Page 4 of The Wilful Widow
“Especially not to Beatrice!” Katherine agreed, while Antoinette adopted a fierce scowl, admonishing herself as she agreed, “Yes, it was very naughty of your mama and aunt to be gossiping like that. Poor Beatrice is not a boisterous, happy little girl and she doesn’t need to have tales told about her mama whom she loves very much.”
“Especially when the fact that she’s lost four husbands is none of her fault,” said Katherine.
“Except the first one,” said George, causing Fanny and Antoinette to exchange looks. But before they could speak, he explained to Katherine, “Divorce is worse than dying. Nanny said so.”
“But if you’re dead, you’re dead. How can divorce beworsethan being dead?” Katherine asked.
Fanny looked helplessly at her sister, as George went on, “It’s just a very horrible way that some husbands die when they’re married to wicked wives.”
“Divorce is not always the wife’s fault!” Fanny said quickly.
“Well, it must have been this one’s fault if she’s called the Wicked Widow or the Brazen Baroness, and if she’s the one still alive,” said George, beginning to look bored. “She must be very old.”
“I remember her when I was a debutante,” said Fanny, ready to change the subject. “She’s not very old. Eight-and-twenty, I believe. Now, children,” she went on in an attempt to divert them further, “Tell me more about this play you’re writing.”
Fortunately they appeared to be happy to move on to describing their own projects, for Katherine raised her head to explain, “It’s about a very beautiful maiden in a tower with long golden hair which is why we’ve decided Miss Huxtable will play her role, and she’s going to be rescued by her prince, which is why Mr. Pemberton must play that role.”
“Lovely!” Fanny feigned delight. “I’m sure the two of you will do a wonderful job organizing that though you can’t impose on everyone’s time too much with practicing. Aunt Antoinette and I have a very full social agenda.”
Katherine nodded. “That’s why we decided we’d just write the lines on pieces of paper to give to you—”
“While I call out directions,” George added.
“And then you do what we tell you to do.”
Fanny nodded. “I hope you have a role for young Beatrice. I know she’s a few years younger than you are but she must be made to feel part of everything.”
Katherine looked guilty. “Mama, she’s such a baby—”
“She’s seven and if she can’t read what you write, then she can do what you tell her. Why, she’d make a very good little Red Riding Hood with her long dark hair.” Fanny tried to inject enthusiasm into her tone. “That’s just who she reminded me of when she and her mother arrived late last night and Beatrice was wearing that pretty red cloak.”
“But I’m writing Rapunzel,” said Katherine, pursing her lips. “There isn’t a role for a little girl in Rapunzel.”
“But there is in little Red Riding Hood.” Fanny sighed. “All I’m saying is, do be kind to Beatrice. She’s not had an easy life.”
“Well, that’s her mother’s fault, not ours,” said George with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “We can’t be expected to fix everything for her, can we? Not when she’s such a silly thing.”
“Now, George,” said Katherine, who was always ready to disagree with her cousin whenever an opportunity presented itself. “The least we can do is try. Isn’t that right, Mama?” Katherine raised her head with an ingratiating smile, poised for her mother’s approval.
“If you could make things better for poor little Beatrice, that would be lovely, Katherine!” said Fanny with relief at the fact she might have encouraged her daughter into a more accommodating approach toward their young guest. “Though making her entirely happy is, I think, a rather impossible task,” she added under her breath as she moved away to tinker with the floral arrangement beside the brandy decanter whose contents, she now decided, were rather necessary from a medicinal point of view as she realized she may have underestimated what her demands would be this evening as Antoinette’s co-hostess.
And Katherine let out a deep breath and smiled, for there was nothing more in this world she liked than to be recognized for her clever efforts.
Except when it was to achieve the impossible.
Chapter 3
It was a cold, crisp afternoon for a walk, but with just an hour left of daylight and with a sudden sun shining through the clouds that had lingered all day, Alexander was glad of an excuse to stretch his legs.
Jessamine had been wanting his undivided attention since luncheon and, the truth was, it was rather refreshing to have a variation in the company on offer. He wasn’t yet ready for a repeat effort of this morning’s almost proposal.
So, a small group set out for a brisk ramble through the fields, following the path that led through the estate’s parkland. Lord and Lady Fenton brought along their daughter, Katherine, a precocious livewire of about eleven, while Lady Quamby led the charge in deep discussion with Lord Ashbrook; her son George, a stolid, sulky lad, lagging behind. Alexander had long since stopped paying attention to Jessamine’s chatter as he’d found himself diverted by George telling Beatrice what she was expected to do for some childish charades or performance he gathered would be taking place the following day. The way George spoke, he got the impression the adults were to be enlisted for the amusement of the children rather than the other way round.
“Anyone wish for a rest or shall we continue?” Lady Quamby called from a few yards ahead. “Miss Squib, do come and walk with me. I’ve been telling Lord Ashbrook all about…”
Alexander missed what Lord Ashbrook had been telling Lady Quamby about, for at that moment he caught Beatrice’s earnest blue eyes and lowered his head to hear her whispered, “You haven’t forgotten, Mr. Pemberton?”
“Of course not, Beatrice!” he replied, silently reminding himself to speak to Hobson.
