Page 15 of The Wilful Widow
“But then you went to the Continent and didn’t come back foryears. And now, here we are.” She tucked her hand into his arm. “It has all happened as it was ordained. So, who do you suppose you’re going to play when the children give us our parts? Wicked Sir Helldragon or Heroic St George?”
“It depends on who’s written the script? George would certainly have me play Helldragon. So would Katherine, probably. And Beatrice…” Alexander felt a surge of tenderness as he finished, “would most definitely have me play the hero.”
“You have a soft spot for that child, don’t you? You like children. I’m glad.” She smiled up at him, and Alexander felt a fluttering in the pit of his stomach. He’d have children with the girl smiling up at him, and they’d likely be golden-haired and blue-eyed. Just like Jessamine.
Charlotte would marry Lord Ashbrook and they might meet at the occasional London event, but that would be all.
He wished he’d had the courage to say something to her. But she’d seemed so contained. As if she couldn’t bear the idea that he’d suggest to the rest of the party that they’d once known one another. Perhaps Lord Ashbrook was a jealous man. Perhaps Charlotte was so anxious to marry her rich husband she didn’t want a breath of scandal such as a possible earlier elopement to tarnish her security.
“Beatrice is sweet,” he agreed. “Like you.” He had to force himself to say it. Soon he’d have to force himself to propose to her. Perhaps he could wait until they were away from here because the thought of doing it when Charlotte was around seemed one step too far.
* * *
“Sit down and stop fidgeting,George. Are you listening?” Katherine put her hands on her hips and looked down at her audience: Beatrice and George, who had obediently arranged themselves on two nursery chairs on either side of the fireplace. Katherine stood in front of the fire screen, which had several pairs of socks and stockings, belonging to both children and the nursemaid, warming on the edge.
“Now, I have something very important to say. The first is that you, Beatrice, have a very important role in my play, and you really can’t afford to make any mistakes.” She tried to look fierce but not quite so much as to frighten the timid child, as she thrust Beatrice’s script at her.
“I’ve written the words you have to say in very clear, big writing but I want you to practice them by heart, first.” She paused to give her next words meaning. “Because your future depends upon it, Beatrice.” She leaned forward to put her hands on Beatrice’s shoulders. “Your future happiness depends upon it, so you can’t afford to make a mull of things, do you understand?”
Since Beatrice seemed unable to articulate a response but was looking more like a frightened rabbit, Katherine was glad when George asked the obvious question that had been Beatrice’s cue. Really, it was quite worrying that the girl had no sense of occasion, and Katherine would have to drill her quite thoroughly before they went to bed.
“Why is Beatrice’s future dependent on her lines in the play?” George scratched at the side of his nose before examining his fingernails, only giving Katherine his full attention when she said in as momentous a tone as she could manage, “Because I have learned something…extraordinary about Beatrice. And who Beatrice really is.”
“Who I am?” Beatrice’s pale-blue eyes fluttered in panic. “I’m Miss Beatrice Baldwin, daughter of Lord Busselton.”
“No, you’re not. Your father refused to claim you. You said so. But I have discovered who your real father is.”
George, who’d been rocking in his chair and sending rather bored looks through the window, suddenly directed Katherine his full attention, which gave her the impetus to say, solemnly, “I read it in your mother’s diary, Beatrice.”
“Mama…wrote who my real father is?”
Both Beatrice and George seemed more interested in the fact that it was there in black and white than that Katherine should have breached something so secret, which reassured her. After all, it hadn’t been her fault she’d read the diary. The book had just fallen open at that page when Katherine had looked for a piece of paper on which to write the note for Beatrice to give to Mr. Pemberton.
“Yes, Beatrice. I know who your father really is.” Katherine tapped the script in Beatrice’s hand. “And you’re going to play your role to perfection.” She straightened, adding importantly, “so that he knows it, too.”
Chapter 9
Soon the house party would be at an end and life would carry on as usual.
But, with two days left to go, Charlotte couldn’t entirely rid herself of hope.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jessamine chattering to their hostesses with a charm and vivacity that made her remember with nostalgia the days of her own vibrant youth.
She’d been about Jessamine’s age when the Master of Ceremonies at the Assembly Ball, to which she’d been taken by her aunt and uncle, had introduced her to Alexander as a suitable partner in the next cotillion.
Now, from her capacious armchair, she glanced surreptitiously to one side. It never failed to surprise her, the almost physical response that reverberated deep within her as she gazed upon Alexander. This time, it was his profile while he read the news sheet. He sat alone in a leather armchair by the fireside and seemed entirely content not to be disturbed. He certainly seemed unaware of Charlotte seated on her own, nearby.
The large morning room was inhabited by the entire house party, everyone engaged in quiet chatter except Charlotte who was reading a book, and Alexander, who was reading the day’s news. Nothing in his expression suggested that he had any desire to seek her out; and the recognition that his passion for her had been replaced by his feelings for Jessamine filled her with yearning, desperation and despair.
At the sound of young Katherine’s voice, addressing Lady Fenton, Charlotte glanced up, realising that she’d turned three pages of her book yet not registered one word. She’d have to start at the beginning of the chapter again.
“Mama, shall we go for a walk? It’s such a beautiful day.”
Charlotte glanced out of the window, frowning as she looked at the grey storm clouds and then at Katherine’s sunny expression. Really, the child was an enigma. She seemed so self-important and self-absorbed and, though Charlotte hated to say it, not entirely trustworthy. Not that she’d call the child a liar, but there definitely did seem to be a great deal of cunning in the way she executed matters to suit herself.
And yet, here she was, holding onto Beatrice’s hand like a doting big sister, while Beatrice was smiling up at her as if she’d follow Katherine to the ends of the earth.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Lady Fenton said, looking up from her conversation with Jessamine, to frown at the scene beyond the window. “Perhaps wait until this afternoon. I don’t think the weather looks fine at all.”
