Chapter Six
AS NORA EXPECTED, THERESA WAS thrilled to take Tristan under her care.
The cantankerous cat, however, ferociously complained about it.
He yowled, growled, hissed, and fought with enough ferocity to cow a lion.
He didn’t consent to being wiped down and brushed out until Theresa bribed him with fish.
As soon as she freed him, he went around clawing the furniture in retribution for his discomfort, despite having been well compensated.
Mr. Beaumont seemed intent on making up for their silent walk to Theresa’s by incessantly talking while they waited for the carriage to be hitched.
He didn’t seem to mind that Nora remained quiet and occupied with knitting in front of the fire.
His subdued charm was consistent toward her as he carried the conversation, but completely absent toward Theresa.
Why couldn’t the man be a casual flirt? It would be much easier to dismiss his attention if he were.
“Dogs have owners. Cats have staff,” Mr. Beaumont joked as they watched Tristan self-groom with his back to them, looking every bit like he believed them peasants.
Mrs. Hawking, Plane Manor’s housekeeper, opened the door. “The carriage is ready, Miss Theresa.”
“Thank you. We’ll be out shortly. You’re dismissed.” Theresa always sounded like her colonel grandfather when she spoke like that, but at least she sounded kind instead of gruff like the militant man.
Mr. Beaumont rose from his seat across from Nora, indecision erasing his earlier confidence. “Are you certain you don’t want me to escort you home?”
“I am.” Though she was loath to leave the warmth of the parlor’s fireplace, she set aside her knitting and collected Tristan.
She passed the displeased feline into Mr. Beaumont’s arms. “You need to take Tristan home and get yourself changed. I will not be responsible for jeopardizing your job. Besides, I’m overdue for a visit with Theresa. ”
Tristan knocked Mr. Beaumont’s hat askew, and since the man’s hands were full with the menace, she readjusted it for him. She wasn’t one to blush, but her face warmed at the intimate distance required to reach the hat.
His scowl at the cat faded into an impertinent grin. “Thank you, m’lady.”
She stepped back quickly, lest her cheeks betray her and he suspect his charm affected her. “I told you to stop it, Don Giovanni.”
“And I told you I’m more of a Don Ottavio.” He shifted his grip on Tristan. “If you change your mind about attending Olivette Friday or Saturday, send word to Pike’s Opera House in care of Ezekiel Beaumont. It would be my honor to provide you with a ticket and a tour.”
“Again, I thank you for the offer, but I must decline.” She opened the door for him. “Good day, Mr. Beaumont.”
“I’ll see you next Tuesday, then.” Once he stood in the hall and out of reach, he added, “Donna Anna.”
It was a good thing her knitting needles remained on the chair so she couldn’t spear him with one.
Her temptation must have shown on her countenance, because he laughed before escaping out the front door.
Too bad Longview had only one day for visitations and Father required her presence in the evenings.
Otherwise, she’d visit Mum when there was no chance of crossing paths with Mr. Beaumont.
Although, if she put off her morning baking and chores, maybe she could finagle a shorter visit in the morning hours when he still rehearsed.
“Well, that was enlightening.” Eagerness lit Theresa’s face as she claimed the seat Mr. Beaumont had occupied. “And how long have you two known each other? It must be quite some time for him to be so brazen in his attention toward you.”
“It hasn’t been. He’s just uncommonly persistent.
” Nora didn’t dare admit he was also kind, generous, and hero-like.
It was dangerous enough to admit to herself.
She didn’t need Theresa’s added encouragement to reconsider his character.
“We were not formally introduced until today, if you can call an introduction at the asylum formal.”
Concern replaced Theresa’s excitement. “You met at the asylum? Please tell me he’s not a released patient. It was bad enough having to deal with the insanity of Billy Poe last August. I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with another madman.”
Billy Poe, or rather the man who’d claimed the identity of Lydia’s dime novel hero, was a true lunatic to think killing acquitted criminals was an act of justice. Mr. Beaumont might be a charmer, but a serial killer he was not. At least she didn’t think so.
“No, Mr. Beaumont is not a patient. His mum is. Our visits have coincided most weeks for the last four months.”
“Oh. How sad for him, but are you sure he’s safe? You don’t think he’s mad like his mother, do you?”
Leave it to Theresa to voice the question everyone was thinking but was too afraid to ask.
For better or worse, mostly worse, society considered insanity an inheritable defect.
So it stood to reason any man who took an interest in Nora must indeed be mad, especially when he already knew she and her family bore the scarlet letter of insanity themselves.
“His mum suffers from melancholia, but I suppose he’s as likely to succumb to madness as I am.” Although the signs were there that she had tread well into the woods of paranoia.
Despite knowing that the real Winston was unlikely to ever appear again, she never went anywhere unprepared to defend herself.
Whenever possible, she varied her routes and which businesses she patronized, and she made an escape plan anytime she visited an unfamiliar place.
If she attempted to relax and enjoy herself without first doing so, she battled her nerves the entire time.
As much as she wanted to deny it, the evidence that she too might one day lose her mind was as obvious as a note cracking during a solo.
Of course, with melancholia, Mr. Beaumont’s mum was only physically dangerous to herself.
The harm to others came through the emotional turmoil felt by the family.
There was an invisible and lonely burden to loving someone who suffered any mental illness.
The guilt and shame for wanting to help them but being incapable of saving them from themselves weighed like anvils.
And heaven forbid someone dared voice that struggle honestly.
From her experience, the discomforted listener changed the subject, minimized the experience, or avoided the sharer altogether.
Worse, should she be brave enough to confess the unsettling thoughts or doubts of her own sanity, she might as well prepare to be abandoned quicker than a sinking ship.
There was no point in reaching out to others. It only made the pain worse.
The Guardians knew of Mum’s paranoia, but that was because it became impossible to hide.
Eventually, Nora had to tell them about her kidnapping so they understood why Mum, and even Father, feared for Nora’s life.
But they didn’t know all the details, or that Mum really was Constanza Brisbane.
The Guardians had treated her better than the handful of others who’d known about Mum’s troubles, but that was because they thought Nora too sensible for insanity.
Nora didn’t dare reveal her true struggles. They’d never understand.
But Mr. Beaumont did, and Nora had rebuffed him.
Had she been remiss in turning away someone who might truly understand her in ways others didn’t?
Yes, he was a stranger—a charming and flirtatious one—but that didn’t mean he had to stay one.
But strangers, especially men, were dangerous.
She couldn’t both shield herself from him and expose her darkest thoughts to him, even if he might understand them like no one else would.
“Do you fear him?”
Fear him? Not physically. Not anymore. The fact his charm had worked on her is what scared her.
Sound judgment was imperative to her safety, and if a man could knock her off balance, he was indeed a dangerous man.
But if Theresa thought Mr. Beaumont was a threat, who knew what scheme she might conjure to encourage him to keep his distance.
“I don’t trust him any more than I would any stranger, but neither do I fear him. ”
“So, if you don’t think he’s dangerous or mad, and he’s obviously taken an interest in you, why aren’t you encouraging him?”
“Theresa! Just because a man shows an interest doesn’t mean I should reciprocate. He’s still a stranger.”
“And he’ll stay that way unless you give him a little space to sweep you off your feet.”
“I like standing, thank you very much. Don’t think you can play matchmaker with me just because your tomfoolery led to Lydia meeting her future husband.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” At Nora’s glare, Theresa raised her hands. “Fine. Since it’s obvious you’re not attending this play or whatever it is Friday, would you be free to join Flossie, Lydia, and me for a night of girlish fun?”
“This girlish fun isn’t your way of saying you need help rescuing another animal, is it?”
“No animal rescues or anything potentially illegal. I happen to know Abraham will be busy, and Lydia will be free for us to steal her away for some true Guardian mischief.”
A night with just the four of them? It had been far too long. “If Father hasn’t scheduled another one of his potential suitors to come to supper, then I can’t see why not.”
“Wonderful. We’ll meet here. Bring your best dress with you. I have the perfect plan in mind.”
Her best dress? “What are you scheming?”
“Oh no. I’m not sharing until we’re all together on Friday. You might try to talk me out of it.”
That was not a good sign, but so long as Lydia and Flossie were present too, it couldn’t go too badly. Well, it could, but after all the scrapes the Guardians had come through relatively unscathed, they’d be fine. Whatever trouble Theresa planned for Friday, Nora would be ready.