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“Every lady is entitled to some secrets,” he said lightly.
“She is with child, my lord.”
He stilled, running through the possibilities in his mind. Beatrice’s lady’s maid would know every intimate detail about her, and she reported to Mrs. Brown. If such knowledge had already made it to the housekeeper, what could account for his wife not sharing the news with him?
Clearing his throat, he met the housekeeper’s gaze. “Such a private matter is best left between husband and wife.”
“Certainly, my lord. That is what I believed, but—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brown.”
His brisk tone, underlaid with warning no less, had the woman curtsying and leaving in a trice. He pretended to read the correspondence awaiting him on his desk, but as soon as she was out of sight, he rose and stumbled to a dark wood bookcase that ran the length of the wall.
Gripping a shelf that smelled of lemon oil, he wondered why the hell his wife would hide news of a child from him.
∞∞∞
Staggering away from the piano, Beatrice laughed breathlessly. “Clara, no more! My fingers shall fall off!”
“Oh, they shan’t! But very well, enough for today.” The dark-haired beauty linked arms with her and accompanied her out of the music room. “But do stay a bit! Tea is on its way up.”
Beatrice smiled indulgently. “For a bit, yes.”
“Aunt Violet hasn’t been so animated in some time! She’s missed you. It was uplifting to see her strength last so long this afternoon, but”—Clara squeezed her arm—“it left us so little time for just the two of us! We haven’t seen each other since the concert. Come, tell me all about married life!”
They giggled, and Beatrice barely managed to refrain from placing a hand over her abdomen. Stepping into the parlor, she felt a multitude of eyes upon her, however, and she couldn’t help the protective gesture.
She laughed nervously, drawing Clara’s gaze up from her hand. “Oh, how Violet adores her feathered friends! Am I mistaken, or are there more statuettes and figurines in here than ever?”
“Indeed. She says adding to her collection is one of her last remaining pleasures in life. She can still make it outside on good days. Soon enough, however,these”—her gaze scoured the variety of bird decor on the mantle and various tables throughout the parlor—“will be her only reminder of nature.”
“She is most fortunate to have such a devoted niece. I saw true joy on her face when you played for her this afternoon.”
“Speaking of true joy—you are looking well!”
“Oh, I…” Beatrice’s eyes widened before they both burst into indelicate giggles. The tea arrived then, and they saved the rest of the conversation for after the maid left.
“How fares Lord Candleton?”
“He’s very well, I thank you.” Unable to hide her incandescent smile, Bea set her tea cup down after only one sip. “Our marriage is most pleasing.”
Clara raised one eyebrow. “Most pleasing. I do believe his lordship was the only person at Hanover Square who escaped the concert without being overwhelmed by Mr. Liszt’s elevating performance! I daresay his attention was more onyou.”
Glancing down demurely, Beatrice couldn’t deny her friend’s bold assertion. William was not particularly moved by music, not in the way she was. Though he didn’t say as much, she knew he had accompanied them to the concert only to please her—and so it had. Every time she had turned to him, expecting to share in the glory, she had found him quietly appreciating her instead of the music.
“Perhaps you’ll change your mind and allow a courtship?” As soon as Bea posed the question, she regretted it, but it was too late to recall the words. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest when, after a brief pause, her friend smiled gracefully.
“I am so delighted for you, Bea! But what if I wasn’t as fortunate as you? And with Aunt Violet’s health…”
“I understand,” she replied softly. “Shall we return to the subject of gentlemen who are most pleasing? A certain Mr. Liszt? Does your heart not flutter as mine does whilst remembering his concert?”
“Oh! It does!” Clara entwined her long, pale fingers over the neckline of her gown. “They say his abilities are nothing short of inspired by the Divine! Have you heard the rumors that he was thrown from a carriage before the performance and sprained his hand? Even impaired, his playing, oh…”
Beatrice smiled as she listened to Clara’s enthusiastic summary of the handsome thirty-year-old’s performance of Hummel’s Septet, grateful that she had successfully changed the subject from courtships, yet subdued with guilt. Of course her friend’s circumstances were so terribly different from hers; it had been both foolish and unkind to have asked.
Lady Clara Chadbourne had the misfortune of belonging to a family whose name bore the stain of scandal. Beatrice had heard the whispers about her friend’s uncle, who had fled England in shame years before. What’s more, Clara’s brother and guardian, the Earl of Anterleigh, was rumored to have the taint of trade on him.
Though many a lady of her wealth and position landed reasonably favorable marriages anyway, especially someone as becoming as her friend, Beatrice suspected that what her sister Harriet called ‘high spirits’ were at play in Clara’s decision to withdraw from her coming out season. She was more enamored by Mr. Liszt’s playing—and her own—than the gentlemen who had flocked around her.
