she thought. Patience was not often his to command.
“I will speak to your father for his permission to court you, but I will not propose until you wish it.”
That would please Papa. At least she hoped it would.
“You can enjoy the Season, dance with every man who asks. It will be a trial for me, but I give it to you with all the love my heart can hold.”
“Oh, William.” She was lost now and could not regret it.
“My impulse bows to your sensibility.”
They kissed, each reaching for the other at the same moment. It was as much a commitment as any words could be. And the embrace lasted far longer than their conversation had.
When they were apart and breathing more normally, William reached out for her hand.
“I ask only two things in return.”
Her natural caution was not completely forsaken. “And those are?”
“First, if you do find someone more to your liking, you will tell me in a private meeting before it is announced to the rest of society.”
“Oh, William, of course I would, but I do not see how that could ever happen.” There could never be anyone else. “And the other?”
“That you come wading with me.”
Cecilia remembered that earlier meeting, one of their first, when he had made the same invitation. She had been shocked at the time. This time she gave in to the impulse. For now she understood that this was a man who would listen to her, allowing her words to calm him just as his sense of adventure would brighten her world.
“What a perfect spot for wading.” She gave him her hand. “Yes. Let’s wade in, my lord. But not too deep this first time.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
BEATRICE STOOD AT the window, watching the drive, feeling sorry for herself. There really was no other way to describe her mood.
What a dismal end to what had started as a fabulous adventure.
Papa was not speaking to her. Cecilia had been moved to another room so that Beatrice could not even have the comfort of her support. Even Darwell had abandoned her, off to find their trunks so she could begin packing for their return to Birmingham.
Beatrice’s bedchamber felt like prison, most likely what her father intended. Would Jess have to leave before she was allowed out of her room? What would it take for her father to reconsider his punishment?
The answer came in the form of a horse and rider ambling up the drive. There was a flat case perched on the back of the horse. That alone would identify the rider as Roger Tremaine. She pushed open the window and leaned out, not caring that she looked like a housemaid about to shake out a dust rag.
“Roger! Roger!” she called out, waving madly. “How wonderful to see you.”
He looked around, behind, and finally up, and returned her wave with a simple, much less enthusiastic gesture. That was Roger, always calm and ordered. Beatrice knew he was as thrilled to see her as she was to see him.
It took all of fifteen minutes to send one of the footmen for her father. The countess came with him and Beatrice was sure it was entirely due to her presence that her father allowed her to welcome Roger.
Beatrice reached the hall just as her friend entered it. She threw her arms around his neck, certain that he was the exact medicine she needed right now.
“Beatrice! Do behave.” Despite the snub, he hugged her back and then held her at arm’s length.
“Let’s go for a walk, please,” she said with such urgency she knew he would realize it was important for them to talk.
“Yes, let’s walk. It’s exactly what I need after hours in the saddle. Shall I take time to freshen up or is it so urgent that you can tolerate the smell of horse?”
“No need to freshen up for me,” she said with a forced gaiety, suddenly realizing that the footmen were silent but very much present.
Roger took her arm and with a word to the porter about his bags they were out the door again. They walked in silence at first, Beatrice finding comfort in his very presence.
There was a bench under a tree within sight of the drive so it was a perfectly acceptable place for an un-chaperoned couple to sit. It had the added benefit of being in the shade, which she hoped would give them some relief from the heavy heat of the day.
“Roger,” Beatrice began without preamble. “I am in such trouble. Really. Father