Longstaffe’s gaze did not waver. “Dasborough needs to know.”
“He knows enough,” Gideon said.
Both men looked at him.
“He knows about her activities at the balls. Not the society, though.” Gideon’s jaw tightened. “Nor that a few disgruntled men have begun talking.”
“And he should,” Longstaffe said.
Perhaps.
But matters concerning Beatrice had become… complicated. Dash was already half undone over Miss Bloomington, and Gideon had promised Beatrice he’d not hand anything over that her brother couldn’t handle.
Not yet.
Once Dash had settled his matters of the heart, perhaps the old order of things could be restored.
For now?—
“Until Dasborough has settled his affairs.” Gideon reached for his cup. “He is too unpredictable to be useful. No insult intended. Merely fact.”
Blackwell gave a faint huff. “I agree, he isn’t thinking clearly right now.”
“Precisely.” Gideon’s gaze moved between them. “And for now, Lady Beatrice and her society need protection, not spectacle. She can never to be alone at an event. Not obviously guarded. But never alone.”
“The other ladies as well,” Longstaffe said.
“Yes, but we all know Lady Beatrice is the target,” Gideon said.
“Yes.” Longstaffe sighed.
Blackwell nodded.
“This is going to require subtlety.” Longstaffe had, apparently, come to know Beatrice rather well that Season. “Keeping her safe while she insists on putting herself in danger.”
There it was. The greatest difficulty.
It was Blackwell who suggested the best course of action.
“For the next week, any event Lady Beatrice attends, we attend. No terrace unguarded. No dark corridor ignored. No gentleman with a grievance allowed near her without one of us close enough to intervene.”
Longstaffe’s mouth curved without humor. “So we are to play sentry.”
“We are to make certain every man in London understands that Lady Beatrice Beckman is not alone.” It was about damn time.
Longstaffe studied him for a moment. “And does Lady Beatrice know she is not alone?”
Gideon’s jaw tightened. “She will.”
STOLL THROUGH THE PARK
The following morning, Beatrice arrived at the Serpentine Bridge at least ten minutes before seven.
She was anxious for this conversation. As anyone would be.
She had told Gideon about the attack. Not everything, but enough.
And although Beatrice knew, with every sensible part of her mind, that what happened to her had not been her fault, she’d spent half the night wondering if this was going to change things between them.
