Chapter 11 #3
Beth abruptly found herself abandoned to the company of Major Beaumont, feeling very much as if she had been scolded, and possibly with justice.
More than that she felt she might have hurt him again.
It was time she started thinking of sensibilities other than her own.
The marquess was arrogantly sure of his high place in the order of things, but he also took his responsibilities very seriously.
She wished he hadn’t gone, so she could try to make amends, but for now all she could do was to continue to act her part. She chattered to Beaumont, trying to look like an ecstatic bride to be.
“Do you know, Miss Armitage,” he said as they strolled back toward the house, “I wish you would not feel such a need to perform.”
“What?”
“There’s no need,” he said gently. “Lucien has told me all about it.”
Beth’s eyes opened wide. “All about it?”
Mr. Beaumont studied her shrewdly. “Well no. He did not say quite why you had been chosen to be his bride, merely that it was his parents’ wish.”
“And it surprises you to find the chosen one so plain and ordinary?” Beth asked waspishly.
“Begging for compliments, Miss Armitage?” he teased. “You know you are neither.”
Beth looked at him in surprise. “On the contrary. My mirror tells me daily that I am no beauty. And I set no store in flattery, sir.”
“Perhaps you don’t see yourself in animation,” he said with a smile. “It’s true your features are quite ordinary, but they become lively when you talk and you have what are called ‘speaking eyes.’ They shine with the light of your quick mind.”
Beth could feel herself turning pink. “Please, Major Beaumont, you must not say such things to me. And they are quite untrue.”
“Do you mean Lucien hasn’t told you this? I’d thought him more adroit. In fact,” he added with a light of humor glinting in his eyes, “he’s a devil of a flirt. But if he is going to leave the field to others….”
They had arrived at the rose garden close by the house.
It was now full of the better quality of guest who were strolling about and admiring the flowers, but Beth and Mr. Beaumont were some distance from the nearest people.
He stole a rosebud from a bed and brushed it softly against her cheek.
He leaned closer, and she felt his warm breath against her ear as he murmured, “Tell you what, Miss Armitage. I think you’re wasted on him. Let’s elope.”
Beth choked with laughter. “You are quite outrageous, sir!” She was free of the tangled nervousness she felt with the marquess and was quite enjoying herself.
He smiled appreciatively. “Yes, I know. I’m the devil of a flirt, too. Shall we?”
Despite his declaration as a flirt there was a touch of honesty in the question which startled her. “Why are you saying such things when you know I cannot?”
He smiled still, but there was a wistfulness there. “I know a treasure when I see one. I would like a wife, you know, but what do I see around me? The Phoebe Swinnamers and the Lucy Frogmortons. You are a different type entirely.”
There was no doubting his honesty, no matter how absurd it all seemed, and Beth was at a loss. “I know that, Major Beaumont, but….”
“But I have startled you.” All humor was gone, and he met her eyes honestly. “When I first mentioned an elopement, Miss Armitage, it was a mere pleasantry. It is becoming more solid and desirable second by second. It will not do and I apologize.”
He looked down at the creamy rosebud in his hand.
“I am going to leave and you will not see me again before your wedding day. After that it will be as if this conversation never took place, as it never should. But before that, Miss Armitage,” he said as he looked up again and held out the rose, “if it should seem wise to you, you may remind me of it.”
Numbly, Beth took the flower and watched as he walked away. In truth, if there had been any way out of her predicament, she might have been tempted by Mr. Beaumont’s offer, for he was a much more comfortable man than her betrothed. She could rub along with him without quicksands and violence.
Then she looked across the garden and saw Lucien de Vaux laughing with one of the tenants.
The sun gilded his bright hair and he was relaxed and graceful.
The air seemed suddenly thinner, and Beth knew that any place on earth other than this beautiful setting for a beautiful man would be bleak for her.
She moved quickly to join another adoring group.
In a little while the marquess was again by her side introducing her to yet more people to whom the Duchy of Belcraven was everything. She could do her part now almost by rote and had time to study the marquess’ performance with these people.
He did take his job seriously.
He was surprisingly amenable. He knew most of the people by name and could often make flattering reference to some past encounter.
He clearly understood the farmers’ land and the major concerns of the professional men’s occupations.
He knew, too, that the women’s lives were not of idleness and made mention of egg money, dairy work, and concerns over children.
He could flirt gently with the wives of all ages without giving offense—Beth remembered Mr. Beaumont saying he was a devil of a flirt and knew it to be true.
It made her bitter that he never used his skill on her.
Then she had to admit that he had tried once or twice and now doubtless expected to have a poker wrapped around his head did he do anything so foolish again.
He could depress pretension firmly but subtly so that the offender realized his or her mistake without public shaming. Much though she hated the necessity Beth thought she should study his technique.
She was surprised, though, by it all. Lucien de Vaux was good at his trade. He would, in time, make an excellent duke.
“And why are you frowning?” he asked as they moved on again, leaving the local corn factor and the ironmonger content. “Am I offending your radical sympathies again?”
“Tiredness, I’m afraid,” Beth said in as conciliatory a tone as she could muster. “And I think I need to apologize. You do take your responsibilities seriously, don’t you?”
“Of course.” She thought he was pleased by her words. “It’s a strange business, though. I am in training for a job I hope will be a very long time coming, and in the meantime I often have too much time on my hands.”
“Would the duke not let you share in the running of the duchy?”
He looked at her skeptically. “The two of us in harness?”
Beth had forgotten the problem of his birth. “I think one needs to train for this kind of thing,” she said. “It will be years, if ever, before I feel I belong in the role of duchess.”
“You’ll get used to it in time. Now, however, I think you should go and rest. The event is all but over. Tomorrow we leave for London and there, I gather, you are supposed to cram a Season into a fortnight. You’ll need every scrap of stamina.”
And that was the way it was. The next day they all set off for Town with three coaches.
Beth traveled with the duchess in her chariot, the one which had brought her from Cheltenham, while servants were conveyed in the other two.
The duke drove himself in a curricle while the marquess rode Viking, the horse with which the boy had been careless.
Beth was guiltily aware that she had forgotten about Robin Babson. The large black stallion showed no sign of injury and was restive and difficult to handle, even for the marquess. It was unfair to even think of a child trying to control such an animal.
When they stopped for refreshments, Beth looked over the many servants but saw no sign of the boy. Had the marquess beaten him half to death? Dismissed him? She had to know.
As they took a turn around a small orchard next to the inn she raised the subject. “I met a young boy in the Belcraven stables. He said he worked with your horses, but I do not see him here.”
“You must mean Robin. He’s a troublesome scamp.” It was an indulgent comment but didn’t explain the boy’s absence.
“Where is he?”
“He and Dooley are bringing my bays to Town by easy stages. Why?” The last word held a note of suspicion.
“I took a liking to the boy,” Beth explained. “I gather he’d been in hot water for something to do with Viking. Is the horse all right?”
“Yes, but Jarvis thought he might have thrown a splint and dusted the lad’s jacket for him.” He looked down at her with a frown. “I hope he didn’t come running to you to complain.”
“Oh no,” she assured him. “The subject came up quite by accident.” After a moment she added, “He did seem worried you’d thrash him again when you found out.”
“I might well have done if the damage had been serious. He’s inclined to be careless and that horse cost me eight hundred guineas.”
“For a horse!” Beth exclaimed.
“Yes,” he replied with asperity, “for a horse. And if you give me prosy lecture on the extravagance of the aristocracy I’ll doubtless thrash you, Elizabeth.” Beth wasn’t at all sure he was joking.