Page 13 of The Beast of Beswick
Besides, from what she’d seen at his residence, he needed her as much as she needed him. And not just for the categorization of his antiques, though her fingers itched at the chance to go through the gorgeous collection. She’d also seen how he’d treated his poor servants. The man needed someone to take him in hand…someone to see past the rages and sulks, who wouldn’t let him get away with his bad behavior.
But how could she convince him a match between them was necessary?
There were no other lords in Southend who could come close to standing up to the Earl of Beaumont or her uncle. Otherwise, she would have to put another plan into place. And that entailed pawning jewelry and running away, which wasn’t much of a plan at all for two unmarried women. She needed time to persuade Beswick, to plead her case.
Perhaps she could talk to the duke’s man, Fletcher, about the inventory of Chinese antiques in the meantime. He’d seemed desperate to hire someone. She could barter her skills in exchange for a safe place to stay for her and Isobel. Once again, it wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever had. But it still wouldn’t protect Isobel from their uncle’s rights of guardianship if Astrid couldn’t convince the duke and remained unmarried. And then, there was also no guarantee that Fletcher would hire her without his master’s say-so.
God, it’s hopeless!
Astrid focused on her book, determined to put her negative thoughts out of her mind, at least for the moment, when a red-faced maid came bustling up the servant stairs. “Lady Astrid, one of the horses has gotten loose, and Patrick sent me to get you at once, if you please.”
“Which one?” she asked, leaping to her feet, but she already knew. The head groom would send for her only when Temperance or Brutus was giving trouble. Both thoroughbreds had a long history of racing in their veins. Her mare Temperance was decidedly temperamental, despite her name, and Brutus was a mischievous three-year-old that needed a firm but gentle hand. Unlike the rest of the horses, they belonged to her and had been gifts from her father.
“Will you be all right for a moment?” she asked Isobel.
“Of course. Agatha is here,” she said, indicating their shared lady’s maid who sat quietly with a basket of mending.
“I’ll be back in a bit.”
Hitching up her skirts, Astrid raced through the house and down to the stables. Sure enough, it was Brutus who had escaped and was causing trouble. The stallion was surrounded by three grooms, rearing up on his hind legs and snapping with his teeth.
“How did he get out, Patrick?”
“I dunnae ken, my lady,” the big Scottish groom said. “His pen was latched, but it came open on its own. It must have no’ been closed properly. I’ll have a word with the lads.”
Astrid approached the skittish stallion with care. Brutus was unpredictable when he was riled, and she needed enough distance to protect herself if he decided to bite or kick. She’d suffered the ill effects of two badly bruised ribs when she’d made that mistake once when he was a colt. He was much bigger now and no less skittish.
Signaling to the men to back away, Astrid approached, her hands wide. “There, boy,” she crooned. “It’s only me. I won’t hurt you.”
Brutus reared up again, his hooves thrusting out, but it wasn’t wild. After some more male posturing, he allowed her to approach and take hold of his bridle; all the while she kept murmuring soft endearments into his ear. Within minutes, she was leading him back to the stable as quietly as you please.
“Ye’re a miracle worker, ye are, my lady,” Patrick said, his eyes full of wonder and respect. “I swear he was going to take a chunk out of my hide this time.”
Astrid stroked the horse’s lathered black coat. “He’s just high-strung. Put him in the stall next to Temperance. She seems to calm him some when he gets in these moods.”
The Scot eyed her. “Do ye ever think to breed them, my lady?”
“Someday,” she replied with a fond pat to the stallion’s glossy hindquarters. “But not if my uncle intends to sell the foals to the highest bidder. Once Isobel gets settled safely into a new position, perhaps then.”
Astrid made her way back to the house, thankful that it hadn’t been worse. The horses were two of her most prized and valuable possessions. She halted mid-step at the thought. If worse came to worst, she could sell them, but that, too, would take time. The thought of parting with either of them left her cold, but if it meant Isobel’s happiness and safety, no sacrifice would be too big. Gracious, she’d already offered herself to a duke with a terrible reputation.
As she went past the courtyard, Astrid squinted at a coach in the drive. Her heart rose and fell in the same breath. It wasn’t an apologetic duke but an entirely unwelcome Beaumont. What was he doing there? Her aunt and uncle had business in the village and weren’t at home. Astrid hefted her skirts and ran, nearly skidding around the corridor where the earl had discovered Isobel in the morning salon.
“Get Patrick,” she whispered to Agatha who stood close by, her face white.
“Lord Beaumont,” Astrid said, hoping to God her voice sounded stronger than she felt. “To what do we owe the honor of your unexpected visit?”
Beaumont turned, a smile forming. “I was invited.”
“By whom?” she replied with a cool hauteur she did not feel. Fear for her sister swamped her. “My aunt and uncle are not at home.”
“They expressed an invitation for me to visit today.”
Astrid’s heart sank. Of course they had. They did not care if a notorious rogue compromised their niece as long as he married her. Notwithstanding that said rogue had already ruined one niece. She kept a tight hold on her unraveling emotions. “I’m sorry, my lord, but you will have to return. Without my aunt as a proper chaperone, I fear this is quite improper.”
“Surely you can suffice,” he said, “while I call on my future wife?”
Her skin crawled at his tone, but she forced herself to remain calm. For Isobel’s sake. Forboththeir sakes. “I am also unmarried, my lord. It would not be proper. I must, regretfully, ask you to leave.”
