The Regency Season: Ruined Reputations. Mary Brendan

       Chapter Eight

      ‘I suppose I must speak to the fellow,’ Walter grumpily announced.

      Beatrice removed her father’s port from his fingers, setting it on the table before he spilled it down his front.

      They were sitting side by side on a small fireside sofa and had been observing the company attending the wake. Alex and Elise were the perfect hosts, moving through the room talking to the mourners. From elderly estate servants, now retired, to the Duke of Rodley, who’d arrived on horseback from the next town with two bottles of best cognac strapped to his saddle, all were being graciously thanked for their kind messages and tributes.

      ‘Would you like me to fetch you some pastries from the buffet, Papa?’ Beatrice had noticed her father again reaching for his depleted glass of port. He was drinking too much, as was his wont. Over the years Walter’s daughters had had to ask their manservant to take their father to bed when he’d been unable to rouse himself due to over-imbibing.

      ‘Another fruit tart might be sufficient, my dear. I have room for just one.’ As his daughter rose from the sofa, he added, ‘And will you bring the fellow over to me so I might talk to him before he leaves?’

      ‘Do you know that he’s soon leaving?’ Bea asked, glancing at Hugh’s dark figure surrounded by some jolly people.

      ‘The viscount told me his friend Kendrick intends returning to town today. I imagine he will not set on the road after dark...not in this weather.’

      Walter turned to the dismal grey afternoon beyond the enormous casements. The fire to one side of them had been hissing and spluttering as the driving rain dampened the apple-scented logs. After the funeral service they had been lucky to return to the Hall before the worst of the rain set in.

      ‘Will you fetch him over?’ Walter nagged. ‘I’d sooner not struggle up out of this chair to go to him and eat humble pie with strangers present.’ Walter sighed. ‘Yet it must be done. My conscience will not allow it to be otherwise.’

      Hugh’s group were loudly toasting Susannah’s life. Alex’s mother had left strict instructions that she wanted no maudlin speeches at her wake but a thanksgiving for the blessing of a wonderful life shared with an adored husband and beloved son.

      Moving gracefully through the throng towards the dining room, Bea angled her head in an attempt to drag Hugh’s attention from his lively companions. He now seemed oblivious to her presence, and yet before, when walking to the chapel with him, it had been impossible to escape his taunting amber gaze. She’d no intention of approaching him to loiter meekly at his shoulder, waiting for an opportunity to interrupt.

      On passing over the threshold into the dining room she glanced over her shoulder, and her heartbeat quickened as his eyes clashed on hers. She felt a burst of elation that had nothing to do with being a step closer to carrying out her father’s task. She’d experienced similar excitement years ago, when she’d easily lured his attention every time she quit or entered a room.

      Turning her head, Bea carried on towards the buffet table—but not before she’d noticed him concealing his private smile with a sliding forefinger.

      He’d made no move to leave the group and Bea fumed. If her wordless plea for an audience wasn’t plain enough for him to act on he could forgo having her father’s apology and her farewell before he left for London!

      ‘Are you still hungry, Beatrice?’ Hugh’s eyes skimmed over her slender figure swathed in black silk. ‘You certainly look as though a little more sustenance might benefit you.’

      ‘You...you think I am too thin?’ Beatrice stammered. His comment had irked, and his swift approach had startled her. Her gaze dropped to the intricate folds of his cravat, pinned with a sizeable diamond. Sourly she wondered whether he’d dug it up himself.

      ‘You seem less...buxom than I remember.’

      Bea’s soft lips parted in a mixture of astonishment and indignation. She’d never realised he’d thought her fat.

      ‘Well, I’m happy with my appetite!’ she breathed. ‘I never eat too much, and I think it impertinent of you to make such a comment.’

      ‘Am I to pretend I know nothing of your body when I can recall it quite clearly within my embrace and pressed to mine?’

      ‘Please say no more!’ Bea hissed. ‘I find that remark even more unmannerly,’ she spluttered, blushing scarlet.

      ‘I apologise, then; I merely intended a passing observation that your figure appeared more curvaceous when you were younger.’

      He was quelling his humour with a frown, and she guessed he was deliberately riling her because of their prickly parting at the chapel earlier. ‘Please do not explain and add insult to injury. Your opinion of my looks is of no consequence to me in any case.’

      Beatrice turned to the pastries and began loading a plate with them while her cheeks continued to burn.

      ‘If you are about to accuse me of being a glutton, this food is for my papa.’ In her agitation, it had slipped her mind that Walter desired just one fruit tart. Swishing about with a laden plate she moved on.

      ‘Did you want to speak to me on a matter?’

      Beatrice halted, moistening her lips. She’d also forgotten she’d drawn him to her side with a come-hither glance.

      ‘I...I did want to have a word with you. My father would like you to join him for a chat before you go.’

      ‘Of course I’ll speak to him.’ Hugh glanced back towards the drawing room, locating the sofa on which Walter was ensconced. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Bea replied stiltedly.

      ‘Shall I accompany you now?’ Hugh suggested mildly.

      ‘If you wish to, sir.’

      Hugh’s heavy sigh brought Bea’s eyes darting to his bronzed face.

      ‘I beg you will not put yourself out for us, though,’ she said acidly. ‘My father would not want that.

      ‘It is you putting me out, my dear. Have you forgotten my name that you continue calling me sir?’

      ‘Indeed I have not, Mr Kendrick,’ Bea returned sweetly on passing him.

      ‘Will you let me know what Mr Dewey wants to talk about so I might prepare my defence?’ Hugh asked wryly, falling into step with Bea as they wound a path around knots of people.

      ‘You are not about to be ticked off, I assure you.’ Bea was unable to repress a smile at his ironic tone. ‘I believe Papa wishes to apologise to you.’

      ‘And how have I redeemed myself in his eyes?’ Hugh politely led the way past a long sofa encircled by chattering ladies. A few yards on, at a quieter spot, he turned back to Bea. His hand was idly planted against the wall, completing her casual entrapment by his powerful body.

      ‘Papa was most grateful to you for coming to Hertfordshire to convey the news about the dowager’s ill health. I expect he wants to impress that on you.’

      ‘I recall he said something similar to me at the time,’ Hugh murmured, his eyes lingering on Bea’s mouth as her pearly teeth attacked her lower lip. ‘I doubt he’d make an issue of repeating it. So what else is on his mind?’

      ‘If we carry on to him I’m sure he will tell you,’ Bea returned.

      Barely were the words out when a sudden clap of thunder made her gasp and stumble. She would have dropped her pastries but for Hugh’s steadying hand on her shoulder. Beatrice felt her heart thudding unevenly and the silk of her sleeve seemed to grow unbearably hot beneath his palm. She gave