Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

NEXT DAY

A s Beatrix traversed the corridors of Primrose Park toward the breakfast room with a bland smile affixed to her face, she felt rather proud of herself.

Somehow, she’d found the wherewithal to leave her bedroom.

Now, if only she could erase yesterday from existence.

Didn’t the universe have limits on how many things could go wrong at once?

Surely, she’d pushed those boundaries as far as they could go.

But it seemed not.

Lydon arriving with Jagger… The rainstorm… The something more in the woods with Dev…

Meeting the Countess of Bridgewater looking, frankly, like an outright ravished mess.

Actually, the rainstorm might’ve been a blessing, for the mess caused by the rain hid in plain sight the havoc wrought by the something more .

And yesterday had been only the first day of the house party.

Blimey .

What fresh calamities did today hold?

Her feet came to a sudden halt. She could plead headache and take her morning meal in her bedroom, a time-honored practice of delicate ladies since King Arthur’s court. After all, the Countess of Bridgewater had, indeed, arrived. Dev didn’t need Beatrix around to woo the woman. In fact, it would be better if she wasn’t.

In further shameful fact—and undoubtedly closer to the entire fact—she didn’t think she could bear to watch said wooing.

Her feet had made up their mind to return to her room when she heard it—a rather robust bark coming from the direction of the breakfast room. Was that a dog?

On its heels came another sound—a familiar feminine laugh that had Beatrix’s heart lifting in her chest. A few seconds later, she found Artemis dangling a slice of ham above a sheepdog who appeared to be missing both an eye and a leg. But the one remaining eye was fixed onto that slice of ham as if for dear life.

“Good girl.” Artemis released the morsel, and the dog snatched it from the air.

“Artemis, you came,” said Beatrix, rushing forward, unable to contain her delight—and relief. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she needed a true friend here with her.

A bright smile on her face, Artemis stood and enveloped Beatrix in a tight embrace. A hug from Artemis always contained a bit of ferocity. “Arrived at three this morning. The journey from Yorkshire cannot be overstated in its length and rigor.”

“And I see you brought a friend.” Beatrix smiled down at the dog, whose tail was wagging as if in hopeful anticipation of another piece of ham from her new friend.

“Meet Bathsheba,” said Artemis. “I hope you don’t mind her. She cannot bear to be away from me, so she comes with me everywhere. And to be clear, I shan’t restrict her access to me by putting her outside. It would be cruel.”

“Of course, she’s welcome.” Beatrix had no intention of separating them, but the way Artemis said it… She was such a privileged, doted-upon sister of a duke and took it as an absolute given that she would have her way. Somehow, her friend made it charming. “I can’t imagine Dev—Mr. Deverill would mind.”

Artemis took a step back without releasing Beatrix’s hands and gave her a thorough up-and-down. “You’re looking well.”

“As are you.”

Artemis had never been possessed of the ideal cream-and-roses English complexion, but rather of silky black hair, deep brown eyes, and lovely olive skin. In the months since Dido’s untimely tragic death and Artemis’s retreat to Yorkshire, the fresh northern air and days spent beneath the summer sun had lent her a golden glow. Her friend’s brightness had returned.

Yet she was slightly altered, too.

One might call it maturity.

But Beatrix understood.

One didn’t suffer loss without taking some damage.

“It appears Yorkshire is treating you well.”

“Oh, yes.” Artemis released Beatrix’s hands and reached for her cup of tea. “I’ve become quite the wild thing in the north.”

“It suits you.”

“Doesn’t it just?”

“And your horse sanctuary?”

Artemis snorted. “It’s attracting every animal within a ten-mile radius.” She didn’t appear to mind.

“I’ve heard a rumor about a horse up there,” said Beatrix, only now remembering. “A mythical lost Thoroughbred.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Back in the last century, a Yorkshire breeder happened to have a brother who was a merchant in Aleppo. This brother lucked upon a four-year-old Arabian stallion through one means or another—horse trading was a shadowy business—and sent the horse on to England, where he covered any Yorkshire mare brought to his stall. This stallion came to be known as the Darley Arabian, from whom a long line of winning Thoroughbreds descended, including the greatest of them all, Eclipse. However, it was in the breeding with the other multitude of mares that the rumored lost Thoroughbreds of Yorkshire descended.

Beatrix sensed Artemis was withholding information, so she did what she always did—she pressed. “This colt might be racing in the St. Leger? He had a silly name. What was it?”

“Radish.”

“That’s the one.”

“Well,” began Artemis with the determined lift to her chin that Beatrix knew well. “We’ll see.”

Just as Beatrix knew when to push, she knew when to retreat. “And Rake?” She poured herself a cup of tea. “Are he and his new duchess settling into the bosom of wedded bliss?”

“Oh, Gemma is wonderful,” said Artemis with a genuine smile. “Whatever Rake did to deserve her, he needs to keep doing.”

A pair of ladies entered the room, nodded their amiable morning greetings, and seated themselves near the far window.

Artemis’s deep brown eyes narrowed on Beatrix. “But I don’t wish to discuss any of that.”

“No?”

“Grab a croissant.” Artemis came to her feet. “We’re taking a walk.”

“For the dog?” Bathsheba appeared perfectly content.

Artemis shook her head. “For you .”

A bemused laugh escaped Beatrix. “I don’t need to be walked, Artemis.”

“Oh, you do.”

Nerves fluttered through Beatrix. She didn’t want to discuss herself. She wasn’t sure she could lie to Artemis.

And lies would most definitely be necessary.

Next thing, however, Beatrix was outside, Bathsheba bounding ahead as fast as a three-legged dog could bound, her stride matching that of Artemis—almost. Artemis was a good five inches taller than Beatrix and possessed of much longer legs.

The grounds of Primrose Park were lovely in the morning—sunlight imbuing the air with a soft golden glow, setting the dew on the grass asparkle. The estate was like a jewel box of perfection.

Beatrix spared the sky a suspicious glance. She didn’t trust it after its behavior yesterday. The clouds appeared innocent with their puffy white indolence, but she knew better. They were wont to wreak havoc at a moment’s notice. “Let’s not venture too far from the house.”

Artemis answered with a dubious lift of her eyebrows.

“Dev and I were caught out in a rainstorm yesterday,” Beatrix explained.

Artemis remained unmoved in her skepticism.

“And soaked to the skin.”

A vulpine smile curled about Artemis’s mouth. “ Dev? ”

Beatrix’s stomach dropped.

“Would this be the same Dev who is your fiancé? The same Dev who is known in society as Lord Devil?”

“Same and…same.”

Artemis would, of course, want the details—the how and the why and the everything in between.

“Imagine my shock when an invitation to a house party celebrating the engagement of my dearest friend to one Mr. Blake Deverill arrived in the post.” Past bewilderment yet echoed through the words. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were acquainted. So, a whirlwind romance?”

“Something like that.” Beatrix was being circumspect—and Artemis would seize upon it.

“Tell me all about Dev .”

“Well,” Beatrix began, her mouth gone suddenly dry, “he’s handsome.”

“Indeed.”

“And very successful.”

Artemis nodded, consideringly, and looked in no way satisfied by Beatrix’s answers. When she opened her mouth surely to pursue the matter of Mr. Blake Deverill further, a cacophonous splashing sound tore through the air.

Beatrix, at last, noticed her surroundings.

Their ramble into the woods had led them to the little pond.

A delighted laugh escaped Artemis as she took in the sight of Bathsheba enjoying a swim. “Oh, what a lovely folly. Let’s explore, shall we?”

“No!” shouted Beatrix.

Artemis shot her a bemused glance.

“There’s a…” Beatrix searched her mind for something— anything —that would prevent them from entering the folly. She wouldn’t be able to bear it, given… yesterday . “There’s a… wild beehive.”

Really, she should sound more affrighted than relieved.

Disinclined to argue the point, Artemis shrugged and whistled to Bathsheba, indicating they would keep walking.

Even as she strolled with her friend, Beatrix waited.

The interrogation was far from over.

It wasn’t a minute before Artemis returned to the subject. “Now, tell me about Dev .” When Beatrix opened her mouth to reply, her friend held up a staying hand. “And not what anyone can see with their own eyes and hear from any old gossip hound.” Her gaze bored into the side of Beatrix’s face. “Who is he, really? And why are you engaged to the man?”

The truth lifted its head and presented itself as an option.

After all, Artemis was her dearest friend.

No .

If she spoke one truth, it might lead to another, deeper truth…then another yet deeper.

“He’s not really a devil, of course.”

A surface truth.

A safe truth.

Artemis held her tongue and waited for more.

“He’s very…” Oh, Dev was very a lot of things… “Sweet.”

A truth a little less safe—one that teetered on the edge of dangerous. The sort of truth that could be a falling domino, if she wasn’t careful.

Artemis’s brow gathered. “Blake Deverill is sweet ?”

“He is, actually.” For some reason, she continued. “And thoughtful. Loyal, too.”

Artemis snorted. “He would make an excellent dog.”

Beatrix laughed. She couldn’t help it, even as the thread of tension pulled tauter within her.

“But you haven’t mentioned one thing,” continued Artemis.

“What is that?”

“Love.”

Oh .

Beatrix cleared her throat. A stalling tactic. She was utterly unprepared for this turn of conversation, though she shouldn’t have been. “I feel…”

What did she feel?

Ajumble with too much feeling.

That was the truth of it.

“I feel affection for him.”

“ Affection? ” scoffed Artemis. “You’re upsetting the entire balance of your life for affection ?”

Beatrix nodded.

She didn’t like this lie precisely because it didn’t feel all that much like a lie.

What it felt like was the least safe truth she’d yet spoken.

Artemis stopped and turned, pinning Beatrix in place with the force of her gaze. “Beatrix, you can tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

If a question could be a lie, this one was.

“Tell me what that man has over your head. Beatrix, I have means. I know the last several years haven’t been the easiest for you, and really I should’ve said something before now, but I can help you.”

Beatrix’s cheeks burst into flame. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hug Artemis or give her a good telling off. She managed to say, “What Deverill and I have isn’t blackmail.”

“Then what is it?”

Beatrix tore her gaze from her friend and began marching. The instant she emerged from the woods, a sharp, feminine shout brought her to an immediate standstill. She met Artemis’s gaze over her shoulder. “Did you hear that?”

Artemis held a hand to her forehead, her gaze scanning the open grounds. “ There ,” she said, pointing toward a flat stretch of land on the other side of the large pond. “A group is out shooting at straw targets.”

A fleet arrow whizzed through the air, followed by a solid thunk , punctuating the fact.

“I suppose we should join them.” A distinct lack of enthusiasm accompanied Beatrix’s words.

“Indeed,” said Artemis, distinctly enthusiastic. “You can introduce me to Dev .”

Beatrix didn’t groan—only just.

As they neared the party, she took note of those present. Lord Bridgewater seated with his morning newspaper open before him, alternating his attention between paper and proceedings—sardonically, no doubt. Lord Wrexford’s shock of copper hair announced his presence as he stood near Mr. Shaw and the eldest Miss Shaw, who was undoubtedly blushing furiously at the attentions of an eligible gentleman—an earl, no less. And off to the side, bows at the ready for another round of shooting, stood Lady Bridgewater and Dev.

There , the proof indisputable, was Dev’s wooing of the countess commenced.

It was all Beatrix could do to keep placing one foot in front of the other in forward fashion and not pick up her skirts, whirl around, and leg it back to the woods.

Now that they’d moved closer, she saw Dev’s bow had lowered.

And he was staring directly at her.

Her heart beat out a heavy thump in her chest. Through the sudden influx of blood rushing in her ears, she heard Artemis say, “I don’t know what is going on between you and that man, and I suppose you’ll tell me when you’re ready, but I will say this: You’ve certainly chosen a handsome one to bestow your affection upon.”

In that instant, a certainty came to Beatrix.

She would never tell Artemis—or anyone else, for that matter.

What existed between her and Dev—be it affection or something more or something else—it was only for them.

On the heels of that unsettling certainty came a wish.

That she had followed instinct earlier and gone back to bed.

And now, for her sins, she would have to watch Dev woo another woman.

How was she going to come through the next several minutes unscathed, much less the next three days?