is furious with me and he will not even let Cecilia talk to me. It’s as though he has disowned me.”
The ache in her heart eased a little when Roger took her hand. She leaned against his shoulder. She could feel his heart beating steadily. That’s what Roger was. Steady as a sheltered flame. She knew that she would find that steadiness monumentally boring in a mate, but right now it was exactly what she needed.
“You know he will see reason, Beatrice.”
“I have not even told you what I did.”
“It does not matter what you did. He is your father and he loves you.”
His confidence bolstered hers a little. But she wanted an informed opinion, not a sentimental one. “He says I ruined Ceci’s chance at a successful Season.”
“Nothing is going to compromise Cecilia’s Season, for reasons too often recounted for me to repeat.” He patted her hand. “But, my dear girl, you are to have a Season as well, find a match, and enjoy every art gallery in town.”
“You know it was always more important to Cecilia than it was to me.”
“What else is there, Beatrice?”
“So much it will take awhile to explain.” Beatrice drew a breath and recounted the details relevant to her confession of spending time alone with Jess.
“So the earl is certain Lord Crenshaw’s death was an accident?”
“Yes.” Beatrice thought for a moment about how to phrase the next. “There was a witness who wishes to remain unnamed but before any of that came to light, Lord Jess was a prime suspect. So I had to tell everyone that we were alone together, for almost an hour. And you know how Papa feels about Jessup Pennistan.”
Roger pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes, and your father would see it as a deliberate effort on your part to disobey him.” He leaned away so he could see her face. “Was it something more?”
She looked down and nodded. “It was for me. It still is.”
“But not for Lord Jessup?” Roger said with the tiniest edge to his voice.
“Yes. No. I’m not sure, but I think so. Roger,” she said, turning to him so he could see how serious she was. “Despite his reputation, Jess is very much a gentleman. I know that in my heart. I have seen him at his best.” And his worst. But she kept that to herself.
“Then you will wait and see what he and your father decide.”
That was not comforting. Not at all. “I will not marry someone who offers because my father insists. I cannot imagine anything more humiliating.”
“Then you will spend the rest of your life in Birmingham, in your father’s house. But we will always be friends, Beatrice. No matter what happens.”
“Thank you, Roger.” She put her head on his shoulder again. Beatrice wished his heart would beat a little faster when she was near or her heart would give that little leap the way it did when she saw Jess. But it never would.
Roger had been right. They were friends, dear and good friends, and would never be anything more. Or less.
JESS WATCHED THE cozy scene from the window of the room where he was waiting for the countess.
Who was that man with Beatrice? Roger Tremaine, the name swam up from his memory. A good friend, she had said. He could see that. How good a friend exactly, he wondered.
He was so engrossed in trying to decipher what they were discussing that he did not hear the countess come into the room.
“Good day, Jess.”
He turned around, feeling caught out like a schoolboy. The countess came to the window anyway.
“What are you looking at?” She followed the line of his gaze. “I see,” the countess said. “It’s not what you’re looking at but whom.”
“Beatrice is talking with her friend Roger Tremaine.”
“A fine young man,” the countess said. “His father is General Tremaine, one of the heroes of the Battle of Corunna. Of course he was only a captain then.”
What was Tremaine’s connection to the family? Oh yes—he was not in the army at all, but he worked for Mr. Brent. Not that it mattered to Jess.
God help him, he couldn’t even lie convincingly to himself anymore. Of course it mattered. He didn’t want anyone closer to Beatrice than he was. If this was love then it was a damn painful state.
The countess’s quick glance from the corner of her eye told him she had the same thought. “He works for, or perhaps I should say he works with, Mr. Brent. He