As they approached the path to the stables once more, a rider came into view. His pace was hurried but not frantic, and both Callum and Beatrix stopped to see who it might be.
“Callum! My good friend! How is it you happen to be out at this time?” Peter asked, raising his hand in greeting and calling out.
“Out for a ride, same as you, I should think!” Callum answered. “Peter, this is my…friend, whom I mentioned to you the other evening.” Peter turned to stare at Beatrix, mouth suddenly agape and eyes wide, as Callum further explained to Beatrix, “This is my dearest friend, Peter Grain, Viscount of Dewham. We go back many years, all the way to our days in the cradle! Isn’t that right, Peter?”
Peter still stared, alternating between Callum and Beatrix and back again. Finally, he remembered himself well enough to stammer, “What? Yes! Yes, we’ve known one another for most of our lives!”
“What brings you ‘round this way, though?” Callum asked, nodding to Beatrix and clucking softly to his horse to start walking towards the house.
“You’ll never believe it,” Peter began after casting one more skeptical glance at Beatrix. “But I’m getting married!”
“Really?” Lord Bellton asked. “So your father has decided then?”
“Apparently. I don’t even know her name, the poor girl, and already she’s to be saddled with the likes of me,” Peter said, feigning misery.
“You’d best keep it that way,” Callum answered, pretending to be serious. “If the lady finds out to whom she’s betrothed, she’s likely to strike out for America in the dead of night and never look back! Your ugly face alone would be enough to convince a girl to remain a spinster!”
“I know it’s only the jealousy talking,” Peter replied, somewhat aloof. “You’ve been envious of my good looks and success at romance for years.”
“But in all seriousness, you don’t know who she is?” Callum finally said. “Knowing your father, though, I take it she’s well-monied and her family is well-titled?”
“So he says. I’m apparently to be the next duke, as her brother died,” Peter answered, waving his hand as though it was insignificant. “I don’t really know much about the family, other than—”
“If you’ll both excuse me,” Beatrix interrupted, straining to keep her anger to herself, “I’m not feeling much like conversation. I think I shall go on ahead to the house. A distinct pleasure meeting you, of course.”
Beatrix nudged her horse onward and broke into a full gallop, leaving the two men to stare after her. Callum could tell instantly that something had disturbed her, though he knew not what. Peter, for his part, remained oblivious.
“Well, she seems lovely,” he said, sounding only faintly snide. “You’ll have to explain how it is you’ve gone from keeping her locked in the basement to taking her out for a ride.”
“Shove it, Peter,” Callum answered with a low growl in his words.
Peter only laughed at Callum’s obvious irritation, then remembered something and asked, “But why was she wearing trousers?”
Chapter 17
After bidding Peter good day, Callum raced on to the stables himself, intent on finding Beatrix. As he’d suspected she would be, she was still in the stables tending to Snow. Her brush, though gentle on the animal’s flank, still moved with the purposeful intent of someone who was furious.
“What was that about?” Callum asked, dismounting his own horse and leading it into the hallway behind Snow.
“What was what about?” Beatrix asked, avoiding Callum’s gaze. She ducked under the ties that secured Snow’s halter and began brushing the other side, turning her back on Callum.
“You became angry and I don’t know why.”
“Why do you care whether I’m angry?” she asked, continuing the brushing and moving farther away from Callum.
“Well, I suppose in some way I shouldn’t care, but somehow I find that I do. And I wish to understand it,” he answered, following her around Snow’s back.
Beatrix whirled around to face Callum and flung down the brush she’d been holding. It skittered across the stone floor and came to rest down the row of stalls.
“I’m angry because nothing matters to you people! ‘Oh, la di da, I’m getting married… oh, to whom? I don’t know, it’s of no concern to me as long as she has money,’” she said in a high-pitched voice that dripped with disdain. Her eyes burned anew with fresh anger as she stormed, “Does anything matter to your kind? Or is everything one giant diversion in your comfortable little world?”
“You neither know him nor know anything about him,” Callum shot back, “but yet you’re furious with him for being required to get married! Did you stop to think that he has no choice in the matter, that he is just as much as prisoner as… as… well, you are?”
Beatrix stared blankly at Callum, her cheeks burning with shame. For his part, the look of horror on his face spoke volumes.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered, not meeting her gaze. “I spoke without thinking, and I beg your forgiveness.”
“Oh no,” she said quietly. “It’s all right. After all, that’s all I am. Your prisoner. You might dress me up and serve exquisite foods off delicate china, but at the end of the evening, I return to a room that is guarded by one of your servants.”
