Page 29 of Make Mine a Marquess

She hesitated, wanting to speak about how he treated the servants, but once again, she held her tongue. He was right about one thing. When she had her own household, she would act differently. It had to be so.

She placed her hand on his sleeve. She couldn’t help but notice the difference between Willard and Landon. Willard’s arm was skinny while the marquess’s forearm was muscular and strong. Landon was also taller, broader…and—

No. No. No!

She shoved her wayward thoughts aside and forced a smile as Willard left her by the drawing room doors where the women were gathered.

“I look forward to our walk tomorrow,” he said with a smooth smile.

Beatrice saw Phoebe and motioned to an empty chair beside her. She leaned forward to whisper in Phoebe’s ear. “Tell me everything.”

After Phoebe couldn’t wake Beatrice, she’d left a note telling her about the early morning ride with Landon, just in case Beatrice woke and wondered about her whereabouts. Phoebe hadn’t named Landon in writing, in case the note was discovered by a maid, or heaven forbid, her mother, but Beatrice knew precisely whom she’d go riding with.

“The land is beautiful,” Phoebe said. “There is a river with an otter and—”

Beatrice glared at her. “Don’t be daft. You know what I mean.”

Phoebe glanced right and left to be sure no one was paying them attention or within earshot. “He’s exciting. I’ve never felt so alive.”

Beatrice pressed a hand to her chest. “And Willard?”

“We are to walk tomorrow afternoon.”

Beatrice’s green gaze lit with humor. “Hmm. Are you as excited?”

She knew where her cousin was headed. “I just witnessed the baron treating the elderly housekeeper harshly.”

A crease formed between Beatrice’s eyes. “Not that there is an excuse, but perhaps he is overwhelmed with the house party. There are many guests to see to.”

“I suppose. Still, I would never speak to a servant in such a fashion.”

“When you marry, you will be the lady of the house and in charge of the servants,” Beatrice pointed out.

Phoebe let out a held-in breath. “Yes, you’re right. I thought the same thing.”

Beatrice repeated her earlier question. “Are you as excited for the walk with the baron as the ride this morning?”

“I’m certain it will be just as nice.”

“Hmm,” Beatrice hummed with a don’t-fool-me look. “Why do you look so solemn?”

Her cousin was too perceptive. “If I look that way, it’s because we must write half a dozen letters for the next hour. I know of only one person I am going to write to.”

“Who? The marquess?”

“No, silly. My maid told me about a woman named Sarah Smith who helps needy expecting mothers in the village. I’m going to write to her and explain how I’d like to help. Now, who on earth are you going to write to?”

“An elderly aunt. Do not change the subject. Something happened during that ride. I know you better than anyone.”

She shouldn’t confess it. Saying it out loud made her feel even more guilty. She lowered her voice even more. “We kissed.”

Beatrice almost dropped her pen. “Kissed!”

“Shh” Phoebe’s gaze darted from left to right.

Beatrice leaned closer. “I’m dying to learn more.”

“There isn’t more to tell. It was a mistake and shall not happen again.” She was determined to focus on Lord Willard and to move on with her life as planned. Helping unwed mothers in Hertfordshire was important to her, and she was determined to pour her energy into those efforts. It had always worked in the past.