Callum forced a weak smile. “You don’t have to make excuses for me. I know you only jest as a way to excuse me for my own crimes.”
“The crime of being thusly devoted to your mother’s memory? I hereby find you guilty,” she said. “Your sentence is to allow me to return home and attempt to return your property to you.”
“Of course,” Callum conceded. “You are free to go. But you are under no obligation to seek out my belongings or return here. I have taken more of your time than I had any right to.”
“As you wish,” Beatrix conceded quietly, trying to calm the tremble of emotion and disappointment in her voice. “Then I’ll return to my room and leave on the morrow.”
“Will you dine with me this evening?” Callum asked after a weighty pause. “I mean, only should you wish to have some company, and not because of any obligation.”
“Of course. I should welcome a pleasant evening of conversation!” she answered brightly. “I shall rather enjoy a final chance to argue bitterly with your every thought and utterance!”
Callum laughed boisterously, genuinely amused by her attempt at bringing him out of his dark mood. “Then I must prepare my list of debate points in an attempt to beat your every effort.”
Beatrix nodded and excused herself, leaving Callum to sift through the tempest of emotions he was left with. He dreaded the inevitable departure of his most intriguing guest, but he relished the thought of one last evening of conversation and company. Most of all, his heart was lifted at the thought that his earlier indiscretion was forgiven, though it would do him no good once she left in the morning.
Chapter 19
“My Lady, would you like your supper now?” the housekeeper asked hopefully. Lady Miriam startled slightly, her thoughts having been elsewhere.
“Certainly, thank you,” she answered in a faraway voice, still pondering her brother’s letter.
It had come only that afternoon, informing her that Franklin’s son would be marrying and inheriting a significant title. The unwelcome news put her in a difficult situation; now the young man would be drawn elsewhere. She had long counted on Peter to take his place in her household, as her marriage had left her with no children.
“No, that’s not true,” Lady Miriam whispered. Her thoughts turned bitter as they always did when she thought of the baby she’d lost shortly after her birth.
While Miriam herself fought valiantly to recover from the terrible ordeal of a difficult birth—nearly losing her life in the process—the tiny babe had succumbed to a fever. Miriam had awoken several days following the child’s birth to find that the nameless child had not only died, but had already been buried in the churchyard without once being held in her mother’s arms.
“Here we are, My Lady!” the housekeeper said eagerly, rolling in a low table piled with covered dishes. “It smells absolutely heavenly, don’t you think?”
“Of course, I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Lady Miriam replied, forcing a smile.
“Now remember, Cook takes it very hard when you send back your supper. Try to eat it all, else she’ll worry that you were displeased,” the older lady said kindly.
“I will try,” Lady Miriam answered with determination. “I simply don’t have the taste for anything much these days.”
“Perhaps if we asked Cook to make you more sweets? I know she’s a wonderful hand at baking delicate cakes and pastries. Would those sound good, My Lady?”
Lady Miriam knew the housekeeper was talking down to her somewhat, speaking to her almost as though she were a child. But she also knew it was only out of concern for her well-being and her emotional state, and that the housekeeper—who’d been with her for a great many years—feared for her health.
“That might be nice,” Lady Miriam agreed quietly, “perhaps something with strawberries and that delicate cream she makes?”
“I’ll inform her immediately!” the housekeeper exclaimed. “She’ll be so pleased to hear that you’ve requested one of her special dishes!”
She hurried from the sitting room, leaving Lady Miriam to look with mild disdain at the cart filled with food. She knew she had to make an effort to eat, but this latest news from her brother stripped her of even her usually small appetite.
A letter.I must write to my brother right away. He mustn’t be allowed to alter all of my plans and upend my household without knowing what he’s done.
Miriam lifted the bowl of soup over to her desk and then drew out a sheet of paper to write a letter. Her brother would expect a certain tone to her response, and would expect the reply very quickly.
My dear brother,
I have received your wonderful news and am beside myself with joy.
I had the greatest hope all these years that Peter would live here at Florsham upon reaching the age of inheritance, since I have no heirs myself. But of course, he must seize upon this most auspicious opportunity to marry and assume the dukedom.
However, due to the state of my immediate family, I find myself at a loss over how to proceed with my late husband’s holdings as he has no direct heirs and—as you well know—has named your son in his will. I do hope you’ll impart some advice as to what I should do.
Lady Miriam read the letter over a second time, signed it, and finished all of her dinner before ringing for the butler to post her letter in the morning.
