Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge

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      ‘By accompanying us the weight of the Wellingham name should squash such gossip back into the realm of rumour.’ Taris’s voice was deep.

      ‘Even though it is true?’ Bea was beginning to enjoy herself, for she wanted an absence of duplicity in this new life.

      ‘Truth is one of those words that can be shaped to hold any viewpoint.’

      ‘Just as privilege can,’ she returned and Taris’s laughter was loud.

      ‘ You do not bandy your opinions, Mrs Bassingstoke.’

      ‘Just as you do not soften yours, my lord.’

      Challenge was reflected in his amber-golden eyes. And humour. It sat on his face easily, making him look even more beautiful than he usually did.

      A feeling deep inside Bea’s stomach blossomed and burst into a singular ache of need. To feel him again inside her, the heat of them both melded around loving and the world dissolved into instinct. Pure. Simple. Honest.

      If Emerald had not been there, Beatrice might have chanced it, might have walked into his arms and held him tightly against all the reasons why she shouldn’t. But the second broke when the clock chimed the quarter hour and his attention was drawn away by it.

      Emerald Wellingham stood as the last chime was heard.

      ‘We will call by here in the carriage at half past nine. Will that give you enough time?’

      ‘Oh, I think five hours should be almost sufficient to make me look presentable.’

      Bea liked the twinkle in the Duchess of Carisbrook’s eyes as she offered her hand to take her leave. ‘I look forward to tonight, then.’

      Taris Wellingham did not try to make contact at all as he gave her a stiff bow and was gone.

      He shouldn’t have let Emerald talk him into accompanying her. He had said nothing of any import to Beatrice about their hours together last night and he knew she would probably be expecting some sort of intimacy. Yet the knowledge of her ill husband’s last years made him wary.

      For he was another man who would need care one day! Care to do all the little things that even now were harder month by month and year by year—he didn’t wish to saddle her with another dependent man.

      The smell of the lawyer still lingered, unsettling him, a dark-coloured scent with top notes of bergamot. As his lack of sight had progressed, he often colour-coded people with the way they smelt.

      Bea was green and fresh, Emerald the blue of the sea and Ashe a fiery orange-red.

      James Radcliff’s scent held a danger hidden in his early flight and his careful enunciation, the brown of his fragrance shading honesty.

      Lord, perhaps the lack of sleep he had suffered last night was catching up with him. He frowned as he followed his sister-in-law into the coach, adjusting the tightness of his trousers as he sat down to mull over his most unwise longing.

      Bea paid special attention to her appearance that evening, allowing Sarah to fuss over her with unprecedented patience. She even endured her maid’s desire to fashion her hair into a complex pile of curls and the light touches of makeup that Elspeth insisted on were left intact when more usually she washed such indulgence away.

      Tonight, however, she needed all the help that she could get and the thought of a mask between her and a society that might pillory her was comforting.

      She even brought out a set of pearls that had been her mother’s and fastened them around her neck, liking the way they complemented the golden gown she wore, its bodice edged in silk roses and soft Honiton lace.

      When the preparations were finished and Sarah turned her to the full-length mirror, more usually left hidden behind the closet door, Beatrice allowed herself the luxury of looking and was surprised at the stranger who stared back.

      No longer quite plain? Even a little pretty? The smile on her face deepened her dimples and the light caught at her hair so that the threads of other colours could be seen, sable and russet and amber, the more normal lacklustre darkness of it replaced by vibrancy.

      Everything looked better. The shade of her skin, the colour of her eyes, the soft curves of a figure that had always been so very thin.

      Tonight she wished that Taris Wellingham could have his sight back if only to see her, and then she shook her head as Sarah handed her a shawl of spun silver, tassels beaded with the same gold as her dress.

      A fairytale?

      A happy ending?

      The onyx clock on the mantel struck nine-thirty just as the butler knocked on her door to announce that the Wellingham carriage was now waiting and that there was a gentleman downstairs.

      Asher Wellingham stood in the lobby, his hat in hand and his gloves removed. When he saw her she fancied that he might have smiled, though the emotion was long gone by the time she had reached the bottom step.

      ‘You are a woman who is on time, I am glad to see,’ he said. ‘My wife has the same habit.’

      He offered her his arm and they walked outside, her shawl warm against a heightening wind.

      Taris sat on one seat and Emerald on the other. Across Emerald’s legs there lay a blanket of soft wool and on the seat next to Taris were others folded and waiting. For her? Chancing it, she slipped in beside the man she had thought of all afternoon.

      ‘Oh my goodness, Beatrice, your golden gown is beautiful and the colour lifts your hair into all the shades of darkness. And the pearls around your neck…look very pretty.’

      Emerald’s monologue was probably for Taris’s benefit, Bea thought, an inventory of the things she wore and the colours explained and as her hand reached for the blanket Taris’s did the same. When she felt his warmth she pulled back and hoped that Emerald was not looking too closely, for the beat of her heart thrummed strong in her throat as the carriage started moving.

      ‘Taris said that he enjoyed your discussion group yesterday evening, Mrs Bassingstoke.’ The Duke of Carisbrook’s compliment was measured.

      ‘Then I am glad for it, your Grace,’ she answered.

      ‘Were my brother’s opinions a help to you? The property rights of women after marriage are not something he has had any personal knowledge of, so to speak.’

      Bea saw Emerald pushing her thigh against her husband’s in a warning, but was not deterred.

      ‘On the contrary, your Grace, he was most helpful in providing the balance to an argument that was largely one-sided. I would be most happy to have him back again.’

      Taris began to laugh. ‘From your reasoning, Ashe, it might be deduced that nobody can hold an opinion unless they have personally experienced the argument. Piracy was the last topic.’

      Emerald squashed down a giggle and as her ducal husband turned towards the window, Beatrice got the distinct impression that she had missed out on some part of Taris’s counter-claim. Leaning back into the comfort of her seat, she waited as Taris spoke again.

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