Chapter Three
Two Weeks Later
Beatrice stepped out from behind one of Whitby Abbey’s thick columns. “Thank you for meeting me.”
If John was startled by her sudden appearance, he gave no sign of it. Although it was difficult to be sure, as she could see nothing of his face. Once again, he was wearing the cowl.
“Of course,” he said smoothly. He offered her his arm. “Shall we stroll?”
A nervous tremor went through her as she looped her arm through his.
Unlike the night they had met, the weather this evening was fair, albeit cool, with a smattering of stars peeking through gaps in the clouds.
The winds were not calm, precisely, but they were as calm as they ever were, this close to the coast.
“So,” John said in his rich baritone, “what favor do you require of me?”
Beatrice could not conceal the excitement from her voice. “You’ll never believe it—my sister’s husband, Thomas Hayward, has been granted a living! He’s to be the new rector over at Bridlington.”
“Bridlington, you don’t say.” John guided her through one of the abbey’s graceful archways. “That’s a good-sized parish. It should be a respectable living.”
“It is! Right around sixteen hundred a year. Thomas doesn’t make a tenth of that at the school, so it has been a matter of some concern for me, wondering how he and my sister were going to get by. I cannot tell you what a relief this is.”
“That’s wonderful news.” John paused before a sweeping view of the sea. “Did your father pull some strings to get him the post?”
Beatrice snorted. “As if my father would lift a finger to help Agnes. No, the living was within the gift of the Duke of Roxby.”
“It was Roxby’s doing, was it?” John tugged at her arm, guiding her back toward the ruins. “Perhaps he’s friends with Mr. Hayward. They could be old school chums for all we know.”
“I wondered about that as well, but Thomas says they are not acquainted. Agnes doesn’t know him, either.”
“That’s surprising. Your families are some of the more notable ones in the district, after all.”
Beatrice laughed. “Not so surprising, when you consider my father. You saw how self-important he is. He expects to be invited everywhere and interprets everything as a slight. I am given to understand that there was a particular incident some years ago involving the present duke’s father.
He had invited a few of his old school friends for a visit.
Now, my father did not know these men. He was seven years younger than they were, and he attended Rugby, not Eton.
Yet he complained publicly about not having been included in the gathering.
” Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Suffice it to say, we never received another invitation to Mulgrave Manor.”
John steered her around some fallen stones. “And what do you think about the duke?”
“I don’t know enough about him to form a proper opinion.
Although the fact that he granted a living to Thomas is a point in his favor.
I can only assume that the story of the struggling young lovers reached his ears, and he decided to intervene.
It was no small kindness. Such a lucrative church living could be traded for a political favor or even sold outright for a significant sum. ”
“Have you met the current Duke of Roxby?”
Beatrice paused, chewing her lip. “I have, actually. But it was only once, and it was many years ago.”
She fell silent, hoping that would be enough of an answer to assuage him.
She had no such luck. He nudged her with his elbow. “And?”
She cast him a sideways glance. “And, what?”
“What happened when you met him?”
She blew out an exasperated huff. “Nothing!” Everything. “I was out for a ride one day, and I encountered a boy a few years older than me. We wound up spending the afternoon riding together. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” John’s voice was baldly skeptical. “If that were really all, then why are you so reluctant to tell me about it?”
“Because…”
Because it was one of the best days of my life.
Because I’ve never fallen into conversation with someone so easily.
Because I was crushed when he didn’t meet me the following day, as we’d planned.
Beatrice couldn’t say any of those things. Obviously.
So, she settled for another truth. “If you must know, I was wearing an old pair of boy’s breeches so I could ride astride.”
“Oh?” John managed to make that single syllable sound both mocking and scandalized.
She elbowed him in the ribs. “It was before the invention of the leaping horn! If you care to recall, it wasn’t safe in those days to take fences while riding sidesaddle. What choice did I have?”
“To ride at a sedate pace as befits a lady?” he asked, his voice rich with amusement.
She waved a hand. “Don’t be absurd. Besides, the people hereabouts already know what an irredeemable hellion I am. There’s no point in pretending to be a proper lady. I have no reputation left to preserve.”
“Well do I believe it,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.
“So,” she said crisply, “I spent a day riding hell-for-leather with a young man who introduced himself as John—”
“John, eh?” He squeezed her arm. “Good name.”
She laughed. “I didn’t think a thing of it at the time, although I suppose I had heard that was the future duke’s given name. This is Yorkshire, after all. Every third man you meet is named John. Gracious, your name is even John.”
This fact had been confirmed when Beatrice went to sign the parish register as witness to her sister’s marriage.
By the time she arrived, John had already come and gone.
Beatrice had stood there for some time, peering at his signature.
She could make out the J and the O, but the rest was an illegible scrawl, leaving her no closer to discerning the masked driver’s identity.
“Indeed. But it sounds as if you did not realize at the time that the young man was the duke’s heir.”
“I honestly didn’t. I only figured it out a couple of weeks later. You see…” She trailed off, her throat seizing at the prospect of sharing a painful memory.
John’s voice was gentle. “What happened?”
“We had agreed to meet again the following day. But John did not appear that day, nor the day after, nor…well. You understand.” Beatrice waved a hand, trying to make her voice breezy.
“I suppose something must have come up. But a couple of weeks later, I came across a groom exercising John’s horse.
He had been riding a magnificent bay stallion with three white stockings.
I would have recognized it anywhere. Naturally, I was curious, so I…
” She cleared her throat. “I caught up to the groom and inquired about the horse’s owner.
He informed me that the stallion was the particular mount of the duke’s son and heir.
That was how I discovered the young man’s identity. ”
She could see nothing of John’s face, but she could almost feel his regard, so intense it made her skin prickle. “And how did that make you feel? When he failed to keep his promise to meet you?”
Lud, but that was a complicated question, even after the passage of ten years.
She had felt so many different things, often at the same time.
Disappointment. Annoyance. Anger. And then, after she had discovered who he was, understanding.
Because she knew better than anyone what her father was like.
It was no great mystery why the duke would not want his son to spend time with her father’s daughter.
Being drawn into Sir Laurence’s orbit was nothing but a trial.
There was another feeling, one more difficult to define, mixed with the understanding.
Perhaps the right term was bitterness, because to Beatrice, a friendship with the boy she had met that day, who had teased her about her breeches but had also clearly admired her for her horsemanship, who had laughed at her jokes and sincerely enjoyed her company, would have been worth any amount of trouble.
But clearly, he had not felt the same way. She had not been worth it.
She found that in spite of the passage of a full decade, her wound was still tender, and she did not particularly care to discuss her many, conflicting feelings with John.
She shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“That’s not an answer,” John observed.
Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him. “You seem awfully interested in the duke.”
John made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “As you surmised, he is my employer. Is it not natural to be curious about what sort of man he is?”
“Well, you’re asking the wrong person. I scarcely know him.”
“True. But what was your—”
“Regarding the reason I sent for you,” Beatrice said, giving him a look that she hoped signaled that the topic of the duke was closed.
She felt his sigh. “Very well. How can I assist you?”
“My sister and her new husband are in need of transportation to their new home in Bridlington, and my father is refusing them the use of a carriage.”
John snorted. “I’ll say this for your father—his commitment to pettiness is impressive.”
“You have no idea,” Beatrice said dryly. “Please, John—they don’t have much in the way of possessions. One trunk for Thomas and two or three for my sister. What I’m saying is, a single carriage would suffice. I know that you manage His Grace’s stables. Is there any way you could arrange something?”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you!” Without thinking, Beatrice threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close. She had meant it as a friendly gesture, but she was instantly reminded of how good his body felt pressed against hers.
Feeling shy, she took a step back. Large hands settled on her waist, encouraging her not to retreat too far. She was standing close enough to smell his fresh, citrus scent. What was it? Orange? Bergamot?
John distracted her from her ruminations by stroking his thumb along her waist. “You could have included all of that in your note. And yet, you asked me to meet you here.” His voice was a low rasp in her ear. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you wanted to see me again.”