Chapter Four #2
He was unsettled. Normally he would brood about it, but considering this stroll marked their halfway point of this absurd faux-courting bargain, he might as well be honest. “You perplex me, Mrs. Reid.”
“Then I apologize, for that is not my intent,” she said, but she didn’t seem bothered or flattered by his admission.
Wouldn’t another woman be delighted to perplex her suitor?
Not that he was a real suitor, but in general, it seemed like that would be the case.
If one read a novel or some such, that would be how the woman would be written. Not that he would know.
“I do wonder at your intent sometimes,” he said. The day was brighter in sun than the previous week, but colder in temperature. The wind kicked up, sending a smattering of leaves cascading across their path.
“I have no motive. It is you that arrived on my doorstep,” she reminded him. “Therefore, I intend only to speak the truth of what I see in life.”
He thought about that. It was the very reason he disliked being in Society—no one spoke the truth.
There were allusions and euphemisms, metaphors and coded languages of fans and flowers and colors.
He avoided them for the reason that no one said what they really meant.
And here was a woman who did exclusively that and he disliked her for it.
“For a long time, I thought I did the same.”
“Do you not speak the truth any longer? Why would you stop?” Mrs. Reid turned to him as they strolled.
He liked having her interest, he found. It made him feel important, at least while she gazed at him.
Surely a witty put-down would follow whatever inanity he expressed.
No, only if he didn’t speak the truth to her.
How droll and uncomfortable at the same time.
“I always believed I spoke the truth. But as I got older, I realized how much I lie to myself.”
She murmured a thoughtful agreement. They walked on in silence until she broke it. “It is admirable to have enough self-reflection to realize one lies to oneself. I suspect I do as well, but I haven’t the capacity to see through it yet. Perhaps I require more introspection.”
“Or perhaps you do not suffer the affliction,” Beckett said, giving as much grace as he could.
“You are very kind to say so.” If she were any other woman, Beckett might expect a flash of a smile or perhaps she might take his arm. But of course Mrs. Reid did neither of those things. They walked on, rounding off one corner of the park to stroll onto another path.
“I am a believer in introspection, as a whole.” Beckett felt as if he were facing down an angry bull, starting a philosophical conversation with Mrs. Reid, but they were nearly done, so why not hang a red flag and see if she charged?
“The Bible says ‘ Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,’ which is the only way we can justify judging others. The first step is to see where one’s sin lies. Pride, vanity, sloth?”
“I know the verse,” Mrs. Reid said, looking into the distance. There was more she wanted to say, he could see it.
“Are you quietly judging me to see what my sin is?” Beckett asked in a teasing manner. She could easily eviscerate him from so many angles.
“No, although I do find it interesting you chose those three deadly sins to list.” Mrs. Reid, were she any other person, looked nervous. As if he might eviscerate her. “I—er—” She stumbled over words, and her quick steps slowed.
“You may unburden yourself, madam. We have only two more encounters to go.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “But mockery is forever.”
He reached out as if he would dare touch her. But he did not. “I would not mock you, Mrs. Reid.”
She looked at him with big chestnut-colored eyes, and he surmised that someone close to her must have mocked her, and quite viciously. Enough that she still felt the echoes of it.
“I don’t understand why anyone must cast stones in the first place,” she said, her words coming out in a flurry. “Why does anyone want to hurt another?”
His heart softened—but only a little. She had enough thorns on her to prick even the most thoroughly prepared. “Have you not hurt others?”
“I’m sure I have, but I do not intend to do so.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “I speak without thinking. Often. Which is why I prefer correspondence. There I can scratch out the words that seem insensitive or rude before the recipient can see them.”
“Do you have a lot of scratching out?” Beckett clasped his hands behind his back.
She sighed again. “Loads. I usually rewrite a letter two or three times. I worry, I’ll have you know.”
He smiled—but only a little. “Do you? I admit that I was quite taken aback after our first meeting.”
“You intruded upon my peace,” she explained, as if that it excused everything.
“You had word I was coming. It’s not as if I surprised you.”
“But I had my week planned . And then when you were thrust upon me, I had to change everything. I dislike having to rewrite my social calendar. I was out of sorts for several days.”
“Several days? I was there for perhaps a quarter of an hour, just long enough to drink a dreadful cup of tea.” He caught himself. He should not have called her tea dreadful. “I beg your pardon, madam, for my candor regarding the tea. I got ahead of myself.”
“It is dreadful, I know,” she sighed. “It is one of my frugalities, you see. I try to keep within a clear budget, and tea can be rather expensive. As is sugar, you know.”
Beckett nodded, as if he indeed did know, though he had no idea.
He didn’t know what his household budget was.
The housekeeper had kept those accounts for him, and he didn’t bother inquiring.
He trusted her to know how to run the household better than he did.
Though it did occur to Beckett that Mrs. Reid likely kept a very tight and tidy household, and that every shilling would be accounted for in excruciating detail.
“That’s an admirable thing, to keep to a budget. I would say most people like to go over.”
“It’s an easy indulgence,” Mrs. Reid said. “An extra book or night at the opera.”
Beckett couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Why are you laughing?” she demanded.
“Because for most people, an overbudget indulgence would be a new hat, or a new frock. Not an extra book.”
“How many books do you allocate for in a given month?”
Beckett shook his head. “I view books as discretionary spending.”
Her eyes widened at the idea, scandalized into silence. If there were ever a way to tempt the woman to the devil’s side, it would be through a book. He laughed again.
“You just—” she almost choked on the words. “—buy whatever you want, whenever you want?”
Beckett nodded. “But I don’t want to give you the impression I am profligate. I value a good balance so that when my nephew inherits the estate, he will have plenty of money to maintain it.”
She looked at him with a curious expression that he could not read.
“What is it?” He swatted the air thinking there might be a bug, feeling the heat of a blush trying to rise. He tamped it down. The last time he blushed was years ago.
Mrs. Reid shook her head, not wanting to speak again. They walked on in silence, encountering birds, a stray cat, and what appeared to be a pack of squirrels. People were few and far between, and none of them were there to be social, using the park to cut through to another area of London on foot.
As they started to head back towards the entrance they had used, Mrs. Reid spoke again. “This is the second time today that I have taken my exercise in the park.”
“You walk here in the morning?” Beckett asked.
“Of course. It is well-known that there are benefits to a regular and vigorous exercise.”
Beckett waited to see if they would further discuss the topics of those benefits.
However, she clamped her mouth shut and refused to speak more.
They lapsed into silence once again. Clearly it was Beckett’s turn to carry the conversation.
“Are you not afraid of dastardly footpads? There have been many accounts of attacks.”
Why he chose to discuss something untoward, he had no idea.
Better to congratulate the lady on her discipline, rather than malign her sense of safety, but here he was, stuck with what had come out of his mouth.
But if he were a lady, he would be afraid.
Beckett did not generally stroll with a weapon, though he knew men who did.
He was sufficiently tall and angry looking that he was not usually trifled by thieves.
“I have heard of those accounts, which is why I always take Jacobs with me. I would never go alone.” Mrs. Reid spoke as if this was a rote response.
He wondered how many other things she did without care for her safety. It made him uncomfortable to think of her strolling in the park in the early hours of the morning. “Even still.” The thought was like a pebble in the shoe. “You are a singular target.”
“I am very vigilant,” she assured him, as if placating a child.
“I don’t doubt that. But you are a small woman, and while Jacobs is no doubt adroit, surely this is not wise.
” The more he thought about it, the more unsettled he became.
What if something happened to her? Even something as minor as a robbery could change a person.
And what if it were worse and they accosted her person?
“Are you suggesting that my exercise should be curtailed?” Her voice pitched high in protest.
“Not at all,” Beckett said, wanting to not insult her or cage her in. “I’m suggesting you take another companion.”
“I walk very early in the mornings.” Mrs. Reid sniffed. “I do not know of anyone who is up early enough to walk at such a time. Surely this discourages the footpads as well.”
“I am an early riser,” Beckett said. “Perhaps I could accompany you.”
Why did he say that? The point of this walk was to make the number of times he had to see this woman fewer. But if something were to happen to her, knowing she was out there, alone? He couldn’t bear the thought.
“Why?” she blurted.
“I, too, sometimes exercise in the park in the early hours. I don’t have such a rigorous schedule, and I would like to have an incentive for such a beneficial outing.
I can provide extra protection for you, and you can provide a reason for me to get out of bed.
” This was a complete lie, and here he was, after purporting himself to be a man who desired truth, lying to her.
She frowned. “Is this part of the courting business?”
Beckett shook his head. “No. I prefer not to talk much on my walks in the morning, and thus any companionship I could provide you would be silent.”
She considered the proposal but didn’t comment upon it until they reached her door. “Given what occurred last time you came in after a walk, we should say goodbye here.”
Beckett felt the twinge in his stomach about their argument the previous week. He had been obtuse, though she had been nagging. Neither of them showed their best manners, it seemed. “Very well.”
She opened the door to her home, and he turned to go back down the steps.
“I leave my home at ten ’til seven, every morning. If you like, you may meet me at the entrance to the park. But I shan’t wait for you.” She spoke the last sentence in a serious tone, as if warning a child.
“Understood.” He bowed his head towards her, and she briefly sank into a curtsy, half inside her house, half outside. He didn’t know if he had won that round or lost the game completely.