Chapter 11 #2
Silas had announced earlier that day that it was time to quit the London scene and return to Fallenbrook.
It was a strange move, Beatrice thought, but she sensed that maybe Anna was directing the family to return to their country seat so that the viscount would be induced to call on them in a more private sphere.
She was clearly hoping to accelerate Beatrice’s courtship with him, and it would be easier to do so away from the prying eyes of the Ton and their inevitable gossip.
Beatrice should have felt grateful for it, especially in light of the way Giovanni had recently behaved, but she couldn’t.
She couldn't shake the intensity of her feelings despite his continual insistence that they meant nothing to one another, that she would have to marry the viscount and he would be nothing more than a heady memory.
Likewise, she could not quite get rid of the hint of resentment she felt towards Anna and her brother for pushing this match upon her.
“No, it is quite all right,” Beatrice said, not looking at her sister-in-law. “I have a piano lesson this afternoon that I am loath to miss.”
Beatrice’s stomach curdled at the lie. She had no piano lesson, but she was eager for an opportunity to be alone with Giovanni.
He was out at a meeting and Silas had said he would leave instructions for Giovanni to join them at Fallenbrook later.
Beatrice remembered his lips against her throat, his fingers creeping gently up the sensitive skin of her thigh.
These were memories she longed to repeat.
Even if she couldn’t repeat them, she needed to be alone with him. They had much to discuss.
“Giovanni can accompany me to Fallenbrook later this afternoon,” she said lightly. “When he returns from his errand.”
“Are you sure?” Anna frowned, setting Caleb down so he could toddle around the music room. “You might struggle to make the journey before nightfall.”
“Oh, I am sure it shall be possible,” Beatrice said dismissively.
“I don’t know.” Anna bit her lip, looking out at the weather. “I shall leave instruction for Giovanni that you are to stay the night here before travelling tomorrow if necessary. I should hate for you to be caught in bad weather.”
Beatrice’s heart leaped at the thought. She and Giovanni would be alone in the house in Grosvenor Square. She couldn’t imagine her plan working out any better.
“Whatever you think, sister,” Beatrice said, lightly touching her fingers to the piano keys. Caleb giggled and stretched his little arms towards her.
“Up!” He demanded, and Beatrice smiled down at her nephew.
“Very well, my little lord, up you come.” She laughed, lifting the little boy up beside her so he could slam his pudgy hands joyfully against the keys.
“Little master, I think,” Anna smiled indulgently at her son.
“For now,” Beatrice reminded her. It was a well-known fact that when Anna had married Silas, her father, Olsen Adley, the Marquess of Willington, had received special dispensation to settle his title upon Silas’s firstborn son.
When the marquess died, Caleb would become the next Marquess of Willington.
“He shall make a fine marquess someday.”
“I suppose he shall,” Anna looked at her child fondly. “And then when you give the viscount an heir, your child shall be titled too! They shall be a little troupe of lords.”
“Indeed,” Beatrice softly brushed Caleb’s blonde hair, wishing Anna had not planned so extensively for her life with the viscount. All Beatrice could wonder was how Giovanni’s dark, hazel eyes might look in a young child's face.
“How wonderful it shall be, to know that our family's future is so safe, so secure,” Anna said quietly. “For who will trouble or threaten our little lordships? No one.”
Beatrice looked up into Anna’s face and saw the way she looked down at her son with fierce, unadulterated pride and possessiveness.
She would die for her child, Beatrice knew, and she had nearly died for Silas already.
For Anna, the potential threats against her family were not merely hypothetical but real.
She still bore some of the scars from them, the white mark from Willie Dugby’s pistol.
Beatrice sometimes saw it peeking out from underneath her carefully placed curls of hair and ribbons.
Silas bore the scar of his and Beatrice’s father’s death on his cheekbone, a constant reminder of the pain and suffering they had been forced to endure.
Could Beatrice really blame her brother and his wife for fighting so hard for her to find a husband of rank, whose wealth and status would protect her?
Could Beatrice really continue to push their desires aside and pursue Giovanni, even though he would never be able to provide for her as the viscount would?
“No one,” Beatrice added, swallowing hard. She drew Caleb close and kissed him on the head. “Do not worry, Anna, nothing will ever happen to him. We shall guard him, and any others who join us.”