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Not because of any harebrained notions of love, or of a future together. She wasn’tthatmuch of a ninny. She wasn’t ashamed of what they’d done on the bed. That had been delightful.
She was angry with herself for allowing him inside her heart. And for revealing her friends’ secrets. She’d sworn an oath to the sisterhood not to reveal their true goals until it was agreed upon by the group.
She’d told him Viola’s secret, and she’d been about to reveal Isobel’s daring deception. She’d betrayed the trust of her fellow members of the League. How could she have done such a thing?
Viola and Isobel would attend her mother’s costume ball tonight, and Beatrice would have to tell them what she’d done. She also wanted to be able to assure them that she’d sworn Ford to secrecy.
She must return to the bookshop and swear him to silence, for her friends’ sake.
“My dear, are you ill?” Her mother sailed into the room, accompanied by the scent of violets and hair powder. “Why are you lazing abed? We have much to do before the ball tonight. First a round of morning calls, and then we will supervise the final touches in the ballroom before beginning your toilette.”
“I’m feeling a little under the weather this morning.”
Her mother sat on the bed and laid a cool hand on Beatrice’s forehead. “You do feel slightly hot. You mustn’t be ill. Not today of all days. You must look your best tonight. I’ll send for Dr. Merton. He’ll have something to ease the pain.”
“No doctors, Mama.” She’d had enough of doctors to last a lifetime. “I’ll feel better after I have a rest and a bite to eat. You go on the calls, Mama. I’ll be fresh as a daisy when you return.”
Her mother stood up. “Very well. I expect to see you rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed when I return. That’s an order.”
Beatrice had two hours at most. She waited until her mother left before dismissing her maid and dressing herself in one of her plain blue gowns and a pair of sturdy boots.
It was a brisk day, and the walk through Mayfair and Pall Mall toward the Strand did Beatrice good. As she arrived at the bookshop, she noticed a carriage standing near the front door. As she fit her key to the lock, the carriage opened and Mr. Foxton alighted.
“Lady Beatrice,” he said, lifting his hat. “I was here to see Mr. Wright, but it seems he’s gone out.”
“Whatever you have to say to Wright, you may say to me,” she said coldly. “I own this property.”
“Do you, though?”
“And just what are you insinuating by that question?”
“Why don’t we discuss this inside?”
Beatrice bristled at the way he took ownership, inviting her to enter her own building. She pushed past him and hung her bonnet on a hook. It was market day and Mrs. Kettle and Coggins would be out purchasing provisions. Since Ford was gone as well, Beatrice was alone with Foxton.
Though he’d leave swiftly; she’d make sure of that.
“I can’t offer you tea, Mr. Foxton, but I expect this isn’t a social call. Say what you have to say.” She hugged her arms over her chest and remained standing.
Foxton’s gaze traveled over the front room. “I see you’ve made good on your promise to renovate the shop.”
Afternoon sun played over the grain of the new oak flooring, highlighting blond and red strands. “Mr. Wright doesn’t waste time. Now tell me why you’re here, Mr. Foxton.”
“Lady Beatrice, I had hoped that you and I might come to an amicable agreement as concerns the fate of this property. Since you persisted in reneging on the original agreement to sell me the property, I had to take matters into my own hands.”
“I never made any agreement with you.”
“Your solicitor’s promise.”
“Which is not the same thing at all.”
“A point which has been rendered meaningless by what I’m about to tell you.”
The gaunt, older man bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. “You don’t own this bookshop, Lady Beatrice, and therefore its disposition is not a matter under your control.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“While you have been tearing out counters and replacing floorboards, I had my lawyers do some research. It seems that the late Mr. Castle left the bookshop to his wife without scouring his family tree for any more appropriate male relation upon which to bestow his legacy. A Mr. Leonard Castle has come forward, and he has a legitimate claim to the property and to the inheritance. The matter of his claim could be tied up in the courts for months, if not years, I’m afraid.”
