Page 9 of The Wilful Widow
“Oh! My wool, you mean!”
“Could I have meant anything else?”
She blinked a few times as she colored up then pretended to be absorbed in her work. “Of course not.”
“Your daughter is a sweet child.”
Her hands stilled as she looked over his shoulder. “Thank you. You’ve always had a way with children.” She cleared her throat and flicked a glance at Lord Ashbrook, saying, when she saw him still occupied, “I saw you and little Beatrice having an earnest conversation when I came down the hill this morning before I…” She stopped.
“Before you what?”
She lowered her voice. “Before I realized it was you.”
“Would you have turned back if you’d realized it was me?”
Her pretty white teeth were shown to full advantage as her mouth dropped open. “Of course not.”
He wanted her to say more.
And then berated himself for the self-serving sentiment. It was just as well that she seemed as impervious to him as he needed her to be.
Charlotte was engaged to be wed. And honor required Alexander to propose to Jessamine. He and Charlotte would be under the same roof for just a couple of days. Their time had been and gone, and he must accept that.
Just as Charlotte clearly had.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the entertainment has arrived!”
Lady Quamby had risen to her feet and was now clapping her hands as an angelic trio of young voices intruded with a rendering ofGood King Wenceslas.
“Oh, the little darlings!” Jessamine was clapping the loudest as Katherine, George, and Beatrice arranged themselves in front of the fire,dressed in white shifts with crowns of ivy and red berries upon their heads. As they stood before them, Beatrice’s enthusiastic lisping sounding loud and clear, Alexander caught her eye and winked his appreciation. Her dimples appeared and she giggled, causing George, beside her, to elbow her in the ribs as he continued to sing the Christmas carol, his eyes raised to his parents; receiving the praise he obviously sought when his mother exclaimed, “What a fine baritone our George will one day have when his voice breaks!”
Alexander noticed Lady Fenton’s momentary confusion as she, like the rest of them, decided whether this was praise or otherwise. But George was beaming, and Alexander thought it was perhaps a good thing George seemed a simpler creature than, certainly Katherine, whom he’d picked out as a designing minx, and Beatrice, who, he feared, was likely not enjoying herself overmuch in the schoolroom with the two worldly older children.
“Won’t Beatrice look a proper angel in her new dress tomorrow!” Lord Ashbrook said, having, perhaps, felt duty-bound to offer some kind of bolstering response as he flicked a glance at Charlotte.
Alexander swallowed down the bitter taste of jealousy and smiled across at Jessamine. Her bright, eager face lit up and his misery deepened.
Lack of resolve, bad timing. Whatever it was that had come between Charlotte and himself nine years ago was ashes. It was torture being in the same room and knowing there truly was no hope possible of the kind of reunion he might desire; for, lord, watching her secretly was like gazing upon a banquet had he been a beggar. Or a mountain of gold coins, had he been a pauper.
Whatever paths they’d each trodden to reach their respective situations in life, they were committed.
To other people.
“Beatrice? Are you all right?”
He returned his attention to the children. Lady Fenton had asked the question, but Charlotte was now answering for her. “I think she’s just tired. It’s been a big day for her, and she’s such a shy little thing who hates to put herself on show.” Charlotte held out her arms and her daughter went to her. “You were very brave to stand up in front of all these people, Beatrice, but now I think it’s time for you to go to bed. You must say if you don’t want to be in tomorrow’s play. You don’t have to, you know. I’m sure Katherine and George won’t mind.”
“I’ll take her up.”
Alexander saw that Katherine had assumed her duty as leader of the children with something approaching fervor. He also didn’t like Charlotte’s chances of wriggling out of tomorrow’s play. Several times he’d passed the youngsters gathered together on various staircases whispering their plans. He suspected Katherine relished the opportunity to direct them all in her theatricals for which her indulgent mama and papa had given her complete license, even setting up a makeshift stage in the ballroom.
Alexander was looking forward to being involved, but Jessamine considered it irksome. She’d wanted to spend the day drinking tea with the rest of the party or playing charades. Children, she said, were tiresome.
Chapter 6
“Iknow you’re younger than us, Beatrice, but you have to learn to grow up to be a woman of decisiveness, otherwise no one will respect you,” Katherine told her as she led Beatrice by the hand up the stairs toward the nursery.
Her frustration was not relieved by the acquiescence she’d expected. When Beatrice continued to weep, Katherine regarded her crumpled form on one of the wooden chairs in the nursery with contempt.
