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“The finest.Fettleis a wonderfully descriptive noun, isn’t it? I wonder if it’s from the Middle or Old English?”
Viola gave her an affectionate wink. “I’m sure you’ll inform us the next time we meet.”
“I did notice that your hair is dressed in rather a singular style,” said Isobel.
“Singular is one word for it.” Beatrice sighed. “Does anyone except my mother think this style is flattering to me?”
Isobel and Viola perused her hair, which had been piled on top of her head with the aid of wires and padding, and stuck all over with beads and feathers. Two very long, very wide, curls framed her face, falling against her cheeks. She kept seeing them out of the corner of her eye because they quivered when she spoke. It was most distracting.
“I cannot tell a lie,” said Viola. “It’s not a good look. It’s somewhere betwixt a bird’s nest and the leaning tower of Pisa.”
“I can lie with impunity, since I’m going to be a solicitor,” said Isobel. “It’s most becoming, Lady Beatrice. You might add a few more feathers. Or perhaps some common household objects? Forks! Why not a few judiciously placed silver forks? It would make you even more unique and could be quite useful for an impromptu luncheon al fresco.”
“Stop.” Beatrice chuckled. “Today she promised that if I follow her rules, which, I might add include an injunction against associating with wallflowers, I would have my reward in the form of a proposal from the Earl of Mayhew.”
“First of all,” said Viola, “you can’t follow the rule about wallflowers because...us. And Mayhew? Absolutely not. He’s no one’s prize except for Lady Millicent’s, and they deserve each other. The venomous gossip and the vain coxcomb.”
“I know my mother loves me, and she thinks she’s acting in my interests, but her love isn’t unconditional. It’s as if she sees me as an extension of herself—another limb—and she can’t conceive that I might have my own separate will and my own desires. We’re almost opposites, really.” Her mother thought that Beatrice’s entire future rested on the perfect collection of gowns. She wanted her to emerge as this Season’s social butterfly, but Beatrice was firmly encased in a cocoon of her own design, and she had no intention of spreading her wings until she returned to Cornwall.
“I wish I had known my mother,” said Viola.
“Oh, I’m sorry, here I am going on and on and you never even knew your mother.” Beatrice smiled at her friend.
“It’s all right.” Viola shook her head and the sparkle returned to her eyes. “Tell us more about your mother’s plans for your time. We’ll have to find some way to steal you away from her.”
“There is something else. She gave me this letter.” Beatrice pointed at the envelope sitting on a nearby table. “While I was in Cornwall, I inherited Castle’s Bookshop on the Strand. Do you remember when we visited it several years ago, Isobel? It’s where I purchased myWhyter’sEtymologicon Magnum.”
“You inherited the bookshop?” asked Isobel.
“Mr. Castle left it to his wife, my aunt Matilda Castle. I never even knew I had an Aunt Matilda. She was my father’s eldest sister and was disinherited for marrying a shopkeeper. She owned the shop outright and bequeathed it, and a small inheritance, to me in her will.”
“How extraordinary!” Isobel moved to the edge of her seat. “I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of females I know who’ve inherited real property.”
“Don’t get too excited. Mama decided that owning a bookshop was unacceptable for a lady, and she already instructed our solicitor to sell the building to a London property developer who sent in a report that the bookshop was in a dangerously derelict condition.”
“She can’t do that, Beatrice,” said Isobel, her voice deepening. “If you’ve inherited the property, you’re the only person who can legally sell it. And I wouldn’t trust a report from a property developer. They are notoriously avaricious and would say anything to purchase a property cheaply and resell it for profit.”
“She’d never let me keep the bookshop, but I’m overjoyed by the prospect of owning the collection of antiquarian books. I want to visit the shop immediately to see if the collection is intact.”
“Let’s go today!” said Viola. “I want to see it.”
“We should go,” agreed Isobel. “I refuse to let you sell a property that you inherited without at least viewing it first, or having an independent inspection conducted. This developer may be unscrupulous and attempting to bilk you out of your inheritance.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I’m studying inheritance laws. One of my future goals will be to assist ladies in the ownership and retention of real property. As your future solicitor, I strongly encourage you to have an independent appraisal performed.”
“The property might be too derelict to be salvaged,” said Beatrice. “When I visited it several years ago I noticed a decidedly musty odor. There’s nothing worse than the presence of moisture or mold for rare books.”
“Properties can be repaired,” said Isobel.
“Indeed,” said Viola. “Bycarpenters. Don’t you know one of those, Beatrice?”
Beatrice tensed. “If you’re referring to Mr. Wright, you can forget that notion immediately. He’s not available. He told me that he’s going back to sea with the Royal Navy as a ship’s carpenter.”
“That’s too bad,” said Viola.
“And even if he were available, I’d never consider hiring the man. He’s overconfident and arrogant.”
