Mary Brendan - The Regency Season - Ruined Reputations

‘How old are your sister’s children?’ Beatrice doggedly continued, keeping an eye on the clock. Betty had said she would bring the tea in ten minutes; Bea was sure that five must already have passed. Yet the hands seemed to have crawled only fractionally about the face of the timepiece ticking on the wall.

‘Luke is seven and Lucinda five.’

‘Such nice names,’ Beatrice remarked, on realising he wasn’t about to add anything to the drawled information. Abruptly she got to her feet. ‘I should open the door wider for Mrs Francis or she will struggle entering with the tray. Indeed...I should carry it for her...’

Bea had a plausible excuse to escape the strained atmosphere, but Betty’s warning about acting cowardly rang in her ears, holding her on the spot. Today there’d been nothing in Hugh Kendrick’s behaviour to which she might take serious offence. So far he’d been unfailingly civil... And yet she knew Betty had spoken the truth: she was fearful of him, and not simply because he might at any moment launch an unwanted question at her.

The fever on her flesh where his hands had been, the butterflies circling in her stomach, all were indications that she was not immune to this man, and she dearly wanted to be. It might be three years since they’d kissed and caressed one another but the memory of it was strengthening with every minute that passed. There was an unbearable tension between them and she knew he too was dwelling on that shared intimacy.

Never had Colin Burnett kissed her so hard and long that a vivid colour had stained her lips for hours. Never had he, during their long engagement, pulled open her bodice and drawn whimpers of delight from her when his mouth teased her breasts.

In a brief courtship Hugh Kendrick had done those things and more before it had all turned to ashes.

But he was different now, and she must be too. Behind the screen of his long lashes amusement was competing with lust in his hazel eyes. He might still desire her but he no doubt found his younger self—and hers—risible in hindsight. He now possessed riches...and power and influence. She could tell that from his every mannerism and utterance. He was no longer a man used to being denied what he wanted, whereas once everything...even she as his wife...had been out of his reach. Now, of course, he could pick and choose from society debutantes for a bride.

Well, she wouldn’t want him as a husband now! Beatrice inwardly exhorted herself. Her papa was right: even had he raced here on hearing she was free, to beg her to accept his proposal, she’d not have him! He’d had his chance and could go away, back to his fine life, and leave her in peace. She had earlier said to her father and sister that she’d done with men and marriage and she’d meant it. The idea of living out her days as a spinster, doting on her nephew rather than her own offspring, was not a vastly depressing future.

She moistened her lips, feeling calmer and ready to force out a little more conversation. ‘I shall no doubt hear Betty approaching.’ Beatrice returned to her chair and sat down. ‘There is no need to leave you alone again.’

‘Thank you...’

Beatrice shot him a look, noting his ironic tone, but if he wanted to interrogate her, let him. She now felt prepared for any challenge he might throw down.

‘The weather is cool for the time of the year.’ Bea again broke the silence, irked that she was the one making all the effort to be sociable. ‘Have you a little conversation about your journey?’ she suggested with faux sweetness. ‘For instance...did you drive here or come on horseback?’ She again glanced at the snugly fitting dusty jacket encasing his broad shoulders. She imagined his valet would be horrified to see the state of it.

‘Horseback; it seemed the quickest way to travel with urgent news.’

‘And did it rain during the journey?’ Beatrice asked, causing him to smile.

‘Just a few spots...’

‘Oh...well, I’m glad you kept dry at least.’

‘I appreciate your concern.’

Again Beatrice flicked an acid look at him from beneath her lashes, then glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed. She hoped Betty was not deliberately hanging things out because she had taken to Hugh Kendrick and wanted him to stay a while...

‘Do I make you nervous, Beatrice?’

Bea snapped her sapphire eyes to his watching gaze. ‘Of course not! What makes you think that, sir?’

‘I fear you are about to wrench apart that handkerchief.’ He jerked a nod at the scrap of linen, taut between her rigid fingers.

She’d unconsciously been twisting it for minutes. Quickly she tossed aside the thing that had betrayed her.

‘I should leave and let you get back to your guests.’ Hugh stood up.

‘No!’ Beatrice jumped to her feet, instinctively stepping towards him. ‘Please—’ She broke off, unsure of what she had been about to say but realising that she honestly did not want him to go yet. ‘I could not in all conscience allow you to journey home without something to drink. Would you prefer a glass of port? You have come a very long way with unpleasant tidings.’

‘I believe you were already dealing with an unpleasant matter and I’ve made things worse.’ He drove his hands into his pockets, tilting his head to watch her averted expression. ‘Were you, Beatrice, dealing with a family crisis when I turned up?’

‘No...’ She swung a beautifully poised mien towards him. ‘I am no longer marrying Dr Burnett, so there has been something for us, as a family, to discuss, but it’s done now.’ She fluttered a gesture. ‘No crisis at all...far too strong a word for the situation...’

Hugh stared out of the large casement at the garden. ‘The man’s a damnable fool.’

Beatrice moistened her lips, mortified that from her casual explanation he’d easily deduced that she’d been jilted rather than the other way around.

He pivoted on a heel, gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘You seem unlucky enough to attract such types and I’m sure you don’t deserve to, my dear.’

‘You know nothing about me now. Please do not feel obliged to embroider your condolences.’

Beatrice realised it was high time to show him out before the annoying lump in her throat choked her. Why was she feeling close to tears because he’d said something nice about her and offered his sympathy?

Without asking if he would oblige, the housekeeper came in, holding out the tray for Hugh to carry to the table. She also gave him a smile and, Beatrice was sure, a wink. A moment later Betty had withdrawn, leaving a silence that was shattered within seconds by the clock chiming.

Beatrice busied herself pouring tea. ‘Please be seated again, if you wish.’ Suddenly voices in the hallway drew her attention. ‘The vicar’s wife and daughter are leaving...’

‘I’m sorry I kept you from them,’ Hugh murmured, choosing to prop himself against the mantelpiece rather than take a chair.

For the first time since he’d arrived they exchanged a proper smile.

‘Please don’t apologise, sir, for their company was no loss on my part, I assure you.’ Bea put a cup of tea near the five bronzed fingers splayed on the mantelshelf.

‘I’m certain your father and sister did sterling work on your behalf.’

‘They are both protective of me and will see off the tattlers.’ Beatrice sipped tea, placing down her cup with an unsteady hand that rattled together china. ‘Mrs Callan and her daughter wished to let me know how shocked and sorry they are to hear I’m to remain a spinster, so are bound to be disappointed to have lost my company after just a few minutes. But I would not have our neighbours...or anybody for that matter...think that I am hiding away, embarrassed and heartbroken, so must go over to the vicarage later in the week to allow their sympathy full rein.’