dress and smoothed a nonexistent crease.
Before Beatrice could answer her sister, indeed before she could admit that she had no idea what the countess intended, the disembodied voice spoke again.
“Sit down, now, my lord.” His command was whispered and was all the more threatening for it.
Belmont bowed in response and left his study of the darker corners of the room. He sat to the countess’s right, Crenshaw to her left, and the footman guided the others to their seats.
The countess raised her glass. “Here’s to an intriguing evening.”
Chapter Fourteen
TONIGHT BEATRICE WAS again seated next to Lord Jess. Was that an answer to her unspoken wish to know him better? Lord Crenshaw was on her other side for the first time since they had all dined together.
Dinner was served in the French style and they began to help themselves from the platters arrayed around the table. Beatrice was relieved that the salmon was not near and considered the haricots verts enough of a penance. Did they never go out of season?
“Have you heard of this novel, my lord?” Beatrice asked Lord Crenshaw, earning a smile of approval from the countess.
“Yes, and I do not think Frankenstein an appropriate book for a young woman to read.”
His comment made Beatrice all the more glad that she had not admitted to any familiarity with it. “You have read it then?”
“No,” he said. He ate some trout and went on. “A woman’s sensibilities are too delicate to deal with monsters of any kind.”
“Yes, I can see that you would like to protect those you care about from all the horrors of the world.”
“Indeed, I would protect anyone I cared for and I have.”
Beatrice heard something in his voice she could not quite identify, but went on anyway.
“How noble of you, my lord, but surely you know that is impossible. Childbirth is a monster all its own and one women have been forced to face alone since Adam and Eve.”
“That is not a subject to be discussed at dinner, or ever between a man and a woman who are not married.” Lord Crenshaw’s tone would have made ice shiver. Beatrice flinched.
Now she recognized the edge in his voice. Anger. He was incensed about something. Was it what she had said? She looked up, desperately wishing for someone to rescue her from her mistake.
Lord Jess was watching them with an intensity that was as unsettling as Lord Crenshaw’s anger.
“How many think it is possible for monsters to exist?” Lord Jess’s raised voice drew everyone’s attention.
Relief overwhelmed Beatrice’s anxiety, and she felt even more charitable toward Lord Jess. She smiled at him, meaning only gratitude, but she could read Cecilia’s expression. Stop grinning at him like a lovesick milkmaid.
Milkmaid. Surely not. But she tamed her smile. Her relief was short-lived.
“The idea of monsters is nonsense,” Lord Crenshaw responded, with unnecessary vehemence. The two men stared at each other as though they would prefer to be dueling with swords and not just words. And Beatrice was in the middle.
“Not necessarily.” Belmont’s calm voice added a much-needed dose of reason. “Let’s start with ghosts. How many here accept them as possible?”
The countess spoke up promptly.
“I went through the attics here when the earl and I were first married,” the countess began, “and in one of the larger closets I walked in on a man reading near a window. He looked most annoyed with me and I hurried out of the room apologizing profusely. As I walked back down the passage I realized that I could see through him. Yes, I believe in ghosts.”
Beatrice could tell that Mrs. Wilson was not convinced, but was polite enough not to cast aspersions on her hostess’s story.
“I have heard compelling stories of monsters deep in the coal mines in Wales, and even one in a loch in Scotland.” The earl sipped his wine and smiled, waiting for the other guests to react.
“Told by illiterate men who drink too much blue ruin.” Crenshaw waved his hand as though to dismiss the conversation and added, “There are more worthwhile subjects to discuss.”
“This is a party, my lord,” the countess chided with a charming smile. “We can leave those ‘worthwhile subjects’ to you gentlemen over your brandy.”
“I saw something odd once,” Miss Wilson began, rather tentatively. “At my grandfather’s house, a week or so after he died.”
“A ghost?” Beatrice encouraged.
“No, it was something in the night sky. It resembled a star but was the size of a cricket ball. It moved with amazing speed.”
“It was a falling