Beatrice did not rush right home to Beckman House. She chose the quieter streets instead, her pace unhurried.
She had spent more than an hour with Gideon.
She had said what was necessary—secured his agreement, explained her purpose, justified it as best she could—without saying too much.
Or so she hoped, at least. There had been a point during their conversation when his demeanor had changed, and he’d given in far too easily after that.
He had understood.
But just what was it that he thought he knew? The possibilities were… unsettling.
Ultimately, he hadn’t really hesitated. He had agreed, in fact, with a seriousness that had taken her slightly aback.
As though it mattered to him.
As though she mattered.
Her fingers brushed together.
He had taken her hand. But in a comforting sort of way.
It wasn’t as though he’d kissed her.
A cat darted from behind a hedge, streaking across her path. Beatrice startled, and then laughed at herself.
Gideon saw her as his friend’s younger sister. Nothing more.
She drew in a breath and quickened her pace.
There were more pressing concerns.
Lark must be told they could move forward. Lady Theodosia must be consulted. Arrangements must be made.
They would gather women who were not entirely vulnerable, and not overly trusting. Women who could see danger clearly enough to help others avoid it.
And it would begin with Gideon’s lessons.
Those thoughts—far more sensible ones—occupied her mind as Beckman House came into view.
This afternoon she would practice, she decided. The bow. The knives. Something physical. Something that required no thought at all.
But she had scarcely crossed the threshold when unexpected activity in the foyer drew her to a sudden halt.
Mr. Edwards—her brother’s valet—was descending the stairs, directing two footmen who bore a large trunk between them.
Beatrice frowned.
“What is this?”
“Oh—my lady.” Edwards bowed, stepping aside as the footmen maneuvered awkwardly past. “It is well you have returned. His Grace has given instructions that his belongings are to be packed at once.”
Beatrice stared at him.
“Packed?”
“And yours, my lady. He’s set on the entire household returning to Dasborough Park first thing in the morning.”
What?
