Page 46 of The Governess and the Rogue

“And it was only for the length of the sea voyage. I managed well enough without her, as you see. Though I won’t claim it has been easy.” Mrs. Rawson addressed Pearl. “Don’t let him get free of you! We’d never find him again in such a crush.”

Pearl picked up the struggling little dog in her arms. She scrunched her eyes shut, giggling as he licked her face. “Be still, Benjamin,” she chided. “I don’t require your kisses.”

Mrs. Rawson and Miss Farraday smiled and tittered at the dog’s antics.

Mrs. Farraday’s face, by contrast, remained cold and markedly unfriendly. She wore a dove-gray poplin traveling dress and matching silk-trimmed casaque, an ensemble rivaled in its stylishness only by that worn by her daughter. “Miss Layton,” she said. “You amaze me.”

Bea returned the woman’s gaze, steeling herself for what was sure to be an insult. “Ma’am?”

“I declare, since the morning your engagement to Colonel Beresford was so scandalously announced, I have not seen you even once outside of his company. Yet here you are.” Mrs. Farraday looked around Bea in mock amazement. “And Colonel Beresford is nowhere to be found.”

“He is there behind you, ma’am,” Bea said. “Speaking to that tall gentleman.”

Mrs. Farraday turned to look, along with Miss Farraday and Mrs. Rawson.

Jack’s position had briefly been blocked by a cart holding a towering stack of cases. But the cart was gone now, and Jack could be seen quite clearly. He was still in conversation with the raven-haired man. An unpleasant conversation by the look of it.

“Upon my word,” Mrs. Rawson said. “Is that the soldier who was taken prisoner during the uprising? Captain Thornhill, or whatever he’s called?”

Mrs. Farraday was temporarily diverted. “The man who was tortured?”

“It must be,” Mrs. Rawson said. “Though you can’t see the burns he suffered from here, can you?”

Mrs. Farraday’s lips pursed in a moue of distaste. “I thank God for it. Such a horrible sight isn’t fit for the company of ladies.”

Bea exchanged a glance with Pearl. She’d told Bea that some of the soldiers traveling on the Pera had been grievously injured, but she’d said nothing about the specifics.

“I expect Colonel Beresford is directing the frightful fellow to another carriage,” Mrs. Farraday said. “He, of all men, knows the duty that is owed to ladies of quality. When first we met in Delhi, he was always watching over us. Wasn’t he, Rowena?”

“Yes, Mama,” Miss Farraday replied dutifully.

Mrs. Farraday turned to Bea, her face hardening to marble. “And now it’s you who is watching over him. Strange, isn’t it? One would think you didn’t trust him out of your sight.”

“It is difficult to be out of each other’s sight on a ship,” Bea said. “Or on a train.”

“The first-class carriage, naturally.” Mrs. Farraday’s eyes glinted with a sharp flicker of anger. “I wonder, Miss Layton, if you are quite accustomed to traveling first class?”

“What my mother means,” Miss Farraday interjected, “is that we’ve been worried about you acclimating to your new style of life.”

Bea leveled her gaze at Miss Farraday. The young lady’s outward manner was, as always, perfectly agreeable. But there was an almost imperceptible edge to her words, as razor-fine as a delicately sharpened blade.

For the first time, it occurred to Bea that Miss Farraday might have more in common with her mother than Bea had previously credited.

“If there are any difficulties,” Bea told her, “I’m sure my fiancé will apprise me of them.”

“Oh no, no,” Mrs. Rawson protested. “A gentleman is not the one to look to for advice. You must leave that to the ladies. And to your friends in particular.” She slipped her hand through Bea’s arm as though they were intimates. “How much do you know about the Beresford family, Miss Layton? You have not met them before, I gather.”

“No, I haven’t,” Bea admitted.

And she wasn’t going to meet them now, either.

But Mrs. Rawson and the others didn’t know that.

“Allow me to enlighten you.” Mrs. Rawson dropped her voice. “The Earl of Allendale is one of the wealthiest gentlemen in the West Country. One of the largest landholders, as well. And his countess! Margaret Honeywell, as was. Rich in her own right, and a famous beauty too, with a reputation for setting the fashion.”

“A reputation all of the Beresfords share,” Mrs. Farraday said coolly. “I wager Colonel Beresford’s sister, Lady Katherine, wouldn’t be caught dead in last season’s silks or velvets. Let alone a drab dress of faded wool.”

Bea suppressed a burning flare of self-consciousness. Her own dress was faded wool. Several years old, and lacking all adornment. An embarrassment, surely, as far as dresses went, if she’d actually been planning to meet Jack’s family.