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Beatrice turned from the window under the newly refurbished eaves, in what ought to be a maid’s room. “I hesitate to put either Ciara or Glynis up here,” she said, mindful of the many stairs.
“We shall call them the footmen’s rooms then,” Charlotte said as she ran a hand over the bed covers to settle them into shape. “I suspect the girls would not wish to be removed from the rooms they have made their homes.”
“Charlotte.” Beatrice sat on the bed, disrupting her sister-in-law’s work. “If it is not comfortable to discuss what the children were saying this morning, I understand. But if you would like to speak to another woman about it…”
Charlotte joined her. “These were relations on my side, part of a family group like ours, who had very high standards of behavior. I suspect it is where Bernadette gets it.” She laughed; it lacked her usual heartiness. “My children’s manners were the cynosure of very discerning eyes, as were my own. Ben came close to blows when I was taken to task before the whole family. We left under the cover of night because I was so afraid he would challenge the head of the house.”
“Challenging entails…” Beatrice did not like the sound of that.
“The death of he who is not the victor. At least according to those who abide by the old ways. As that branch of the family still do, given their great age. We ourselves do not.” Charlotte patted her hand. “We are adept at packing our bags and moving on, and we fled beneath the pall of my unladylike glory.”
“And yet only behold my good self, as little like a lady as you may ever see.” Beatrice stood and brandished her dusting cloth. “How thebeau mondewould gawk at Lady Frost now. I am positively melting from the exertion.”
“Your sobriquet earned admiration.” Charlotte rose and tugged the bed covers flat. “Society assumed it was an aspect gleaned from your years in Castleton’s—”
“Care?” Beatrice finished. “I do not think I need go any further in saying it was not care.”
“And yet you took your rightful place in society when the time came and faced them down.”
Beatrice looked around the room and considered it good. She led Charlotte to the stairs. They had accomplished what she’d designated for the day, and the footmen—dare she sayherfootmen—would be housed in comfort.
“I did, as was my right.” She wiped a cloth along the banister as they descended. “With little pleasure. One pined for the peace of the countryside after a Season of whispers, though I could never miss what I found in Adolphus Place.”
A footman stood at the door of the family reception room and, when requested, set off with alacrity to fetch their tea. The women took to the sofas.
Charlotte shuddered. “There are none among us who wish to imagine Castleton in the bedchamber.”
“It was—” Beatrice folded the cloth in her hands.
“Revolting? Horrendous?”
She looked up. “It was harrowing.”
Charlotte leapt from her seat and cuddled up to Beatrice’s side. “Oh, my dear.” She briskly rubbed a hand up and down the other woman’s arm.
“And at the end of the day, I…” If Beatrice could not ask Charlotte, she could ask no one. “I do not believe the act was done properly.” She worried at her wedding ring.
“If any were to be improper, I would think it he.”
“I am not conveying my meaning. I was, of course, raised in pastoral circumstances.” The footman returned, set down the service, and bowed. “Thank you, Brock.” He stepped out and pulled the door shut.
Beatrice poured out and tried again. “I have seen the animals. Oh, I mean no offense.”
Charlotte divided a scone among two plates. “Did your mum not take you into her confidence before your wedding night?”
“She did, in euphemistic terms. But I discerned the, the mechanics of the act from—”
“The natural world,” Charlotte supplied.
“The natural world. My expectation of translating such efforts into the human experience were not met.”
“I see.” Charlotte drank her tea.
“Do you?” This would be simpler than she’d thought.
Charlotte put down her cup and saucer. “I do not.”
Beatrice rent her half of the scone in two. “Mother said there would be blood.”
