Love.
It could have been. It need not have led to loneliness and wanting. So much aching wanting.
He could have told her, no matter what he’d promised Selena. But he’d kept his promise. He’d honored the person Beatrice loved most in her life, protected her.
Beatrice had always known there would be no better way to win her heart than that.
She ran, the rain blurring her vision. She splashed through newly formed puddles, her stockings soaking through from the feet up and her skirts clinging to her legs. No idea where she ran to, only for some shelter away from prying eyes. All eyes. Richard’s eyes, brown and glowing like whisky in crystal held before a leaping fire. When she could no longer breathe, she walked, aimless, realizing she was a fool for not going inside. But she welcomed the rain, welcomed it right into her very bones. It could wash away the past, the anger, the hate. It could leave her fresh and new. Ready.
Her foot hit something. Her skirts shackled her legs. She hit the ground with her shoulder and a cry and lay huddled there for a moment loud with the rumble of rain. With a groan, she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, cataloging her limbs for injury. She was fine.
Except for her pride.
She should stand and find her way back to the house.
Or lie here. And let the rain wash her away.
Ten
Richard strode through the halls of Slopevale for the second time that day, looking for the same woman. He found every other guest, spread across the rooms, engaged in cards or reading or flirting, but not Beatrice. Nor even John and Evelina.
He did however find, upon entering the library, three people who might be able to help him. He ignored the one with cheroot fingers and approached her cousin and Martin instead. “Miss Bell, have you seen Beatrice?”
Her gaze flew to Peterson. “You’re not the first to look for her.” Her gold brows pinched together. She looked pale.
Martin’s hand covered hers. “She’s fine, I’m sure,” he said. “Do not worry, Lena.”
Selena tried to nod, but it came out choppy, uncertain. She gestured to a seat next to her, and when Richard sat, she said, “I told her.” She paused, searching his face.
“Told her about…?”
“What happened seven years ago. What I did.” Her voice so low Richard almost could not hear, her gaze heavy on Peterson across the room, sitting near an open window, book in one hand, cheroot in the other. Idiot. He could burn the entire place down.
Richard marched over, plucked the cheroot from his hand, and tossed it out the window.
The man’s indignant yelp was music to his ears. “You can’t do that!”
“I have done that. Do not smoke in the library, please.”
“It’s not your library to give orders over.”
A punch to the gut, that. None of this his, even if it all felt familiar, felt like home. “As the estate manager, I can and do give orders. Go somewhere else to smoke.”
“Barbaric.”
“I am, aren’t I? So, you’ll believe me when I say that if you prepare another cheroot in this room, I’ll toss you out the window next.” Richard sneered, taking his seat beside Selena once more.
The man snorted but remained seated. He had the determined look of a stubborn child who knew they were doing wrong but refused to do anything else. Let him remain if he wished.
Richard scooted closer to Selena, focusing in on a very, very good thing. If what she said was true—and why wouldn’t it be—he was free. “You told her about you and… my brother?” He studied Martin for a moment, but the man seemed cool, at ease, his hand still resting lightly on top of Selena’s.
She nodded.
And Richard released a breath he’d been holding for too damn long. “How did she respond?”
Selena shook her head, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Damn. That bad. Where is she now?”
