Lord Sebastian's Wife. Katy Cooper

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СКАЧАТЬ for me, Beatrice, never for me,” Cecilia said, stiffening. “Do not think that.”

      “Why not? You have always been good friends, much at ease with one another. You would deal well together and both of you could do worse.” It was easier to talk of Cecilia’s problems and heart than of her own.

      “I cannot marry Sebastian. I was wrong to think I could.” Cecilia clamped her mouth shut.

      What now? Beatrice rubbed the shelf. The kneeler had no cushion and was hard even through the layers of her petticoats. The window above the prie-dieu was open to the July afternoon. Below, in the garden, men murmured together and then laughed. The sound was loud in the silence between her and Cecilia and made her think of gardens and gardeners. Would Sebastian let her tend his gardens, or would he forbid it, as Thomas had done? I will not think of it. She dared not hope.

      She opened her mouth to ask Cecilia to leave. “Do you ever pray and think God and the saints are not listening?” Tears came out of nowhere and filled her eyes; her heart felt as though the words had been torn out of it.

      “No,” Cecilia whispered. “Do you feel so alone?”

      “Yes.” Beatrice put her head down on her hands and wept.

      Her sister was beside her in a moment, strong arms wrapped tightly around her as if she would hold all the demons at bay.

      “Hush, my honey, hush. Hush, dearling.”

      Beatrice rested against her, sobs shaking her. She was weary of this, as well, the tears that brought no relief. Finally the weeping subsided, leaving her with swollen eyes and an aching head.

      “I have no more strength left, Ceci,” she murmured. “I have no strength to be married.”

      “You will not need strength, lovedy,” Cecilia replied, rubbing Beatrice’s back with long, firm strokes. “Sebastian will care for you.”

      If only she could believe that. He had never harmed her, but she had never been in his power before. I cannot endure any more. It will kill me.

      “Will he?” she mumbled. “He hates me.”

      “He loves you,” Cecilia said. “Let me unlace you and then you lie down and rest. Anyone who thinks God does not listen when she prays is too weary to think clearly. You will be better for sleep, I promise you.”

      Beatrice straightened, laughing without amusement. “But I do not sleep, Ceci. I have not slept in years.”

      Cecilia stiffened, as if Beatrice had surprised her, then rose her feet. She took Beatrice’s hands and pulled her up. “That does not mean you will not sleep now. Shall I play for you? It will only take a moment to bring my lute from the solar.”

      “No. I thank you, no. I shall lie down, as you bid me, but only if you leave me in peace.”

      Cecilia frowned. “Are you certain of this?”

      “Yes. Grant me peace, I beg of you.”

      “Very well. I do not like it, but if that is what you want.” She still frowned, eyes sharp with worry.

      “It is. Go, Ceci. Please.”

      After unlacing Beatrice, Ceci left. Beatrice lifted the edge of her bodice and untied her busk lace. She pulled the busk out and laid it beside her on the bed. It was a good one, made of ivory and carved with saints and animals, flowers and plants. Thomas had given it to her; she hated it.

      She rolled away from it and curled herself into a ball, letting the tears fall once more.

       Chapter Two

       T he Earl and Countess of Wednesfield had left for Coleville House by the time Sebastian reached Westminster. Cursing his luck under his breath, he dropped a few coins into the usher’s outstretched hand and returned to the water stairs. Please God the tide had not turned. Otherwise he would be trapped here for an hour or more, if not all night.

      “My lord is in a great hurry,” his gentleman, Ned, observed.

      “Hold your tongue and find me a boatman,” Sebastian said, frowning at him. The last thing he wanted or needed was a clack-tongued fool yammering in his ear.

      Muttering, Ned shoved his way through the crowd at the bottom of the stairs. He disappeared for a moment and then reappeared, bounding like hound to Sebastian’s side. “I have found the man, my lord. But it will cost you.”

      “Everything costs me,” Sebastian said. “Lead on.”

      The tide was with them, lending speed to the return journey. Pulling his short gown around him, Sebastian slouched in his end of the boat, listening with half an ear to the boatman’s shouts and curses, and to the abuse offered in reply. He hated London—hated the river, hated Court, hated the filthy, crowded streets. With the whole of his soul, he wanted to be home at Benbury, quietly filling his empty coffers by enlarging his flocks of sheep. But it was not the latent wealth of Benbury’s fields he longed for; it was for the house itself, set behind its low walls, girdled by green gardens, a place of peace.

      He scowled and the boatman rowed harder. There had never been peace where Beatrice was; Benbury would not be the sanctuary he had longed for.

      The trip back to Coleville House was shorter than the trip away, and not only because he had been driven by the tide. He dreaded the coming interview with Lord Wednesfield, knowing that the earl would be displeased at the change in plans—if he was not outright angry. And what to tell him? That his elder daughter, in defiance of everything she had been taught, had made a marriage for herself the instant she crossed the threshold into womanhood? The earl would knock the teeth out of Sebastian’s head for his presumption. And Sebastian would deserve it.

      The boat pulled up at the landing by Coleville House. Climbing out, Sebastian mounted the steps that led into the garden, his thoughts still turning like a whirligig. Could he not simply say he preferred Beatrice to Cecilia? It had once been true enough.

      The slap of Ned’s shoes on the stone-flagged path disrupted Sebastian’s thoughts. “He took all my money, my lord. I shall need more,” Ned said at his shoulder.

      He did not turn to look at Ned. “Not one penny more. You will not need it at Benbury.”

      “Benbury, my lord? We are leaving London?”

      “Tomorrow or the day after. Friday at the latest. You will need to make the arrangements.”

      “Aye, my lord. As you wish.”

      In the hall, the steward told Sebastian that the earl and countess had withdrawn to the solar above when they returned to Coleville House. Brushing off the man’s offer to announce him, Sebastian crossed the hall to the stairs behind the dais that led to the solar. Though he dreaded the coming interview with the earl, he dreaded waiting for it more. He took the stairs two at a time. Once he set things in motion, they would be beyond his power to stop.

      In the solar, the earl and countess sat side by side in the heavy chairs set beside open windows. The countess was busy with stitchery while the earl sat with his chin sunk on his breast and his hands folded on his stomach, apparently lost in thought and far from the room.

      Sebastian СКАЧАТЬ