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“And so you sallied forth to inspire enough rage in Hallbjorn to force his Change and sent word to me that I do my duty posthaste. Deliberate and not so delicate.”
“This is the product of your orchestrations, sir.” Beatrice would not relent.
“And as I said, it worked out in the end.” He looked around him with longing. “I spent one summer here, when Arthur was quite, quite small, little more than a babe in arms and not in the least bit entertaining. He will not recall this. It was the most idyllic season I have ever spent. I was free to roam and Change and feast on wild strawberries and honey from the comb. I was minded by Arthur’s mother with as much care as she minded her own, and his father gave me a pattern upon which to base my behavior—well, some of it. It does my heart good to see Arcadia restored and its chatelaine and Alpha female to be everything it deserves and more.”
“Georgie!” Arthur bellowed from below. “Get your great hairy arse down here, there’s work to be done.”
“Your Grace!” Beatrice gasped. Relaxing protocol was well and good, but this was a step too far.
“Oh. Madam.” Contrite, he popped his head around the end of the staircase. “Didn’t see you there. Your Highness, we beg your company as we prepare for the proceedings at dawn.”
“Proceedings?” This was not on her schedule.
“I leave that for your husband to relay.” Georgie bent over her hand and processed down the stairs. Halfway, the footmen behind him fell in, giving an impression very like a waterfall, taking their place guarding his back, those at the fore leading the way.
“For Odin’s sake, Georgie, do you practice that in your spare time?” she heard Arthur grouse.
Brosnyn appeared in the wake of the royal phalanx. “Ma’am, the Duchess of Lowell and the Honorable Miss Barrington await you in the footstool room.”
“Thank you, Brosnyn.” As odd as it was to receive guests so late in the day, Beatrice was thrilled to see her friends. “If you would show them up?”
Arcadia’s butler shuffled out ahead of the women, Felicity in particular solicitous of his great age. “Mr. Conlon, please assemble the housekeeping footmen and prepare the Sorrel Suite and the Verona Chambers?”
“It is being done even as we speak, ma’am,” he replied.
“You are a treasure.” The little turtle beamed and toddled away.
“The Sorrel Suite? You have been busy,” Felicity said as she attempted a decorous ascension up the stairs. She failed about halfway, and Beatrice found herself in an embrace that rivaled the bears’ for strength.
Tabitha’s hug was as fierce. Another friend made on the fringes of thebeau monde’s ballrooms, Miss Barrington had only returned to society after living abroad with her brother Timothy. The willowy lady had a passion for apothecary matters and was said to be as knowledgeable as a man on the subject. She certainly spoke with as much confidence as did a man, a quality that inspired censure from the arbiters of manners in thebeau monde.
“I find the naming of rooms to be sufficient reward for tending to their refurbishment myself,” she replied. “Come, let us repair to the den. It was known as the family reception room, but we found it unwieldy to say that every day and night. It is a term that has, em, meaning for the Humphries clan.” She caught herself in time before revealing anything she ought not before Tabitha. “I am afraid there is an inconsistency to the names. They do not share a theme, as in being called for flowers, for example. Even at this early stage I fear it is too late to change them.”
“They are idiosyncratic, then.” Felicity and Tabitha took in the room, and Beatrice found herself on edge waiting for their response. “This is a wonderful setting, Your Grace.”
“We were not to ‘Your Grace’ one another to death if I recall your letter correctly,” Beatrice reminded Felicity.
“It is very homely,” Tabitha said, “but an open window or two would prove healthful.”
“I will direct a footman to do so as I have no trust in my ability to open them myself. I vow, I required Arthur to exert his, uh, superior strength on every door in this place. The ones that were not already off their hinges, that is.”
Brosnyn hovered on the threshold. “Ma’am, Mr. Conlon wishes to know your desires regarding refreshment.”
“Let us have tea for four, thank you.” Beatrice dragged the chaise back to its place near the tea table. “My sister-in-law, Lady Swinburn, is seeing to the children up in the nursery and will join us directly. There.” She settled the chaise into place and fetched a cane-backed chair to finish off the grouping. “The furniture moves about willy-nilly, none will admit to it. I do not know if it is another family idiosyncrasy or if His Grace is keen to raise my ire.”
“Beatrice, have you been taking one of my tonics?” Tabitha touched the back of her hand to Beatrice’s forehead. “I have not heard more than five words from you in one sitting in our entire acquaintanceship, and here you are, as bubbly as a brook.”
“She has had a tonic,” Charlotte quipped as she joined them. “Applied by her husband.”
“Charlie, do not!” Beatrice scolded her and then made the introductions. Three footmen followed with tea trays, and once ensconced behind the pot, Beatrice’s joy was complete. Her own home, her staff, and, when it came down to it, her teapot. She could ask for little more, except…
“You look radiant,” Felicity said.
“In the first weeks it was due to an unladylike glow of exertion,” she joked as she poured out.
“Her Grace did more than her fair share to rejuvenate Arcadia,” Charlotte added.
“If only you had seen it when we first arrived,” Beatrice said. “Shattered windows, the roof like a sieve, wind howling through the walls. It was like something out of one of Mrs. Anchoretta Asquith’s novels. Oh, Felicity! Oh.” She caught herself with a glance at Tabitha and faltered. “I heard something about that good lady and recalled I do not like to gossip.”
