Chapter 35
The Pallants did call the next day, all three of them; Mr Fisk was heard to mutter that their demmed horses were spending more time in the stables at Albery Hall than they were at home.
Bea would have liked to make some excuse to draw Vivienne aside, perhaps to walk with her in the gardens and try to divine her mood and her intentions, but it wouldn’t be fair to Miss Macintyre and Bianca, she considered, to leave them alone with Lord Pallant and Sebastian.
She could not blame Cecilia for fleeing to her chamber as soon as they’d heard hooves on the gravel; the idea of His Lordship bowing over her hand in false solicitude and asking her if she felt better today, as he devoutly hoped she did, turned them all sick.
With no invalid in the room for the visitors to fuss over, and Bianca shooting anxious glances at the door and saying every few minutes that she really should return to poor Cecilia’s side to see how she did, the visit was not a long one.
They did mention the Debenbridge assembly next week, though, and expressed hopes to see the Misses Constantine there.
Bea replied prudently that with all the worry over their sister’s health, they had not had time to think of such things.
She and Bianca walked the Pallants to the door – or saw them off the premises, depending on your point of view – and Vivienne found an occasion to whisper, ‘I shall walk over to see you tomorrow morning! Will you be here?’
She could only nod.
The sisters had spent the day rearranging furniture, finally getting round to picking out and setting to rights a couple of guest rooms, in case their mother or one of their sisters should take it into their heads to visit them.
New linen would be needed, and another trip into Debenbridge for that and other things.
Mrs Constantine at least was quite capable of turning up unannounced, to check on their domestic arrangements and scour the neighbourhood for suitable suitors; there was no longer any need for this, after the change in their fortunes, but it seemed likely that she would not easily break the habit of so many years.
Bea had another restless night, though she did not hear Cecilia on the stairs – she had no idea if this was because she’d dozed for a moment, or if no meeting had occurred.
They hadn’t spoken on the subject for a little while, and in her own deep uncertainty about Miss Pallant’s motives, she had no wish to initiate such a potentially awkward conversation.
She was out in the garden early next morning, and declined Bianca’s invitation to accompany her, Cecilia and Miss Macintyre to the market town to do a little shopping and carriage-driving practice.
She’d almost worked herself into a fever of anxiety when Vivienne finally appeared at the top of the steps.
She still had not the least idea what she’d say to her, and how much she dared reveal.
But she rose and said, ‘Come and sit in the summerhouse, Vivienne. I do not think you have seen it yet, now that it has been set to rights.’
Miss Pallant was wearing a chip-straw bonnet trimmed with white ribbons, and her best white muslin again.
She had an almost transparent habit shirt under it, and no pelisse, only a paisley shawl that was wrapped about her shoulders, crossed at the front, and tied behind.
She was, as ever, almost too beautiful to be real, and the picture of maidenly innocence; Beatrice had good reason to know that this at least was untrue.
But then the world presumably saw her as an anxious spinster hurtling towards thirty without even having been kissed, neither desired nor feeling desire. And God knows that was a lie.
Vivienne eyed the soft cushions in the summerhouse with approval, sitting down upon them and pulling at Bea’s hand to bring her down beside her.
‘I had hoped to have the chance to wander away into the woods with you two days ago, and kiss you very thoroughly under a tree,’ she said, taking off her bonnet.
‘Maybe more than that. I know now that you have a taste for danger, and are excited by the threat of discovery. But perhaps this is better.’
‘It is certainly more comfortable,’ she murmured, reclining.
She was a terrible person, because a good person wouldn’t be doing this with so many questions hanging over the honesty of her companion.
Her lover. Vivienne might well be a terrible person, too.
They could be terrible together for a while.
Nobody would ever know. Unless, of course…
Miss Pallant was running her fingers up Bea’s calves and then, very lightly, around the tops of her stockings.
‘Vivienne,’ she said, while she could still speak, ‘you haven’t told your brothers, your brother Oliver, about… this, have you? Us?’
‘Of course not.’ The delicate fingers were stroking her thighs, parting them. ‘Why would I do anything so foolish?’
Bea lay back and resigned herself to her fate. It might all be a pack of lies. She was very well aware of that. But just in this moment, she didn’t care a button.