Page 48 of The Beast of Beswick
Mabel smiled and dismissed the woman. “Thank you, Frances, that will be all for tonight.” Her eyes took in Astrid’s expression. “Frances is my new lady’s maid.” Ushering Astrid inside to a charming sitting area, she lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “The last one left because of the footmen.”
“The footmen?”
Mabel grinned. “The ones in my bed, dear. Tea?”
“No, thank you,” Astrid said, swallowing her amusement at the duchess. The woman was incorrigible.
“Gloria was too high in the instep for a maid, if you ask me,” she went on. “Luckily, Frances had just left another position locally and came highly recommended. Now, where were we? You said you were lost?”
Astrid nodded, pinning her lips between her teeth at the lie. “I took, er, a wrong turn.”
“You weren’t looking for my nephew, perchance?”
“No, of course not!” she replied much too quickly.
Mabel shot her a knowing look. “I wouldn’t fault you if you were, you know. You are an engaged woman, after all. And beneath all that coarse bluster, Thane is the same red-blooded man he used to be.”
“He’s not coarse,” Astrid said before she could stop herself and then flushed to the tips of her ears. “I wouldn’t know about the hot-blooded part.”
“I saidred-blooded, dear,” Mabel corrected with a sly look. “Anyone with eyes can see the attraction smoldering between the two of you. Honestly, I’m surprised none of the rest of us have singe marks.”
Astrid’s face heated. “We agreed on a marriage in name only.”
“People have been known to change their minds, dear.” Mabel peered at her face, and Astrid was afraid her wanton desires would be written all over it. “I think you’ve been hurt in the past, and you’re letting it interfere now, but you need to let go of your fear. Even if I did not love my nephew, I would tell you this.” She patted Astrid’s hand. “We radical thinkers need to stick together.” Her smile was bright. “Now, if you’re looking for the guest wing, it’s just down those stairs. If you’re looking for the duke’s chamber, it’s at the end of this corridor.”
“I’m not,” Astrid said, her ears burning. “I was lost.”
“If you say so, dear.”
After she’d bid the duchess good night, Astrid stood at the top of the stairs, her insides pulled in different directions. She wished she were as brave as Mabel, but the woman had several decades of bucking society under her belt. And she was aduchess. An unrepentant duchess.
Astrid was neither of those things.
At the heart of it, she was just a girl with too much to lose.
Chapter Thirteen
“Where is His Grace?” Astrid asked Culbert two days later when she’d not seen hide or hair of the duke. Or Fletcher, for that matter. Then again, she’d been finalizing the items for the auction and had been buried in the study from early that morning.
“He’s gone to London, my lady,” the butler said.
Without telling me?
Astrid felt a snap of discomfort. Had he left without a word because he was displeased? Because she’d told him no? Her past swung back to taunt her. She’d said no to Beaumont, and he’d turned around and punished her. Was Beswick doing the same? He hadn’t struck her as that type of man, but she’d been disillusioned by men before.
No, he must have finally gone to arrange for the marriage license, and if he went for other reasons that didn’t bear thinking about, why should she care? But Astrid couldn’t help being annoyed. With him for leaving without informing her and with herself for feeling anything at all.
“For how long?” she asked the butler.
“He didn’t say, my lady.” This time, she let her annoyance show, making Culbert back up a sharp step. “I’m certain he will be back soon.”
Very well, then. She would do as she pleased, too. Which would include a long ride on Brutus and perhaps a trip to the village. Isobel would like that, and they would be safe enough with the men Beswick had hired to keep an eye for trespassers on the estate. They were men loyal to him, she knew. He wouldn’t trust anyone else with their safety.
Why did he leave without a word to me?
The slight niggled at her. But then she thought of how they last parted—she’d run from him and she’d kept on running. She had avoided him, and he’d left for London without a word. Astrid didn’t want to analyze the feeling in her chest. Disappointment? Regret?
May I kiss you?
