“I think you’d better sit down, Mr. Tattleton,” Mrs. Huffson said. “You look a bit unsteady. I’ll fetch you a cup of tea and that shall put things right.”
Mrs. Huffson was a dear lady and so Tattleton did not inform her that it would take far more than a cup of tea to set things right in this house.
*
Beatrice had wokenand got out of bed, determined that she should take up her regular habits. Her ball was on the morrow, and she could not hide from the world longer.
Over the breakfast table, her sisters had been all excitement for the upcoming ball. They would not be able to attend, but the earl had taken pity on them and said they might view the ballroom from the balustrades above stairs that overlooked it.
They were to keep the corridor dark so they were not seen spying and the earl had particularly looked at Cordelia when he forbid lit candles.
They were perfectly amenable to staying in the dark and had already planned to pack a picnic basket full of things that could be eaten by just feeling what they were. As far as Beatrice could gather, this was mostly biscuits.
Beatrice had done her level best to appear happy and enthusiastic and she thought she had done a good job of it. None of her sisters seemed to suspect anything was amiss and if she could foolthem, she could fool everybody.
She could never tell them how she felt. It was so odd—she had always told her sisters and Miss Mayton any thought that popped into her head. She would not tell them her changed feelings about Van Doren, though. Not that they’d ever believe it.
Now, they were all together in the drawing room, staying out of Tattleton’s way. He was just now in the ballroom supervising the artist come to chalk the floor while the footmen managed vendors of all sorts coming in and out of the servants’ entrance with goods that had been ordered.
Apparently, a cake had been ordered along with everything else, as the naughty kittens had got into Mr. James’ sugar icing and the cook had been too shaken by it to begin again.
Tattleton suddenly arrived at the drawing room doors. “Miss Mayton, Lady Beatrice, well I hardly, I do not know, you see…”
“What has happened, Tattleton?” Beatrice asked, alarmed by the confusion on his features.
“Flowers,” he said.
Beatrice wrinkled her brow. She could only suppose that what had been delivered was not what Darden had ordered.
“Are they so terribly bad?” she asked.
“They are roses.Red. Addressed to Lady Beatrice!” Tattleton cried, as if announcing the house was under attack by enemy forces.
“Red roses for Beatrice,” Viola said, clapping her hands together.
“Finally, the tortured gentleman makes a move,” Juliet said.
“Goodness, it does seem promising,” Miss Mayton said. “You’d best bring them in and we will peruse the note.”
“All of them?” Tattleton asked.
“I would say so, I do not see the value in bringing in only some of them,” Miss Mayton said complacently.
Tattleton nodded, turned, and signaled to the footmen.
Beatrice was surprised that there were two arrangements rather than one. And then further surprised when the footmen went and came back in three more times. What on earth?
Her aunt bustled over to Tattleton and took the note, hurrying back to Beatrice. “Let us see who is so generous by sending this abundance of flowers. You open it and I will read it over your shoulder.”
“As will all of us,” Juliet said, leaping from her chair.
The sisters all gathered round Beatrice as she opened the card. All it said was—For Lady Beatrice on the occasion of her ball. An Admirer.
“Mysterious,” Cordelia said.
“Who else would send mysterious flowers but your mysterious and tortured gentleman,” Rosalind said.
“Indeed, it must be so,” Miss Mayton said. “These are the first words he speaks to you but there will be more. Depend upon it.”
