Reforming the Rake. Sarah Barnwell Elliott

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СКАЧАТЬ the offending book from the hall table along the way.

      “Beatrice Sinclair,” she demanded as she entered without knocking, “what has been going on here in my absence?”

      Beatrice looked up from her dressing table in surprise. She was readying herself for dinner, although truth be told she’d been pretty much caught up in thoughts of green eyes and black hair and how to avoid them in the future. She hadn’t the faintest idea what her aunt was talking about. “What do you mean, Louisa?”

      Her great-aunt waved the novel under her nose. “I didn’t even know that you two were acquainted. I do not condone it.”

      Beatrice blushed. “I simply ran into him in the bookstore—”

      “He informed me.”

      “Yes, well, he offered to lend me a book, being neighbors.”

      Louisa said nothing. She slammed the novel down on Beatrice’s table, her nostrils flaring.

      “Oh, Lousia, you’re overreac—”

      “Beatrice, I have been Summerson’s neighbor since he was born, and not once has he lent me a book. I just can’t believe he would have the audacity…in front of my very eyes…”

      “Louisa! It’s just a book.”

      “Don’t be a fool, Beatrice. He is a rake.”

      “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Louisa, that hardly means he doesn’t read.”

      “That’s not what I meant, Beatrice, and you know it. Summerson’s just trying to lull you into trusting him.”

      She sighed in frustration. “I know his reputation, Aunt. I didn’t mean to encounter him, and I’m not about to be ‘lulled’ into trusting anyone. Should I have been rude to him?”

      “Perhaps,” Louisa muttered. “That’s preferable to running the risk of anyone seeing you with him. Look, Bea, to be perfectly frank with you, I’m quite fond of the lad—always have been. But he’s notorious where women are concerned. Just stay away from him. He’s too charming by half, and I don’t want to see you make any mistakes.”

      Beatrice nodded, miserably wishing she were back home in Hampshire where life was simpler.

      Evenly, she vowed, “I haven’t made any mistakes, Louisa. I didn’t ask for him to come here, and rest assured, I don’t plan to seek him out.”

       Chapter Seven

       N early a week had passed without Beatrice seeing Charles. Of course, this wasn’t to say that she hadn’t been thinking about him; no, she’d been doing that to excess. She could even admit to some mutinous feelings of disappointment because he hadn’t sought her out—she’d flattered herself, she supposed, in thinking that he meant to pursue her. If that had ever been his intention, he’d clearly settled his attentions on some other hapless girl. By the time of his mother’s party, he’d have quite forgotten her. She certainly had nothing to worry about.

      If it hadn’t been impolite, Beatrice would have whistled. It was a warm and glorious Saturday morning. The ground was still damp from the recent bad weather, but she didn’t care. Louisa wasn’t out of bed yet to tell her to stay indoors, so she put on sturdy boots, clipped a lead onto Louisa’s English setter, Edward, and headed for Hyde Park.

      The park was located right across the street and Beatrice set off briskly. These early morning walks were her only opportunity for exercise in the day; they were also one of the only times she had to herself.

      As they entered a quiet, canopied path, Edward began pulling on the lead, eager to inspect the bushes.

      “What is it, Eddie? Do you see something?” Beatrice gave Edward his head and he buried his nose in the bushes, snorting excitedly till he pulled out a ball. Edward dropped it on the ground watching her expectantly.

      “Do you want me to throw it for you?” Beatrice glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, then crouched down to pick up the ball. She unclipped Edward’s lead. “Okay. I’ll throw it, but you must bring it back, all right? Here goes.” She threw the ball with all her might. He promptly retrieved the saliva-coated ball and deposited it at her feet.

      Beatrice looked at the object in distaste. Edward looked at it with adoration. She sighed. “All right, then, I suppose I have no choice.”

      She stooped down to pick up the ball, pinching it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, then threw it again, this time with more spectacular results. With a splash, the ball landed in a puddle, where it promptly disappeared.

      Beatrice sighed. Edward stood at the edge of the puddle, whining and looking confused.

      “You’re supposed to go after it, Edward,” she pleaded. He merely looked back at her with a long face. “Fetch, Eddie!”

      He didn’t budge, and she walked toward the puddle, contemplating the best way to save the ball without ruining her gown.

      Beatrice was crouched down, gauging the depth of the puddle, when she heard the quiet clearing of a masculine throat behind her. She rose quickly and turned around.

      “Might I be of assistance?”

      She stared for a moment before answering, “Hello.”

      Charles walked forward nonchalantly. “Hello yourself.”

      Beatrice didn’t know what further to say. She nodded and turned around once more. Then, a suspicious thought flashing into her mind, she asked, “You didn’t follow me, did you?” She immediately blushed.

      Charles looked offended. “I’ve walked my dogs along this path since I was a boy—I only even noticed you because of the ghastly way you threw that ball.”

      She ignored his comment, only then noticing that he wasn’t alone. Attached to a lead was perhaps the smallest, fluffiest dog she’d ever seen. It was entirely white, and its long hair obscured its eyes. All Beatrice could see of its face was a shiny black nose and the tip of its pink tongue.

      “That’s your dog?” she asked doubtfully. It certainly was an odd pairing.

      Charles looked down at the dog, as well, somewhat disconcerted. “Er, no. This is actually my sister’s dog, Egremont.”

      “Egremont?”

      “Yes. It is a family name. Eggy for short.”

      Beatrice nodded, not knowing what else to do. She looked around. “Well, Edward and I ought to get going….”

      “You’re not going to get that ball for him? After being the one to put it there?”

      She looked doubtfully at the puddle. “Well, it seems to be very deep.”

      “It does, although Edward looks disappointed. Perhaps I can help you?” Charles was feeling particularly gallant that morning, and was thankful for it. He’d practiced a great deal of patience that week by not seeking her out, and he didn’t want to send her running in the opposite direction.

      Beatrice СКАЧАТЬ