Page 73 of The Governess and the Rogue

She cast him a discreet glance as they sat together on the tufted damask-covered sofa in front of the marble fireplace in Beasley Park’s silk-papered drawing room. What an excellent actor he was. The things he said. The way he looked at her. The casual manner in which he’d taken her hand and kissed it when she offered the winning guess during their final game of charades.

He gave his family every impression that he cared for her. Indeed, his actions were so persuasive, Bea could almost believe it herself. The fact both vexed and impressed her by turns.

As for the rest of the Beresfords, they were nothing like Bea had expected. Oh, they were handsome enough, to be sure, as well as being impeccably dressed. And they certainly hadn’t refrained from asking Bea questions about where she was from and how she and Jack had met. But they didn’t appear to look down their noses at her for all that. They weren’t outwardly rude or disdainful. They weren’t even as top lofty as Lord St. Clare had initially seemed. On the contrary, they were loud and opinionated, frequently talking over each other, and engaging in good-humored banter.

They also didn’t relegate their offspring to the nursery for the whole of the evening. All nine of the children had joined the adults for charades. The game had soon devolved into gleeful laughter and energetic verbal sparring as a result. The Beresfords, it transpired, were a competitive lot. Lady Kate was still lamenting her loss over coffee, long after the children had been sent off to bed.

She sat on the sofa opposite Bea and Jack, clad in a stunning dark blue silk dinner dress with a loose-fitting midsection. She balanced her coffee cup on the swell of her belly. “The teams were poorly organized,” she said. “That’s your fault, Ivo.”

Ivo straightened from petting one of the wolfhounds. It was sprawled on the carpet near the settee where he and his wife were seated, along with four other sleeping dogs. “I disagree,” he said. “The teams were perfectly arranged. You thought so too before you started to lose.”

Kate narrowed her eyes at her brother. “You make me out to be a sore loser.”

“You sound like a sore loser,” St. Clare remarked quietly. He stood by his wife’s chair near the crackling fire, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

“Only because I’m not at my best,” Kate retorted. “Be warned. Once this baby comes, and I am myself again, I shall show you no mercy.”

“It’s not Ivo you should be worried about, sweetheart,” Charles said from his place beside her. “It was Miss Layton who trounced you.”

“And whose idea was it to put Miss Layton on Jack’s team if not Ivo’s?” Kate demanded.

“Miss Layton will always be on my team,” Jack said. “A fiancé’s privilege.”

Bea’s heart thumped hard. She forced herself to take another drink of her coffee. It was rich and strong. Everything Lord and Lady St. Clare had served today had been equally luxurious. Though not in a strictly traditional sense. Dinner, for example, had contained a great many more vegetable dishes than it had mutton, chicken, or beef.

“Hannah abstains from all animal flesh,” Meg Beresford had explained to Bea at the table. Married to Ivo, she was a soft-spoken, red-haired lady, with a delicate stammer. “She’s a member of the Vegetarian Society. She claims it’s a question of conscience.”

Bea had no knowledge of vegetarianism in England, but she was quite familiar with it in India. There it was a matter of religion—and compassion. It seemed strange to find the practice observed here in the Somerset countryside, among the descendants of countesses and earls.

Or perhaps not so strange, the more Bea observed them. For all their wealth and pedigree, they struck her as people of principle. Of conscience and compassion. And of decided opinion.

“That’s not how it works,” Kate said to Jack.

“The loser’s lament,” Jack retorted without malice.

Kate scoffed at the accusation. “Spouses and sweethearts have an unfair advantage. It’s why Charles and I can’t be on the same team.”

Jack leaned back on the sofa, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. “Charades are dull sport in any case. When I’m fully healed and you’re safely delivered of my new niece or nephew, you and I shall have a proper contest.”

Kate’s face immediately brightened. “A race?”

Jack smiled. “Why not?”

“I can think of several reasons,” Charles said ominously.

Kate flashed her husband an arch look before returning her attention to her brother. “Have you ridden since…?”

Jack’s smile dimmed. “I wouldn’t call it riding, but yes. I’ve been on horse.” He lowered his coffee cup back to its saucer with a soft clink. “I was thinking of taking one out tomorrow.”

“To anywhere in particular?” St. Clare asked.

Jack met his oldest brother’s gaze. “To the Priory.”

“Marston Priory is Jack’s estate near Exford,” Kate said to Bea. “It used to belong to my mother’s side of the family, but Jack bought it outright some years ago. My brother James has had the running of it.”

“Until now.” Jack returned his coffee cup to the silver tray on the low table in front of the sofa. “Henceforward, I’ll be the one managing things. I’ll ride out in the morning to get the lay of the land.”

There was a protracted silence.