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“Oh, she is, but she is reserved in ways that our kind typically are not, unless they are Omegas,” Charlotte explained. “If Ursella designates as such, she will be given the respect she deserves, I don’t need to tell you.” She did, rather, but Beatrice was not about to say so. Her ignorance of their ways was mounting. “Amongst our sort—oh drat, I do find it awkward, unable to refer to what we are, but—”
“But Osborn has not made himself known to me.”In more ways than one. Which was what they’d agreed.
Beatrice vowed she could see the words bursting to spill off Charlotte’s lips and the effort it took to withhold them. “I must do as my Alpha wishes,” she managed.
“Must you.”
“Well, mostly.” Charlotte winked and set the lap desk on the table. “Meaning no disrespect, of course, as our Alpha’s only desire is our safety and happiness.” She opened the lid and laid out her writing implements. “It is a great responsibility and the work of the heart rather than the brain.”
“The heart?”
“It is where thesentiooriginates and not the mind, as was assumed in olden days.”
“This term is unknown to me.” Charlotte looked at her with such perception Beatrice rose from the sofa to escape it. “My marriage to Castleton was not…communicative.” She moved over to sit in a chair, an austere caned affair, one of several scattered about the room.
“And yet you know what we are.”
“My knowledge was gained inadvertently.”
Glynis entered with the tea service, her pace as arduous as if trudging through molasses; Mr. Conlon followed behind with enough correspondence to supply a mail coach, piled on a salver. He squinted at every address and handed them over one by one. All were for Charlotte, who exclaimed with pleasure at each.
All but one.
With great ceremony, Mr. Conlon presented the last missive to Beatrice. “From the Duchess of Lowell, Your Grace.”
“Oh, dear. Our letters will cross.” She slid a finger under the seal.
Dearest Beatrice,
I must begin by insisting we do not proceed “Your Gracing” one another to death now that we are of equal rank. You will recognize this as sheer entitlement on my part. Or cheek. Whichever amuses you the more.
I have been made to understand you are aware of the “unique qualities” to be found amongst the denizens of Lowell Hall and indeed your new homeplace due to your previous situation. Despite this, you must contrive to read between the following lines.
Alfred gives his seal of approval to this approach and sends his compliments.
I am told that Arcadia, while sounding idyllic, may not be as halcyon as its name would indicate and have sent this missive with our speediest messenger, to whom the miles between us are like to nothing. As you may know, it is customary here at Lowell Hall to train those members of a variety of “family types” who are often thought to be incapable of holding their own, as it were, amongst their “sort.” Their lives are not held in great regard when compared with their stronger compatriots, but every soul has meaning, and Alfred has made it his duty to preserve these precious lives. As a result, we enjoy a surplus of men willing to work, and I am sending some to you so they may make the best use of their talents.
The “least hardy” of the myriad “sorts” are exclusively male, and as such we have no maids to send. Or, rather, none that meet the presumed gender of one who has a facility for household tasks. There are several lads perfectly adept at the delicate work required in making a house a home and take pride in doing so.
The head footman is Brosnyn. Please call upon him to best deploy each to their gifts.
As we must send them “suitably attired” and with what is needed to do their utmost for you and Arcadia, it will take time for them to arrive. Please look out for them at least three days hence.
Until then, dear Beatrice, I know you will contrive. You are such an inspiration to me. I often watched you turn aside the worst society had to offer with nothing more than a glance, and my admiration for your composure was boundless. You faced down thebeau monde(unlike I, who hid behind the palms without compunction), and I doubt there is anything too daunting for one of such fortitude and heart.
In sincere friendship, Felicity
In sincere friendship.Beatrice held the letter to her bosom, her first letter, ever, from a friend.
“Thank you,” she called after Glynis and Mr. Conlon as they tottered away. Setting down her precious missive, Beatrice poured out, adding milk and the honey Charlotte cooed over. As she accepted the cup and saucer, Charlotte noticed Beatrice’s wedding ring.
“Oh!” she cried. She set down her tea and grabbed Beatrice’s hand.
“Yes?” The woman’s grasp was warm as toast.
“Arthur gave you the topaz?” Charlotte had a complicated look on her face, one of dumbfounded shock with a hint of glee. “Georgie must have kept it for him.”
“Is that what it is?” The sherry-gold stone gleamed. “I do not know what it signifies. His Grace is keen to keep his secrets.” Beatrice poured herself a cup.
