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“I shall save these slices of lemon cake for Arth—Osborn. He is not often about at this time of day and would rue missing out.” She covered a small plate, piled high, with a serviette.
“Had Artie left the house very early this morning?” Charlotte asked.
“Rather late last night.”
“Ah.”
Beatrice met Charlotte’s meaningful glance with a shake of her head. “He told me about his…youth. I declined his, er, continued presence in honor of the trust he took in me.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Charlotte huffed.
“Charlie! I could not.” She tilted her head in the direction of a candlestick. “Not after learning such a thing.”
“What thing?” Tarben was indeed very like his mother.
“Children, I would consult with your mum in private,” Beatrice said. “Do show your papa how well you curtsy and bow.”
Bernadette and Tarben went off with determination. Ursella gave her a long look and meandered after her siblings.
“I suspect there is little to nothing you can tell me,” Beatrice said, “regarding the events of this morning.”
Charlotte laid down her pen and did not meet her gaze. “I cannot say a word, even were it permitted, without becoming…” She withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve. “I will become emotional, and it would not be helpful at this moment.”
“It is terrible? What happened at breakfast?” She had had such hope…
Hope she saw reflected in Charlotte’s eyes, along with tears. “The absolute opposite of terrible. It is wonderful, wonderful. Oh, you are my sister in truth, and I could not be more pleased.” She sobbed, once, loudly, and fell into Beatrice’s unprepared arms.
The commotion their mother made naturally drew the children back.
“Mum is not upset,” Beatrice assured them. “These are happy tears due to, to—”
“To how Uncle Arthur behaved at breakfast,” Bernadette said.
“It is very exciting,” Tarben said at his usual volume.
“It is because you smell, Aunt Beezy,” whispered Ursella.
“You didn’t before, and now you do!” Tarben bounced up and down.
“Was there a change you made recently that may have affected it in the past?” Charlotte sat up and blew her nose.
“I had oil I was told by Castleton’s housekeeper that I needed to apply daily.” Beatrice dug the vial out of her workbag and held it out to Charlotte, who passed it to Ben. “I used the little that was left yesterday.”
Ben removed the stopper and held it up to his nose. “Neem oil,” he said and exchanged a look with his mate before explaining to Beatrice, “which has no scent of its own once it meets the scent of another, if that makes any sense.”
“It does not.”
“It is used to mask one’s natural signature so none may discern it,” Ben explained. “Such asversipelleswho wish to hide their essential natures, for example. I have known it to be used as a lark for a masquerade but never with long-term intent.” He sniffed the vial again. “You say Castleton’s housekeeper gave it to you?”
“Upon arrival,” Beatrice said. She glanced over the heads of the children. “I was told it would ensure the succession.”
Ben’s expression darkened. “The exact opposite is true.”
“I am stunned to hear it.” How truly friendless she had been.
“That lot. Intolerant and shortsighted,” Charlotte growled, a very large sound coming out of such a small woman. “They would not have countenanced anyone less thanversipellianaristocracy as their Alpha female. They had no notion what they had in you.”
“The oil served to suppress your scent as well as your ability to fulfill your marital obligations regarding offspring.” Ben looked fit to be tied.
