are more than kind in your lack of blame, Beatrice.’

‘Even though it seems as if your name now is being bandied about the salons with something akin to pity?’ Taris again and given in all the tones of a man to whom pity might be the ultimate insult.

‘I see.’ Bea could not quite, but the seriousness on both of their faces demanded at least a modicum of anxiety.

‘As a result of this indiscretion, Taris thinks it would be prudent to shepherd you into the Cannon affair this evening. A buffer, if you like. Lucinda has been firmly told to stay at home.’

‘By accompanying us the weight of the Wellingham name should squash such gossip back into the realm of rumour.’ Taris’s voice was deep.

‘Even though it is true?’ Bea was beginning to enjoy herself, for she wanted an absence of duplicity in this new life.

‘Truth is one of those words that can be shaped to hold any viewpoint.’

‘Just as privilege can,’ she returned and Taris’s laughter was loud.

‘ You do not bandy your opinions, Mrs Bassingstoke.’

‘Just as you do not soften yours, my lord.’

Challenge was reflected in his amber-golden eyes. And humour. It sat on his face easily, making him look even more beautiful than he usually did.

A feeling deep inside Bea’s stomach blossomed and burst into a singular ache of need. To feel him again inside her, the heat of them both melded around loving and the world dissolved into instinct. Pure. Simple. Honest.

If Emerald had not been there, Beatrice might have chanced it, might have walked into his arms and held him tightly against all the reasons why she shouldn’t. But the second broke when the clock chimed the quarter hour and his attention was drawn away by it.