15. Chapter 15- Bradford #2
“What on earth have you been reading lately?” Beatrice exclaimed. “The encyclopedias are bad enough without tawdry novels in the mix.”
“No, and no,” Bradford answered. “Though I do enjoy riding horses. But that’s where the similarities end.”
Margaret looked at Beatrice and shrugged.
“Are you serious?” Beatrice said. “Your only questions were in regard to fortune and whether he’s a gothic romance hero? You said you had important things you needed to ask.”
“In my defense, he could have been a penniless highwayman!”
“With that haircut? Do be serious.”
Bradford half lifted a hand to his hair before catching himself. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask for clarification, but once again the conversation had devolved into a row.
“Perhaps the haircut is a disguise. Highwaymen are sneaky. Or so I’d imagine.”
“How would you know?” Beatrice threw her gloved hands in the air. “Thankfully, you’ve never met one.”
“Not that I know of, but I suppose it’s possible.”
“No, it isn’t. Contrary to your novels, highwaymen are starving, desperate men who’d cut off your ear if you couldn’t get your earring unclasped in a timely manner.”
Margaret reflexively touched her earlobe, sending her pearls and diamonds swinging. “Well, some may be, but I don’t think it’s fair to lump all of them in together. I suppose there could be a few who are quite misunderstood.”
“Stop romanticizing criminals! They live in the woods. Their body odor alone would knock you down at twenty paces!”
Margaret sat up straight and looked imperiously at her sister. “And how would you know? You haven’t met any of them, either.”
“Because you don’t meet a highwayman. They accost you, rob you, and if you’re very lucky, that’s the end of it.” Beatrice slapped the back of her gloved hand against the other to emphasize her statements.
“I don’t know why you think you’re an expert on the subject when I’ve read far more books about highwaymen than you have.”
“Fiction books. You’ve read far more fiction books than I have.” Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut and pressed a pair of fingers to her temple. “Please tell me you know the difference between reality and fiction.”
“I think there’s a rather large overlap, actually.” Margaret sniffed. “How else would authors get their ideas?”
“They make them up!” Beatrice nearly shrieked.
She pointed a finger in Margaret’s direction.
“I wouldn’t be so concerned if I thought you were just playing dumb and having a go at my expense.
But I suspect you truly believe what you’re saying.
On our next journey through the countryside, if you aren’t well supervised, you’re likely to toddle off to try to find a highwayman, just to prove your point. ”
“Toddle?” Margaret’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Is that a crack at my diminutive height?”
“Come off it. You’re not that short. Besides, if height were related to propensity for getting into trouble, you’d be the tallest of all the Preston siblings, our brothers included.”
“Your arguments aren’t even making sense anymore. I fear you’re quite overwrought. Perhaps you need some smelling salts to put you in order before we arrive.” She turned to Bradford and smiled sweetly. “Do you have any smelling salts on your person?”
“As a rule, we highwaymen don’t carry smelling salts,” he said in a bland tone. “We prefer our quarry to faint dead away. Makes it much more convenient to collect their purses.”
“Aha!” Margaret jabbed the air with her finger, sounding delighted.
“Please don’t encourage her. I fear she’s serious.” Beatrice rubbed both temples in earnest.
“You act as if I’m a halfwit when you know full well that I’m as capable as you are,” Margaret said. “Of course I know that not every highwayman is a down-on-his-luck secret duke with a tragic past who writes poetry by moonlight. Just some of them.”
“Ugh.” Beatrice sagged against the seat. “For your sake, I pray you end up with a leviathan-sized husband who’s concerned with naught else but your safety. Even so, he’ll have his work cut out for him.”
“What on earth do you mean by that?” Margaret snapped, for the first time appearing truly irritated. “Why would size have anything to do with qualifications to be a husband?”
“Because you’re so hard-headed he’ll need to have the fortitude and dexterity of a bullfighter to keep you safe.”
“Am I the bull in this scenario?”
“Precisely!”
“You act as if giving people the benefit of the doubt is a bad thing,” Margaret said. “But I’ve learned that circumstances often dictate how a person is viewed, and those circumstances aren’t always the person’s fault.”
“Fair enough. But certainly you must admit that there’s no good excuse for becoming a highwayman.”
Margaret tilted her head. At the motion, her blonde curls strained at the barrettes valiantly trying to contain them. “Well, no. I believe there are some circumstances that might warrant it.”
“Such as?”
“Like those in A Duel with a Duke. He had to steal from the rich to support his siblings. And he never hurt anyone.”
“Fine. You win. In that scenario, being a highwayman is fine.” Beatrice gave a spluttering sigh of defeat, wilting against the padded seat.
Bradford couldn’t help it; his lips twitched with the smile he’d been trying to hide.
Beatrice said dully, “Apologies, you must think us nigh on insane.”
If only insanity were so entertaining, he thought.
He said lightly, “If insanity were as pleasant as this, Bedlam would be a merry circus.”
The carriage bumped to a stop; Margaret leaned forward and peeled the curtain back an inch. “We’re in line to be dropped off. We wasted too much time with your unfair opinions on highwaymen; we’ve learned barely anything about Lord Hayes.”
“Well, do you have any questions left?” Beatrice asked accusingly.
She frowned. “I thought we had so many, but now in the moment, I can hardly remember them.”
“Tell me this, at least,” Beatrice finally said, leaning forward. “Do you have plans to marry again?”
Bradford was so surprised by the forwardness of the question that before he knew it, he was telling the truth—one that he hadn’t admitted to himself until then. “Nothing would entice me to marry again except for love.”
“Very well, then.” Beatrice leaned back with a satisfied smile.