Page 28 of Lady Frederica and the Scot Who Would Not
“Basically, not to bother you because you were too busy to even listen to what I wanted to say.”
Guinevere’s jaw dropped. “I never would have said that!”
Freddy frowned and patted her sister’s shoulder, not wanting her to feel bad. “You did. But in your defense, every time I started to tell you about it, one of the children spit up or cried, and you eventually snapped at me that you were too busy to listen to trivial matters that did not involve you keeping a child alive.”
“Oh, Freddy…” Guinevere’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m the one who’s sorry now.”
“No.” Freddy shook her head. “There’s no need to be. I was hurt at first, but I realized that you were correct. Your life has changed, and SLAR cannot come first for you right now.”
Guinevere grasped Freddy and pulled her into a tight hug. “Freddy, darling, you have the softest heart. Someday a man will—”
Freddy shoved out of her sister’s arms. “Don’t say it.” She knew instinctively what Guinevere was going to say. “I’ve no interest in love.” But the words seemed a tad harder to say than they had been before. Was it because now that she was faced with the prospect of having to wed, she would be foolish not to hope for it to eventually come to her?
Guinevere frowned. “You’ve said before, though, that you wished to find a man like Asher. Or possibly it was like Kilgore,” her sister said, mentioning their friend Constantine’s husband, who really was quite gallant. “Or mayhap it was Greybourne,” Guinevere muttered, citing their friend Lilias’s husband while pressing her fingertips to her temples. “Motherhood really has made me horribly forgetful.”
“I only said that because it was expected,” Freddy blurted, not surprised when her sister gaped at her. Freddy honestly felt like gaping herself. Had she truly only said that because it was expected? She was so confused all of a sudden, and she honestly felt like it was Beckford’s fault. “Why are you here?” she asked her sister again, realizing Guinevere had not answered.
“I came out of concern for you, and because I wanted you to tell me exactly what your association is with Mr. Beckford. I don’t believe for a moment that the two of you have been carrying on a secret scandalous affair, but my goodness, the way the man defended you the other night did make me wonder exactly what has occurred.”
“Nothing has occurred,” Freddy said, but the blasted kiss popped into her head and her voice got all wobbly because, well, that kiss had made her feel all wobbly.
“Freddy, you’re lying!”
Considering that, at this very moment, her father was suggesting to Beckford that he wed her, she thought perhaps seeking some advice from her sister might be a good idea. She glanced over her shoulder, back toward the study window, and frowned. She didn’t see Beckford anywhere. Had he and her father already concluded their business? It wasn’t a good sign if they had. It would take more time than the small amount Beckford had been in there to speak of marriage contracts and her dowry. That could only mean that Beckford had declined to wed her. Dread dropped like a stone into the center of her chest.
Papa had promised her that if Beckford refused, then Papa would ask the man to speak with her in the garden before he departed. She would swallow her pride and beg him to wed her, if need be, not that it would do any good, but she had to try for Vivian. She’d racked her brain all day, and her parents were correct. As loath as she was to admit it, this was the best course to aid Vivian. And if Beckford still declined her pleas, then that left her no choice but to seek out Lord Brooke and see if he would wed her. Never had she felt more like Frightful Frederica than in this moment.
She looked toward the door to the garden, willing it to open, but when it remained firmly shut, she rushed out an explanation of what had occurred with Vivian and Asterly. Freddy finished with, “So you see, I’ve no choice but to set matters to rights.”
“And you’ll do that by marrying a stranger?” Guinevere was giving her the oddest look, probing almost, as if she were searching for some reaction.
Freddy frowned. “I know him well enough.” When she tried to glance back toward the gate that led from the house, Guinevere grabbed Freddy’s shoulders.
“Do you? Whatever could you possibly know about the man?”
Now Freddy was getting irritated. Her sister was acting as if Freddy were featherbrained and had not thought about this at all. “He’s compassionate.” She told Guinevere quickly of how Beckford had helped Belle. “He’s considerate.” She then told Guinevere how Beckford had ensured his driver saw her home safely after she’d been accosted and how he’d had her locket returned to her. “And he’s clearly protective and able to deliver on the instinct,” she said, a ripple of excitement going through her at the remembrance of how he’d fought to defend her honor.
“Those are lovely qualities, but what if you and he wed, and there was no passion.”
“Oh, there’d be passion,” Freddy said, so swept away by the precise memory of how his kiss had felt like fire in her veins that that she didn’t think to guard her words. “We’ve kissed, and though he’s the only man I’ve everwillinglykissed, I cannot see how it could get better than how he made me feel.”
“Freddy!” Guinevere exclaimed. “Do hush now.”
But Freddy was determined to say what she wanted to for once without being hushed or told she ought not to. “Beckford lit me up like a chandelier.”
Guinevere groaned, which made Freddy laugh. “The main problem I see with wedding Beckford is that obviously we don’t love each other, but surely we could come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“Such as?” came a deep voice from behind her.
Freddy froze for a second, certain she was imagining having heard Beckford, but Guinevere had a look upon her face, one Freddy had not seen in quite a while but that she remembered well from all the times she and Guinevere had conspired to get someone to do something they wished them to do. Freddy had been duped by her sister, though she wasn’t sure exactly how or why.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Guinevere rushed out. “Asher must be wondering what’s taking me so long out here.” And without waiting for either Freddy or Beckford to respond, Guinevere hurried away, leaving Freddy no choice but to face Beckford and wonder just how much he’d heard.
He should have departed when his business was concluded with Frederica’s father. Gabe had known that full well. It would have been the safe thing to do, the intelligent thing to do, given how he wanted Frederica. But when her father had accused him of sealing her fate of ruination in the eyes of thetonand had demanded Gabe wed her, Gabe had actually considered it for a moment, had imagined her lips under his once again, her mouth parted, her head thrown back, and even how she felt in the most hidden parts of her body, but then he’d remembered Hawk’s threat and how he’d failed to protect his mother and Georgette and how losing someone you cared for left an unfillable hole in your heart. One more hole was more than he cared to endure. So knowing all of that, how the devil had he ended up out here standing in front of Frederica?
He’d told her father he was leaving, even as the earl had asked him to tell Frederica of his decision himself before he departed. Gabe had followed the summoned footman out of Fairfax’s study and down the corridor as shadows danced on the walls from the lights on the tables. And then they’d passed the damned window. If Gabe had never turned his head to the right to look outside, he would not have seen her. She shone like a star even in the darkness. She’d been standing with her back to him, but a light illuminated her figure and her hands. Those hands, gesturing with such emphasis as she spoke to Lady Guinevere, whose face Gabe could see. The duchess had seen him, too. He was sure of it. Yet she’d kept speaking to Frederica as if she had no awareness he was staring at them. Strange that, considering what he’d just overheard.
Good Christ, he’d wished he’d not heard them. He had lit her like a chandelier? Yes, he understood. She lit him, too. Dangerous, dazzling light. He was a moth, and she was the flame.
