Chapter Eighteen #2
“That’s a good point. I would have to get him accustomed to seeing the kite flapping about, first.” Edmund stowed his kite in the barouche and then returned to help Rebecca wind up her excess string.
“You would also have to ride Flintlock Biscuits backward,” she pointed out, “or you wouldn’t be able to see what your kite is doing.”
“Oh! Or we could ride double, with you behind me and facing backward to hold the kite.”
Oh, good God. “No, we will not be doing that.” Beckett watched as Edmund took Rebecca’s kite and set it beside his own. “Aside from the death-defying kite-and-horse stunts, Edmund, you have the makings of a very fine older brother.”
The boy’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you. I heard Mama say that Trent wants to have more sons with her, so I may have to be one. I already feel bad for them, though, because I’ve met their other older brothers, and they’re mean.
All the Howards hate anyone who isn’t a Howard, and then some Howards hate the Howards who are meant to inherit because they aren’t, or the other Howards hate the ones who aren’t going to inherit because they are. ”
“That’s a great deal of hating,” Rebecca observed.
“It is. Lord Elmond called at Grove House just to yell at Mama,” Edmund confided, helping Rebecca into the barouche and then following to sit beside her.
“It’s not going to be much fun, having all those Howards about if she marries Trent.
I’m not even annoyed that he won’t adopt me. I never want to be a Howard.”
“That’s a harsh lesson to learn, young man.” Beckett stepped up behind them and nodded to the driver. “I hope you know the loss is theirs. You’d be a boon to any family, mine included.”
Edmund smiled. “Thank you. I like the Raines family, too. Very much.” He made a face.
“I reckon I’m going to be in a lot of fights before I’m old enough to leave and go make my own way in the world.
” Shifting the kites, he sank back in the seat.
“Once I’m a wealthy and more than likely celebrated solicitor, I’ll send for Mama, and she’ll live on my estate with me.
I’m going to have fishing there. And a large stable. ”
“Are all your horses going to be Biscuits?” Rebecca asked.
“The good ones will be. Perhaps not the carriage horses, but the saddle horses, certainly.”
Beckett cocked his head. Endlessly fascinating, the minds of children. “Good horses are Biscuits?”
“The ones we’ll be around all the time. You know, a family. Like us. We’re Biscuits.” Rebecca smiled.
“Brubbie and Mr. Fredericks are Biscuits, too,” Edmund said.
“I hesitate to ask, but am I a Biscuits?”
They laughed. “Of course you are,” Edmund answered. “You’re the first Biscuits. Well, after Charles Llewelyn Biscuits. The first human one.”
More touched than he expected, Beckett nodded. “I see. Charlie is our horse patriarch, then.”
“No, Papa. It’s not about a regular family. This is the family we’ve made. If we like you and we get along, and we go places together and laugh together, then you get to be a Biscuits.”
“I’m honored, then.”
Edmund nodded. “You should be. It is an honor to be a Biscuits.”
He gazed at them for a long moment, marveling at the pure hearts of children.
“You’ve set me off the trail,” he said, blinking.
“Has the duke made a formal offer to your mother, then?” Not that it was any of his concern, but he disliked the very idea of it—because it felt unfair to a woman as spirited and smart and witty as Iris Silbern.
“Not yet. But we know she won his contest. And Trent agreed to give me a stipend to keep Mama from punching him, which is good, but that’s all.” Abruptly he frowned. “I don’t like that she’s marrying him just so I get money. He’s one of the meanest Howards.”
“And he smells like old spiderwebs,” Rebecca added, wrinkling her nose. “And wet blankets.”
“Pardon my ignorance then, but why are you inviting him and his sons to your—my—dinner party tomorrow night?”
The boy sighed, his slim shoulders lowering. “Because they’re going to be part of my family, even if I’m not going to be part of theirs.”
With a silent curse he hid behind a smile, Beckett leaned forward to tousle the boy’s hair. “You are a very fine young man, Edmund Scott Silbern Biscuits.”
Rebecca bumped her friend’s shoulder. “I told you, you’re a Biscuits. Same as me and Papa.”
The moment they returned to Raines House the children ran inside to find some heavy card stock and Mrs. Brubbins.
He dreaded having yet another dinner party; he would swear he’d already hosted at least a hundred of them this Season.
But given Pauline’s fondness for them, he might as well become accustomed to entertaining.
In addition, the children wanted to invite their future step-family members—and he couldn’t find a single reason to fault that.
Or their large, open hearts. God, such hearts.
After he approved the wording of the invitations, he retreated to his study and opened his ledger book to note the day’s purchases.
He’d thought marrying again would relieve him of the obligation to attend so many of the Season’s fetes.
Clearly he would be attending more of them than ever, unless he wanted his new wife to go by herself while he stayed home and built furniture fortresses with Rebecca and Edmund.
No, not Edmund—when Iris married Trent, they would be living at Howard House next Season, a good mile away.
Edmund and Iris would be very much on their own, in a house that according to Edmund wouldn’t be the least bit welcoming to either of them.
He’d thought that he and Iris had become friends because they had so much in common.
That wasn’t entirely it, though; he’d lost a wife, and Rebecca a mother she had no memory of.
In remarrying, he didn’t have to leave his home, take on his new spouse’s sons—both older than himself—who viewed him as an ill-bred interloper taking advantage of their parent.
And he had the freedom to choose a partner near his own age, lovely and pleasant, and one with whom he wouldn’t have to close his eyes when they shared a bed.
Iris had … the promise of a stipend for Edmund and one for herself.
And the knowledge that despite the failure of five previous wives to do so, she had a fair chance to outlive Trent.
God, he wished he’d met her before he’d spoken with his mother and Lady Pauline and let them set his course of action, and before she’d given up on her peers and begun bashing anyone who stood in her way.
Before she’d demonstrated how very … imperfect she was.
When he looked at Pauline, his first thought was that she would be exceptional at helping Rebecca navigate Society.
That was his goal, with a son thrown in to make things easier down the road for Rebecca.
The first thing he thought of when he looked at Iris, however, was that he wanted her in his bed, wanted to wake up beside her in the morning and listen to the children—their children—laughing together.
But laughing wasn’t subtle. Iris wasn’t subtle. And Society was supremely subtle.
A fist knocked at his half-open door. Beckett jumped. “Enter.”
“I heard a rumor that you’re hosting a dinner party tomorrow evening.” Iris, striking even in her not-quite-fashionable brown-and-green gown, strolled into the room. Swishing her skirt, she dropped out of his daydream and right into the chair opposite him. Good God.
Trying to shake the dreamy wisps out of his head, Beckett sat forward.
The images, though, now summoned, kept swirling through his mind.
Kissing Iris in the garden, in the dining room, in the drawing room, making a leisurely exploration of her curves in the library, and that didn’t even take into account Hentrose Park and the forty-eight rooms therein.
“Beckett?”
He blinked again. “Hm?”
“Where did you go?” she asked, her smile deepening.
“Somewhere quieter and much less chaotic, I’m certain,” he improvised.
“And yes, I am having a party insomuch as I am footing the bill, but this is all Rebecca and Edmund. And I doubt they mentioned it, but from what I could gather, they mean for all of us to be friends. Edmund especially wants the Howards to know they’re welcome, whether he thinks he will be or not. ”
Her smile faded. “Oh. I suppose he overheard me talking with one of them, or with you. It was stupid of me not to tell him how little … warmth he should expect from the Howards. He’s clearly figured it out all on his own, and without me to soften the blow.”
“But you’re not agreeing to this because you want a family. You want to be able to support your son.”
“Yes. If that makes me a horrible woman, then I’m a horrible woman. I would do worse to give him a good life.”
He wanted to remind her that he’d attempted to offer her a loan.
Hell, he would give her the money. While he did understand the reasons she’d refused, he disagreed that lending or giving her anything would obligate her to him.
Considering the alternative now, though, perhaps she might wish to revisit the issue.
“Edmund also mentioned that Trent isn’t finished having sons. ”
Her cheeks flushed. “That is no concern of yours, Beckett. Our … friendship ends with our engagements. Next Season Rebecca and Edmund will find other friends, he and I will be at Howard House, and you will be remarried and … trying for a son, yourself.”
“Does that mean that after we’ve done as we must, any thoughts about you and Edmund, whom I adore, by the way, are going to flit out of my brain?”
“Life doesn’t always proceed as we would wish.
” She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“Though I will admit that you’ve reminded me I am more than a mother.
I am a woman. I have desires, and dreams.” Iris straightened again.
“I’m also old enough to acknowledge that desires and dreams aren’t always satisfied. Or wise.”
Beckett eyed her. “I liked it better when you punched everything in your way.”
“My temper hasn’t improved my circumstances.” She cleared her throat. “Just the opposite. I’m resolving to use it more wisely.”
Setting his hands on the desktop, Beckett stood. “Well, you sound defeated. Which, I know, isn’t supposed to be my concern. Point taken. The children are in the morning room, writing out invitations.”
He didn’t like it. At all. He could see alternatives for her, whether she wished to contemplate them or not.
With some assistance from him, both she and Edmund could at least have the life she’d claimed to want when they’d first met, with her owning a boardinghouse and renting rooms. That would give her a measure of independence.
A very small, limited, precarious measure.
None of it was acceptable. The things he wanted for her, her happiness, a burden taken off her shoulders, a future for Edmund that the lad would want, he couldn’t give her.
Not without creating a massive scandal that would hurt everyone involved.
It wasn’t just up to him, anyway. Iris had come to an understanding with the Duke of Trent.
By this time next week, and with a special license from Canterbury, they could be married.
As they walked into the morning room, Edmund stood up, tugging on the bottom of his coat to straighten it. “Mama, Becks and I are having Lord Hentrose give a dinner party tomorrow night. Would you like to attend and be my guest?”
Rebecca glanced up from her writing. “He’s only asking you so he doesn’t have to write out an invitation.”
“My hand is turning into a claw!”
Her mouth curving, Iris curtsied. “I would be delighted to accompany you, Edmund.”
“Now you have one less to do than me,” Rebecca protested.
Making a face, Edmund sat again. “I’ll help you if I finish first. I write faster than you.”
“Legibility and speed are not good compatriots, you must concede,” Mr. Fredericks commented, looking up from printing the address on one of the invitations.
“Oh, that was a good one, Mr. Fredericks,” Rebecca complimented. “And very true.”
“Thank you, Lady Becks.” The tutor glanced up at Beckett, then returned to his lettering. “I have no wish, you or your father to further vex.”
Beckett gazed at the bald pate of the absurd, gangly man presently glowing with pleasure at a kind word from a nine-year-old girl as he sat assisting said girl with her dinner party invitations.
According to his understanding of how it worked, that meant Mr. Fredericks was also a Biscuits.
As was the governess seated beside him, sprinkling sand across the invitations to set the ink.
“All is forgiven, Mr. Fredericks,” he said, nodding. “I believe Mrs. Silbern is here to drag you and Master Edmund back to Grove House for dinner.”
“I need to help Becks finish,” Edmund countered, speeding his writing again.
“Edmund, the Raines household needs to sit for dinner, as well,” Iris pointed out.
“But we need to have these sent out as soon as possible. The party is tomorrow.” Rebecca hunched over her invitation, looking like she meant to begin pummeling anyone who tried to drag her away from her task. Something she’d learned from Iris, no doubt.
Clearing his throat, Beckett caught Iris’s gaze. “I’m happy to have Edmund and Mr. Fredericks remain for dinner if it aids this enterprise. They can finish afterward, and return to Grove House by nine o’clock, say?”
She grimaced. “Yes, I imagine that is the most logical course of action.”
“You’re invited, as well, Iris,” he went on. “Always.”
“Oh, I doubt that, but tonight I’ll accept,” she said, sending him a swift smile that had him looking at her mouth and thinking about kissing again.
Yes, the inevitable continued to stomp behind them, closing on them with every step. But they hadn’t been caught just yet.