Page 18 of The Beast of Beswick
Thane valued his solitude. And he sodding hated London even when Parliament wasn’t in session.
“Lady Astrid Everleigh and Lady Isobel Everleigh,” Culbert intoned.
Thane turned, his gaze touching on the younger girl for a moment and then resettling on the older sister. Both were dressed for dinner, Isobel in a pastel-colored dress and Astrid in a simple dove-gray gown that made her beauty seem more remote, more untouchable. His fingers itched to demolish that ascetic collar, her severe hairstyle, and that tight, dour expression. One that softened marginally when she saw his aunt.
“Lady Astrid, Lady Isobel, may I present the Duchess of Verne, my aunt.”
“Aunt?” Astrid murmured as if confused that he had relatives.
“I wasn’t raised by wolves, if that’s what you were thinking,” he said dryly. “My late father’s sister.”
“I wasn’t.” She shot him a black look that could rival any of his and curtsied to his aunt. “A pleasure, Your Grace.”
“Ladies.” Mabel greeted them with a warm smile.
Under the duchess’s cordiality and guidance, dinner passed without discomfort. The food, as always, was of exceptional fare. André would die if anything not fit for French court left his kitchen. As it was, the cream of turtle soup was as light as air, the duckà l’orangemelted in one’s mouth, and the braised rabbit was succulent. It was a wonder that Thane wasn’t two stone heavier with such rich foods, but he made it a point to stay physically active. After being a soldier for so many years, he refused to live too dissipated a lifestyle.
Conversation was pleasant, with Mabel and a surprisingly chatty Isobel leading most of the talk. It was strange that the two of them took to each other so well, given the age gap, but not surprising. His aunt could make anyone feel at ease. Even when he’d returned from the war, she’d been the one to hold him firmly and ask him if his brain or his heart or his spirit had been destroyed.
“Beauty is fleeting, lad,” she’d told him. “You have your life.”
His response had been predictably grim. “A half life.”
“It’s only what you make it, my darling. Half, quarter, full. It’s all in your power, and everything you had before, you still do.”
“I don’t have aface, Aunt.”
“Then, perhaps you’ll have to depend on your other redeeming qualities for once.”
Thane almost laughed at the memory. His aunt Mabel was a hoyden with a heart of gold and a core of pure steel. But he’d still disappointed her. Unfortunately, there was nothing left in him that was worth redeeming. His own father hadn’t thought so, and neither did most anyone else.
He felt eyes on him and glanced up to meet Astrid’s. She hadn’t said more than two words since they’d sat down, though she did not seem unhappy. More pensive. Though that wasn’t quite the right word, either. She seemed focused as though she were in the middle of a performance. “Is the meal to your liking, Lady Astrid?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “It’s delicious.”
“When do you expect to start the inventory?”
She faltered as if surprised by the question. Thane lifted an expectant eyebrow. Itwashow she’d intended to barter for her stay, of course.
“Tomorrow,” she said crisply. “I’ve already spoken to Fletcher.”
“Inventory?” Aunt Mabel asked.
“Father’s cherished antiques,” Thane answered. “I haven’t decided whether to sell or donate the lot of it. They’re just here gathering cobwebs. It was Fletcher’s idea. Me, I’d rather use them for sport. There’s nothing like the sound of shattering porcelain. Quite invigorating, I tell you.”
Astrid’s lips turned down. “Your Grace, some of those pieces are priceless.”
“So you keep saying.”
“If only you would listen,” she shot back. “But alas, you would have to stop speaking long enough to do so.”
Thane sat back in his chair, aware of his aunt’s suddenly interested gaze panning between the two of them. “When a voice is all one has, one tends to indulge.”
“You know what they say about noise and empty vessels.”
He couldn’t help it—he gave a dry chuckle. “Touché, my lady.”
Although Astrid Everleigh was a fascinating contradiction and a spark of life in his otherwise barren landscape, it irked him how much he actually enjoyed the verbal sparring. How much he seemed to enjoyher. And that was a certain recipe for disaster.
