Page 36 of The Beast of Beswick
“Is it truly that bad?” Astrid asked, softening. “It’s only been a few weeks.”
Isobel bit her lip. “No, you’re right, it’s not. After all you’re doing and what you’ve done to keep us safe, it’s nothing. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Astrid blinked, taking in her sister’s wan coloring and pinched smile with fresh eyes. She was trying so hard to grin and bear it, but Astrid could see the lines bracketing her mouth and the tightness of her pale face.
“I’m sorry, Izzy. I wish things were different.”
Her sister’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t be. You’re doing the best you can. And I feel like I’m doing nothing. That I’m a burden and you wouldn’t be in this position because of me.” She swallowed hard, a tear tracking down her face. “Sometimes, I feel so lost. Maybe it would be better if I just married Beaumont, and then you wouldn’t have to worry.”
“Never say that.” She grasped her sister’s shoulders and pulled her close. “We’re in this together, Izzy. Do you hear me?”
“I do,” she mumbled into Astrid’s neck, hugging tight. “I love you, you know.”
“I love you, too.”
Astrid pulled away and glanced down to the deserted streets of the village. It was Sunday, and it was quiet. Most people would be at church, and it was unlikely that Beaumont would even venture into town. Surely a few moments couldn’t hurt.
She squeezed her sister’s hand. “Since we’re already here, how about we have an ice? I suppose it will be fine for a few minutes if we try not to draw attention to ourselves.”
“Oh, thank you, Astrid!” Isobel shrieked, flinging her arms about her again. “I promise I will be as insignificant as a beetle!”
They rode in and stopped for a cream ice before dismounting in front of Howell’s Emporium, the village shop that carried everything from fabric to bonnets to fans and various other items. After instructing the groom to wait with the horses, she and Agatha followed Isobel into the shop. It would be too much of a miracle to hope that Howell’s was empty, but Astrid was counting on one thing…that her uncle had not made a public declaration that his nieces had run away, out of sheer embarrassment on his part. And fueled by greed, of course. No, he would try to find them quietly with some acceptable excuse as to their absence. So far they hadn’t encountered more than a handful of villagers. Perhaps they would continue to be lucky.
“Why, Lady Astrid,” a nasally voice called out.
Or not, Astrid thought as her heart sank when she turned to greet Mrs. Purley, the worst gossipmonger in Southend.
The woman raised an eyebrow. “I thought your uncle said you and Lady Isobel were visiting your late mother’s relatives in Colchester.”
And there it was—the “excuse.” Astrid shrugged noncommittally.
Mrs. Purley frowned. “Though I do recall your mother being an only child.”
“Distant relatives.”
The feeling of panic started to spread as she noticed Isobel in conversation with Mrs. Purley’s spinster daughter, who had almost as big a mouth as her mother’s. She hadn’t strictly told Isobel not to say anything, but slips could be made, especially when someone wanted to be nosy. Murmuring her apologies to Mrs. Purley, she hurried over to where Isobel stood.
“I would love to go to Lady Ashley’s ball,” her sister was saying. “However, I do not think we will be attending.”
Lady Ashley was a widowed marchioness and the reigningtonmatriarch of Southend. They had been invited to previous balls in the past, but Isobel had been much too young to attend. And in Astrid’s case, well, there was no real reason for a committed spinster to socialize.
“But everyone is invited,” Miss Purley said, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “You simply must come, Lady Isobel. I’ve heard the Earl of Beaumont is in residence. Isn’t that exciting?”
Astrid frowned, nerves taking flight in her belly at the mere mention of the man and Isobel in the same sentence. She moved to her sister’s side. “Come now, Isobel. We’re late, remember?”
Isobel nodded with a quick goodbye to Miss Purley, and Astrid breathed a sigh of relief that her sister had caught on. She wanted to get back to Beswick Park before too many people, namely the Purleys, could gossip about their presence. They’d risked too much already.
As she stepped out of Howell’s, blinking in the sunlight, she could hear the murmur of voices before her vision narrowed on a small crowd surrounding a particularly flashy carriage. With distinctive red trim. At once, her stomach took a painful nosedive to her feet.
Oh God, is the earl here?
“Quickly, Isobel,” Astrid said, turning on her heel to seek out her sister, only to stare into the grim countenance of Lord Beaumont.
“And where, pray tell, have the two of you been?” he asked, a gloved hand catching her elbow. “You’ve driven your aunt and uncle andmenearly mad with worry.”
“But, Lord Beaumont, surely you know that we’ve been visiting relatives in Colchester,” Astrid said in as innocent a voice as she could manage, but every muscle in her body was screaming with fear. They were in grave danger. If the earl decided to take them into his coach, as she fully expected him to do, no one would do anything to stop him. He was a peer. Nobody, not even villagers who had known them for years, would oppose the nobility.
His eyes narrowed. “Have you?”
