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“The better for a dramatic revelation at an inappropriate time,” Charlotte said.
“I doubt there will be much call for such histrionics here at Arcadia.” Beatrice offered a plate of biscuits. “I do wish to apologize for failing to address you correctly. I presume your husband has a courtesy title? Do you not use it?”
“It is Swinburn. It has done us little good up to now,” Charlotte said. She took a breath and continued. “I am sure it is your place to make this request, as you are higher in status, but I shall be bold and ask if I may make free with your name.”
“Of course.” Beatrice’s heart was like a flame in her chest, filling her with warmth. “As, as friends do.”
“As family do. And you require a name to be used only within the sleu—er, amongst ourselves.” Charlotte regarded her through playfully narrowed eyes. “Beatrice, Beatrice…Bea? Trixie? Beezy! We shall call you Beezy. I am Charlotte, but do call me Charlie.”
That was taking it too far, and Beatrice knew her expression showed it. “Charlotte. I shall give it thought.”
“Thinking,” Charlotte scoffed. “That’s getting you and Artie nowhere.” She started reviewing her mountain of missives, slotting several to the bottom of the pile.
“I’m sure I do not know to what you refer.” Charlotte scoffed again. Beatrice fussed with the sugar tongs. “I trust you will let me know if there is anything else I can do to make you comfortable.”
“You have achieved an impressive amount in such a short time. I cannot imagine being cozier than we already are.”
Beatrice had to stop herself from scoffing. Aloud, at least. “You say that now, but wait until the next rainstorm.”
“One noted the lacework on the roof from the road,” Charlotte said, amiably enough. “I did overhear you suggesting Mr. Todd hire workers.”
“Yes, I intend to fund the work and, while doing so, build loyalty in the village.”
“It’s been years since there was money flowing from this seat.” Her sister-in-law was nothing if not direct.
“I have my own.”
“I have heard it said that you do.” Five letters made their way into their own pile.
“It is true.” There was nothing more she wished to say on that score. “I have received a letter from the Duchess of Lowell. I wrote asking if they could spare a few ready hands, and here is Her Grace addressing the matter herself.”
“You share an acquaintance?” Charlotte shuffled three cards nearer the top.
“She is…” Beatrice thought of those last lines of the letter. “She is my friend.”
“Then you may find yourself playing godmother,” Charlotte said. “She’ll be up the duff as soon as may be, I reckon.”
“I do beg your pardon.”
“The Duke of Lowell won’t be waiting to get young.” Charlotte shuffled her letters into yet another formation and thumbed through the last few.
“Young?”
“It’s due to the curse being overturned. Our lot don’t palaver with curses. About whom I cannot inform you,” she muttered.
“Curse?” Was Felicity safe?
“That Lowell and their pack would not be fruitful and multiply until the duke found hisvera amoris. So he has, and so they will.” Charlotte seemed satisfied with the arrangement of her correspondence and opened the top letter on the first pile. “You would think he’d have waited.”
“Waited?”
“To call in the children.”
“Call in the…?” What on earth?
“It’s the way of the males of each Shifter species, Goddess knows why it was allowed. It is the men who determine fertility.” Charlotte scanned the contents of the letter. “We blame the wolves. Their creation tale has become the most widely known among us due to their greater numbers. In their infinite wisdom,” and her tone conveyed that it was the opposite, “they deemed it imperative to their survival that their Goddess Diana set the male in charge of fertility.” She put aside the first letter and picked up the second. “As all species have mixed over the last century or so, this power has manifested amongst the rest of us.” Charlotte tossed her current missive down and sighed. “It is quite tiresome and often requires more breeding than is fair to a female.”
This was not news to Beatrice. “It is like that among, um, humans as well.”
