Page 47 of Her Tiger of a Duke
“Well, I found some writings about girls that passed away here. They were all nearly the same age, and even though their deaths happened in different ways, they were all tragic. I asked him about them… the girls…and their strange illnesses or accidents, and he brushed it off, but I noticed that the articles went missing after our conversation.”
Cecilia was breathing steadily, but her gaze was sharp. Beatrice knew then and there that she had a right to be concerned, for her friends had wanted her not to worry.
“That is certainly odd, but I would not think too much of it. It could have been anything. You know that some old houses in the country are rather treacherous.” Her cool gaze flitted around the newly redesigned room.
“Then why would he take the papers away and refuse to tell me anything more?”
“Because it is as you say. You have not known one another for very long, and just as you are unwilling to open yourself to him, he is not prepared to do the same for you. Had you been trying to build a bond, and he had been shirking it off, I would have thought there was something more sinister, but as it stands it seems to me that neither of you wish to trust one another. Not yet, at least.”
“I do want to trust him, but how can I when he is so secretive?”
“You ask him what is happening,” she said coolly. “One of you will have to start the more difficult conversations, and if it is not him, then it must be you. It is not that difficult, Bea.”
“But I have never been the one to speak out of turn. It is not in my nature to be loud and outspoken.”
“It was when you thought I had done something wrong.”
“In my defense, you had.”
Cecilia laughed, and Beatrice joined her. She remembered the conversation well, and how Cecilia had outright refused any responsibility for her articles, only to confess the truth afterward. Perhaps, Beatrice considered, she was more intuitive than she allowed herself to believe.
And, if that were true, she may well have realized something about her husband that nobody else had. It should have been comforting, proof that she knew him, but it only came with fear. Something was wrong, and she did not know anything further than that.
Regardless, she could not discuss the matter with her husband even if she wanted to, for they were to play Pall Mall that day, and as hosts they could not leave their guests unattended for what could easily become a dispute. That was what Beatrice toldherself, at least. It was an excuse, but a good one, all things considered.
When time came for them to go to the gardens, Beatrice cast a glance over the wooded area once again. She remembered how she had felt when at risk of being caught there, and she bristled. There had to be something wrong with the estate, and she thought of dozens of reasons before settling on the fact that there were issues in the building, places where a draft could come in and cause a cold and she had mended them. If not that, then there had to be a curse of some kind.
She hated her imagination for even considering it, but it was what happened. All the tragic deaths, the forest area being forbidden, the secrets her husband kept from her, all of it made her feel as though it had to be something sinister.
She did not say a word of it to her friends, of course. They already thought she was mad because of the way she had mentioned nearly kissing her husband, then denied having any real feelings for himi. If she were to claim that something awful was happening in her home, they might have sent her to Bedlam altogether.
“Are you familiar with the game?” Owen asked her, handing her a mallet. “That is my lucky one, by the way. It ought to help you.”
“I am indeed. I played with Emma a few times, though I will not claim to be particularly skilled.”
They walked a while longer, and Beatrice knew she would not have a better way to ask him what she wanted to.
“Your lucky mallet?” she asked.
“Of course. It has always been my favorite. You may use it, if you like, but I must insist upon sharing it with you.”
“Do you believe in superstitions such as that? I had not thought that you would.”
“I do not,” he said bluntly. “I tend to see the world in a very simple way, though I do admire people who allow themselves to believe. I shall never be afraid of a black cat, if that is what you are wondering.”
“Perhaps we might have one, then?” she suggested. “I should like a companion.”
“Am I not companionable enough?” he joked, and before she could reply they had reached the game.
“The youngest has always been first in our household,” Emma explained. “What of yours?”
“What my wife means is that she always insists on it,” Levi replied, laughing.
“I like that rule,” Owen agreed. “That would be you, Beatrice, would it not?”
Beatrice nodded, but her throat was dry. She did not want to be first and have everyone watching her. She had played a few times, and it was not a particularly difficult game, but there was something about being watched that made her feel ill at ease.
She took her shot, and it went far better than expected. She was already near the first point, and the others applauding her gave her a sense of satisfaction that she was not used to.
