The Trials of Alaric (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #8)

Chapter Four

T he rain stopped late in the evening, and by the following morning the sky showed no trace of the storm. Bea woke early and scrambled into her riding habit. Normally, after a big storm, she would ride out with Papa and his steward to see what damage had been caused to the farms and the roads, but when she saw Papa in the stable yard, he shook his head. “Better stay with the house party, Beatrice. I shall probably be out most of the day.”

One of the grooms brought out Papa’s big stallion, and he mounted without another word, and rode off in the direction of the main gate. Out all day? In his condition? If I were male, would he have dismissed me so easily?

Bea walked off her feelings along the clifftop, from which she could see what remained of the wreck on the reef offshore. The garden, too, showed damage from the storm, with broken trees, flooded hollows, and several miniature landslides along the paths on the steeper slopes.

As she stopped to look up at one bank where soil had slumped, leaving the roots of a tree exposed, a male voice called her name. “Lady Beatrice!”

She suppressed a sigh. Could she not even have this quiet morning hour without having to entertain one of the suitors? Apparently not, for Mr. Howard was walking toward her with a pleasant smile.

“You are out early, Lady Beatrice.”

Mr. Howard had lost yesterday’s match with grace, she reminded herself. And he was certainly easy to look at, even if he did go walking in the morning before breakfast dressed as if he had stepped from the pages of Ackermann’s Repository. Perhaps she should take this opportunity to get to know him better. “I am surveying the damage from the storm,” she told him. “I suspect that tree will have to be brought down, and the upper path rerouted.”

He cast a cursory glance up the slope, and then his smile widened and turned patronizing.

“Such matters are best left to the gardeners, I am certain, my lady. I am sure your parents would not want you worrying your pretty head. Perhaps, if you were particularly fond of the tree, they will order another planted?”

Not worry my pretty head? Fond of the tree? Was the man a complete dunce? Bea understood from her cousins that her upbringing was unusual—she had been raised knowing that Claddach would be hers and taught what she would need to do to be a good steward of the land and people. She supposed she could not blame Mr. Howard for treating her like any other unmarried lady of his acquaintance. But did he speak to all ladies as if they were children? And witless, careless children at that?

Could the man adjust his attitude, though? “You misunderstand, Mr. Howard. As future Countess of Claddach, all this island is my concern, from the garden here at the castle to the crops in the fields of the meanest tenant farmer. I should be riding with my father as we speak. He will be gone all day, reviewing the storm damage across the island.” She sighed. “But it would be rude to our guests for both of us to desert them, and so here you see me. Carrying out the least of my duties by cataloguing tasks for the gardener.”

He was staring at her, uncomprehending. He blinked hard and gave his head a little shake. Clearly, it didn’t work to reorder his thinking, for he adjusted his expression to another empty smile and stepped closer to her than she liked, almost touching. “My dear Lady Beatrice, how delightful that you try to help your father. You must long to lay such unwomanly burdens on the shoulders of a husband. How fortunate that man who wins your favor.”

His voice dropped to a husky drawl on the last sentence, and he stepped even closer. She had only a brief moment to evade his hands as they came up, presumably to hold her shoulders.

She ducked away from them, stepping backward and sideways in time for the kiss intended for her lips to fall on empty air.

“I daresay food has been laid in the breakfast room, Mr. Howard,” she said, as she walked away, but the man hurried after her and had the temerity to take hold of her hand in such a firm grip she had to stop or engage in an undignified tugging match.

“Mr. Howard,” she began, crossly.

But Mr. Howard had a speech to deliver, and no intention of allowing her a word in edgewise until he had delivered it. “Lady Beatrice, from the moment I first saw you, I have been consumed by admiration and, dare I say it? Desire. Such beauty! Such poise! Such grace! I cannot believe I am alone in this passion. Say you feel it too, dearest, most glorious Beatrice. May I call you Beatrice? And you shall call me Ambrose, and your own.”

“No,” Bea said, decidedly, and tugged at her hand, hang how undignified it appeared.

The stupid, stupid man looked decidedly bewildered, but kept tight hold of her.

“But I esteem you,” he insisted. “Greatly.”

They both turned at the sound of slow clapping. “Yes, we heard,” said Mr. Redhaven, who was leaning against the concrete corner plinth at the bottom of a flight of steps, just a short distance away. “Such beauty. Such poise. Such lands and house. Do release Lady Beatrice’s hand, Mr. Howard. You are gripping it tightly enough to bruise.”

Bea was released so suddenly she fell back a step, and Mr. Howard curled his hands into fists. “Sir, I do not know who you are, but I beg leave to tell you that you are impertinent. Get you gone, sir.”

Mr. Redhaven inclined his head. “Alaric Redhaven, and it would be insincere, I fear, to say at your service. At Lady Beatrice’s service, however. May I escort you into breakfast, my lady?”

“You may,” Bea said, and was surprised to find that her voice was shaking.

“I will escort Lady Beatrice,” Mr. Howard insisted.

“You will not,” said Bea. “I do not wish to see you, Mr. Howard, until you have amended your discourtesy. When I say ‘no,’ I mean ‘no.’”

She took Mr. Redhaven’s offered arm and walked away, Mr. Howard’s voice following her. “I do not despair, Lady Beatrice. It is a lady’s privilege to change her mind.”

*

Alaric had come out to the gardens because Gilno said he would be able to see the wreck from the clifftop. He had stopped partway to rest, leaning against a handy wall. While he felt a lot better today, he was still a bit shaky on his legs.

Lady Beatrice’s irritated voice saying “Mr. Howard” had attracted his attention. It came from just around a bend in the path he had been following. When a gentleman spoke over her to declaim his undying passion, Alaric had a hunch that the lady might need rescuing. In ten paces, he was around the corner and though within sight, figuring he could retreat as quietly as he’d come, if the lady was receptive to the posturing idiot’s advances. He’d found another bit of concrete wall to lean against and discovered he was glad he’d decided to overlook the situation. She was trembling as they walked away, and he wanted to go back and plant the man a facer. Perhaps she expected him to do so?

Before he could ask, she spoke. “That man,” she said, her voice sounding much calmer now, “is an idiot. Two, at least, of my suitors have straw for brains. How could my mother and aunt possibly think they would make an acceptable consort to the Lady of Claddach?”

The trembling, Alaric realized, was as much anger as residual fear. “If they are all as bacon-brained as that one, none of them will do,” he said. Should he warn her the servants thought her mother and aunt were conspiring to make her marry her cousin? He did not want Colyn to be reprimanded. Nor, for that matter, did he want to lose his own source of intelligence. No, he wouldn’t say anything just yet. Best to see how things developed.

In the breakfast room, Alaric was introduced to a Mr. Maddrell, a Mr. Whittington, and a Mr. Meadowsweet. Maddrell, it transpired, was the earl’s secretary, and Whittington his chaplain. Meadowsweet, then, must be one of the five suitors from the infamous list.

Lady Beatrice was the only lady in the room, and it soon became clear that Meadowsweet had risen early in order to monopolize her attention. Alaric’s presence put an unexpected spoke in the man’s wheel, as did Lady Beatrice’s determination to include all four gentlemen in the conversation.

Alaric wondered if Meadowsweet was the other man that Lady Beatrice had referred to as having straw for brains. It was a little disturbing that he felt compelled to prove his own intelligence. He found himself asking questions about Claddach, starting with its most notable products—a specific breed of sheep and another of cattle, cider, and woven woolens.

Maddrell, Whittington, and Lady Beatrice were all happy to contribute to the answers. Meadowsweet objected that the conversation was unsuitable for ladies, to which Lady Beatrice said, “What I find unsuitable, Mr. Meadowsweet, is ignorance. I suspect most ladies are glad to know about the sources of their family income. As for me, I have been raised to be Lady of Claddach, and such matters are very important to me.”

To give Meadowsweet credit, he rallied, and offered a few questions of his own. He showed poorly even in that, since what he knew about animal husbandry, brewing, and weaving could all be inscribed on his signet ring with room remaining for the seal.

When the conversation turned to Claddach’s history, however, Meadowsweet came into his own, having some pertinent and thoughtful facts to offer about the impact of the Vikings, the Scots, the Saxons, and the Normans in the county of his birth. All four, plus the Irish and the Manx, had contributed to the history and culture of the island.

The islands, rather. Though the name was the Isle of Claddach, there were two major islands, one slightly larger than the other, separated by a narrow sea channel with a walkable causeway at low tide, plus dozens of smaller islands ranging in size from a large farm to a rock fit only for seals and seagulls.

Howard arrived just as Lady Beatrice was finishing her breakfast, listened for a moment, and then broke into the conversation as if none of the other men were here. “Lady Beatrice, you cannot possibly be interested in a conversation about fishermen and their catches. Gentlemen, do none of you know the proper topics of conversation with a lady?”

Alaric listened to Meadowsweet’s response with some enjoyment. “Lady Beatrice is not an empty-headed ninny, Howard. She enjoys talking about the topics that are important to Claddach, such as its farming, its fishing, and its history. Do you not, Lady Beatrice?”

“I do,” the lady confirmed. “Mr. Meadowsweet, Mr. Howard, I have much to do to prepare for the day’s activities. May I leave you to look after Mr. Redhaven? He is a late arrival and does not know how to find the drawing room, the billiards room, and other places of interest.”

The secretary and the chaplain also excused themselves, and Alaric found himself subject to an interrogation on his lineage, his arrival, and his intentions.

The arrival of an older lady and her daughter promised a respite, but it was a false promise. The ladies proved to be Howard’s mother and his sister, and the interrogation resumed, with added questions designed to probe into his marriageability. It seemed that Lady Beatrice was not the only bride on offer to the bachelors at this house party.

Alaric was reasonably certain Lady Beatrice would scorn to entrap a husband using any of the tricks that had been employed against his older twin, their father’s heir. He was not so certain about the other ladies. He took the precaution of making certain Mrs. Howard knew he was unemployed, had only modest means, had been replaced in the line of succession by his brother’s son, and was out of favor with his father.

Even so, he would be certain not to accept any invitations to a private meeting with any of the ladies present.