Beatrice shivered. “It sounds brutal.”
He nodded. “It was so cold that my eyelashes froze when we went hunting.”
“What did you hunt?”
“Whatever we could find,” he said. “Deer, raccoon, squirrels, bear—”
“Bear!” She wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t eat it, did you?”
He laughed. “It takes some getting used to, but, yes—”
The door opened, interrupting him. Quick came in with a tray of tea. “Here’s something for you, miss.” She set down the tray. “Oh, and a note for you, my lord.”
She handed a folded scrap of paper to Lord Hope.
Beatrice watched him as she took a dish of tea from Quick. Lord Hope knit his brows as he read, and then he crumpled the paper and threw it into the fire.
“Not bad news, I hope,” she said lightly.
“No. Nothing for you to worry about.” He got up from his chair. “In fact, you should be resting now. I’m off to see about some business.”
“I’ve been resting for four days,” she called to his broad back.
He merely smiled over his shoulder and shut the door behind him.
“I’m tired of lying abed,” she complained to Quick.
“Yes, miss, but Lord Hope says as you’re to stay there another day or so.”
“When did everyone start listening to him?” Beatrice muttered childishly.
But Quick considered the question solemnly. “I think ’twas when he took charge of Henry after he was wounded, miss. And then he seemed to know just what to do when you were hurt.” The maid shrugged. “I know he ’tisn’t officially the earl yet, miss, but it’s hard not to treat him that way.”
“He does seem to’ve fallen naturally into the role,” Beatrice murmured.
In the last week, Lord Hope had overseen her medical care. In addition, from what she could tell by the letters he read and the conversations she overheard with the servants, he seemed to be receiving reports from the various Blanchard estates and holdings. Reports that normally would go to her uncle.
She hadn’t seen Uncle Reggie since the morning after she’d been attacked, and now she wondered—rather guiltily—how he was getting on. No matter how Uncle Reggie protested, everything was changing about him. It must be hard for him. Harder still since he seemed to have the idea that she was only on Lord Hope’s side. If it were up to her, she’d be on both their sides… if only they’d let her.
Beatrice sighed. She was tired of lying abed, tired of only hearing about news and events instead of experiencing them. “I’m getting up.”
Quick looked alarmed. “Lord Hope said—”
“Lord Hope is not my master,” Beatrice said loftily, and threw back the covers. “Have the carriage brought round.”
Forty-five minutes later, she was rolling through London on the way to Jeremy’s house. She hadn’t seen him since the attack, and she was beginning to get rather worried. Lottie had sent a note every day and a lovely little bunch of flowers, but Beatrice had received no word from Jeremy. Had he even heard that she’d been hurt?
By the time the carriage pulled up in front of Jeremy’s town house, the sky had darkened, threatening rain. Beatrice climbed out of the carriage and ran up the steps of the town house to knock at the door. She glanced at the black clouds overhead while she waited, wishing Putley would hurry.
When at last he opened the door, she made to walk past him, saying, “Good afternoon, Putley. I won’t be staying long.”
“A moment, miss,” the butler gasped.
“Oh, really, Putley, after all this time, can’t you at least pretend you know me?” She smiled up at him, but then her smile fell from her face as completely as if it’d never been there.
The butler’s face was gray.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and for once he did sound sorry.
Which only made panic rise in her chest. “No. Let me in. Let me see him.”
“I can’t, miss,” the old butler said. “Mr. Oates is dead. Dead and buried.”
Chapter Ten
Princess Serenity’s horse had been killed, and Longsword had none, so they were forced to set off for the witch’s lair on foot. All that day they walked, and though the princess was small and slight, never did she falter. At nightfall, they came to the foot of the mountain where the witch lived. In the dark, guided only by the light of the pale moon, they climbed the great black mountain. Strange beasts stirred in the shadows, and mournful birds cried in the dark, but Longsword and the princess pressed on. And as the first light of dawn crested the peak of the mountain, they stood before the witch’s castle….
—from Longsword
“What do you mean, she’s gone out?” Reynaud grated at the butler. He stood in the front hall, having just returned from his business meeting.
The man cringed but stood his ground bravely enough. “Miss Corning said she was going to visit Mr. Oates, my lord.”
“Dammit!” Reynaud turned and ran to the front door, throwing it open. The stable boy was just leading his horse to the corner. “Oy! Bring him back here!”
The boy looked up, startled, but led the big bay around. Reynaud leaped down the steps and mounted the horse, nudging the gelding into a trot. He’d seen the note just this afternoon while sitting with her in her bedroom. Jeremy Oates had died two days before. Why it had taken Oates’s parents that long to write the terse note, he had no idea. He knew he should feel shame for reading Beatrice’s letters, but he’d wanted to protect her while she was recovering from that terrible stab wound. He’d intended to break the news of her friend’s death gently. Hold her while she wept. Dammit! Now his plan to cushion the blow was in shambles. He urged the horse into a canter, riding dangerously fast past carts and pedestrians.
Five minutes later, when he rounded the corner onto Oates’s street, the first thing he saw was Beatrice, standing at the top of the town-house steps, looking like a forlorn waif. He jumped down from the horse and threw the reins to one of the footmen attending her carriage. Then he slowly mounted the stairs. One fat raindrop fell, then two, then a deluge let down.
They were instantly drenched.
He took her arm gently. “Come home, Beatrice.”
She looked up at him, the water running down her face like tears. “He’s dead.”