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Chapter Eighteen
“As for most practical jokes, they are a composition of falsehood, ill-nature and cruelty.”
Private Education: A Practical Plan for the Studies of Young Ladies.
Elizabeth Appleton. 1815.
“Then the poor jabbering monkey bit the fisherman’s nose, convincing the onlookers that he was in fact a shipwrecked spy, so he was taken to trial and…”
As Hugh kept the guests enraptured with yet another nonsensical tale of derring-do, Rhys stared to the chair at the far end of the dining table.
Empty.
One hour before the prerequisite sherry, his niece had informed him that Miss Beaujeu had taken ill with a bout of the megrims and would not be dining.
“The bright light from the sun,”Miss Beaujeu had apparently murmured through a narrow gap in the door to her chamber.
Mari had frowned. “The pain must be bad, Uncle, as the room was in darkness and she sounded awful. I offered to fetch some willow bark but she said sleep would cure all.”
Which was true enough as his mother used to suffer from them but… It had been Mari’s last words that had worried him. “I thought… It seemed like she’d been…crying. But I must’ve been mistaken as Miss Beaujeu would never cry.”
Rhys agreed. Soft grey wool hid robust iron where Miss Beaujeu was concerned.
And so tears disturbed him.
It had worried him that perchance a disgust from his actions in the study had provoked an upset, so he’d sought Mrs Pugh, but she’d assured him that Miss Beaujeu’s spirits had been high when they’d shared the bench overlooking the cove.
A smile threatened to waver upon his lips at the recollection of his governess and her little spyglass. He wondered just how much she’d seen.
Had she coyly looked away? Or had her grey eyes lingered? The thought of her gaze upon him caused the hairs on his nape to rise.
Rhys was enamoured, of course.
All the emotion and want and need that the poets spoke of had at last come to him, their impassioned words brimming with fresh meaning. Alas, Rhys also knew he had to slow and not be so damn impetuous, gain her trust and court her.
Such courting, however, would have to wait until this house party was concluded as it would not be fair to the young ladies who had travelled here in the hopes of becoming a duchess.
Yet after the passionate encounter in the study, he also knew his own desires were straining to be unleashed.
Or to be blunt, he couldn’t keep his hands off her.
Hell, what must she have thought of his overeager need? He’d acted the arrant beast and if she’d not uttered the name of his butler and brought him to his senses, he would have taken her… There, in his study. On the chaise or the desk or both.
Letting out a breath of consternation, he hoped his savage want hadn’t scared her. What if she was avoiding him?
Or was he being egotistical to even think that?
Damnation, she scattered his wits till he knew not if he was on his arse or his elbow.
Tonight, Rhys had endeavoured to allow his manner to cool towards the young ladies, to let their expectations gradually drop. Not that he considered he’d ever nurtured over-expectation within any of their breasts, but nevertheless, to become a duchess had been their reason to attend.
If he’d just waited…
“Aberdare?” Lady Elen was scowling at him. “We are departing for the drawing room. Shall you join us soon?”
“Of course.”
The ladies and their chaperones left the gentlemen to their port, although Captain Brecken had not joined them tonight, preferring to take dinner and a dose of laudanum in his rooms as his leg was paining him.
