Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Miss Beatrice, you have a caller,” Georgia said as Beatrice pulled on her gloves and whistled for the dogs.
“Oh,” Beatrice sighed, trying not to sound too disappointed.
She had planned on taking an invigorating walk around the garden.
Even though their townhouse on Grosvenor square was well situated, with a large outdoor space prettily laid out with formal gardens, it was nothing compared to the rolling estate of Fallenbrook.
Beatrice always missed her home when they were in town for the summer season, but she especially missed it now that her mind and heart were crowded with thoughts of Giovanni.
How she longed for the wildness of the woods and the wide fields to trudge through, for the brusque brush of the wind to blow her doubts and worries away.
“Who is it?”
“It is Lord Milton,” Georgia whispered, her eyes alight with excitement. “He is sitting with Mrs. Klane in the drawing room at the moment, and he has brought flowers.”
Beatrice tried to muster some excitement about her visitor, but the idea of sitting with another box of hothouse blooms rather than walking in the fresh air was tedious to her. Still, she knew she could hardly leave Anna alone with the viscount to explain her situation for her.
“I shall come to the drawing room right away,” Beatrice sighed, untying her bonnet with sluggish fingers and walking heavily down the stairs, Anna’s little cocker spaniels barking around her feet.
“Sorry Juno, sorry Dido,” Beatrice muttered to the dogs, who looked up at her with their sparkling, eager eyes. “I don’t think there shall be a walk for you this afternoon.”
Beatrice stopped in the hallway to check her hair in the mirror.
She had not been expecting a caller, but she felt she was still dressed prettily enough to receive one.
She was wearing one of her favorite gowns; a stunning peacock-blue silk with almost sheer muslin sleeves.
It was an unusual color for a debutante, one that would usually be deemed too flashy or gaudy for a lady of society, but there was something about Beatrice’s luminous skin and her dark features that made the colors soften.
Somehow, she always managed to still look perfectly appropriate and adequately virginal.
It was something Anna had told her when she first came out into society, “You can be daring where other girls might be fearful. Do not worry, you have a face that always radiates angelic innocence, so you shall not cause a scandal by taking these fashion risks.”
Beatrice had been a little affronted by that, but on days like today, she was grateful she had no need to rush upstairs and change into something white that a suitor might find appealing.
She only needed small adjustments. She had thrown on a mismatched but complementary pelisse in soft plum velvet, which brought out the plum ribbon on her straw bonnet and the peacock feather there, but one could hardly wear such items inside.
Reluctantly, she set her bonnet on the sideboard and checked her hair, half up in a matching ribbon, to ensure it was still perfectly set.
She pinched her cheeks a little to bring some rosiness into the ivory skin and smoothed her eyebrows.
Then, satisfied, she squared her shoulders and walked into the drawing room.
“Beatrice! Isn’t this lovely? Lord Milton has called on us,” Anna said, smiling up at the man who had risen to bow when Beatrice entered the room.
Anna had been a good hostess, Beatrice could see, having already instructed Cook to offer up the finest delicacies the Klane house had to offer—pretty Italian seed biscuits and dark roasted Italian coffee—items Cook usually hoarded away for the most esteemed of guests.
It seemed that if Anna had any doubts about Beatrice’s ability to catch the viscount’s interest, she was determined to supplement it with refined treats.
Lord Milton did look especially content, brushing biscuit crumbs from his grey waistcoat and smiling sheepishly.
He looked very at home. The thought was both pleasant and unsettling to Beatrice, who tried to push it aside.
“My Lord Milton,” Beatrice said, curtsying elegantly. “How good of you to call and to bring flowers, too.”
Her gaze fell to the box of roses on the coffee table, this time not white, but a lovely shade of blush.
“Well, they reminded me of you, Miss Klane,” he said, smiling at her charmingly. “But I see I have perhaps caught you at a bad time?”
He gestured down to her gloves, her pelisse, and the frantic dogs who continued to circle her feet.
“Were you going out?”
“Oh no, Beatrice was only going to walk the gardens, but she is more than happy to sit with you, are you not, Beatrice?”
“Of course,” Beatrice smiled tightly, trying to ignore the fussing dogs.
“It seems you might be letting down your canine companions,” Lord Milton joked, gesturing to the rambunctious animals.
“Oh, do not worry for them,” Anna smiled. “The dogs are simply too spoiled for their own good—Dido! Juno! Come!”
Anna tried to call the pups over to her but they were a raucous pair, too used to having their own way. One dog sniffed around the viscount’s feet, staring up at him with doleful eyes. He laughed loudly, grinning down at the little dog.
“With a face like that, who could resist?” Lord Milton bent down to ruffle the dog’s ears. “I’d be more than happy to walk the gardens with you and your fluffy friends, Miss Klane.”
Anna and Beatrice exchanged a surprised look.
The usual form for a potential suitor was for him to sit in audience with a lady and her designated chaperone, and usually suffer through some agonizing small talk.
Then, on their next meeting, if deemed appropriate by all parties, they might go on a chaperoned walk, or to a chaperoned tea room.
It seemed like the viscount was preparing to skip a step.
Beatrice looked at Anna for guidance, trying to gauge if it would be appropriate to accept, but Anna was already standing up, wrapping her shawl close with a smile.
“Of course, My Lord,” she said, coming to Beatrice’s side and taking her arm. “We would be delighted to show you the gardens. Let me ask Mr, Klane to join us. Come, Dido, come, Juno!”
A chaperoned walk in the garden was permitted, but only when balanced with two chaperones.
The implication was that Silas would, at any time, have the chance to still veto the viscount if he felt it was appropriate.
Beatrice picked up her bonnet, since it was quite sunny outside and her fair skin was prone to burning, and tried not to think about how quickly Anna had adapted.
Clearly, she and Silas were eager for Beatrice to make a match with the man.
Beatrice couldn’t stop her mind from wandering to Giovanni, imagining where he was at that moment.
Then, as naturally as if her thoughts were a waterfall crashing to their inevitable conclusion, she remembered the press of his warm, eager lips against her own.
“Are you well, Miss Klane?” Lord Milton asked quietly as Anna rang the bell for a servant and gave instructions for a message to be passed to Silas. “You seem a little quiet.”
“Oh no, I am quite well,” Beatrice smiled. She pushed all thoughts of Giovanni far from her mind. “Shall we step out onto the patio, My Lord?”
They did so, the viscount happily finding a stick to throw for the dogs and then laughing at the way they scurried across the lawn. Beatrice laughed too, trying to tell herself that this was what she wanted.
This is the type of man I am supposed to want, she told herself sternly.
Giovanni was the opposite of everything her brother had planned for their lives. Giovanni was not the man for her. Even if she ignored all of her brother’s wishes, Giovanni had made it abundantly clear he had no interest in her when he had refused to acknowledge their kiss.
“It is a good day for walking,” Lord Milton said as they set along the path. “The dogs seem to enjoy it.”
Silas and Anna followed them into the gardens, Silas holding Anna’s parasol to defend her fair complexion from the sun’s bright rays.
The dogs barked joyfully and ran between the two sets of couples, Silas and Anna able to watch Beatrice from a few meters behind.
She could almost feel their whispered speculations on the back of her neck.
“Oh yes,” Beatrice said. “But they are very spoiled pups, like Anna said, not like our dogs at home.”
“You have more dogs at Fallenbrook?” Lord Milton asked.
“Oh yes,” Beatrice nodded fondly. “Hector and Fallon—they are hunting hounds. These little ones are no more than lapdogs, really. Silas thought my nephew might enjoy them since he is far too little for hounds.”
“You enjoy animals, then?” He smiled at her. “Just like me?”
Beatrice couldn’t help the sudden flash of an old memory.
She was eleven years old and had found a runt puppy on the steps of Montmartre in Paris.
Giovanni had carried it all the way home for her inside his coat.
They had fed it bread and milk until it was strong enough to run away from them, and Beatrice had cried her eyes out into Giovanni’s shoulder.
She had another flash of imagination then, wondering dismally how many women Giovanni could have been with since their kiss.
It had meant nothing to him, that much was clear.
She shook herself brutally. She should not think of him. He certainly was not thinking of her.
“I do, My Lord,” Beatrice said simply. “Very much.”
“I think I should like it if you called me Jasper,” he said quietly, reaching out a hand to brush it against the blooms of the summer roses. “If you judge it to be appropriate.”