The Regency Season: Ruined Reputations

Chapter Nine

A ghostly shroud appeared to be hovering over the sodden ground as Bea stepped out of a side door onto shingle. Following yesterday’s downpour a thick early-morning mist had formed and cool droplets tickled her complexion as she crunched over gravel towards the stable block. While surveying the pearly landscape she drew in a deep breath, savouring its earthy effervescence. It was barely seven o’clock and, apart from the servants, nobody else was yet up at Blackthorne Hall.

Bea was kitted out in sturdy boots and one of her sister’s riding habits, with a hat sitting jauntily on her fair tresses. As she jumped a puddle, one hand on the brim to prevent her hat flying off, she felt inexplicably joyful, considering the ordeals of the last few weeks. Others might pity her, and think there was little in her life to celebrate, yet Beatrice was determined that failed love affairs would never crush her while she had Elise and her papa close by. And her little family was expanding all the time: yesterday, after dinner, when the gentlemen had taken port and cigars, and Lady Groves and Mary Woodley had settled down in the drawing room to play cards, Elise had quietly confided to Bea that she suspected Adam might soon have a little brother or sister.

While pondering on the lovely idea of a little niece to cherish alongside Adam, Bea realised being a spinster aunt held a certain warm appeal. Vigorously she brushed a splash of mud from the fine cloth of her sister’s bottle-green skirt. The viscountess had a collection of the most exquisite silks and satins stitched by feted modistes and would press on Bea any garment she might praise—not simply to borrow, but to keep. Bea understood the sweetness behind Elise’s generosity but rarely accepted such lavish gifts, quipping that there was little need for pearl-encrusted ball gowns in her neck of the woods.

Having traversed a courtyard, Bea glimpsed the stables situated beyond a walled physic garden. As she approached the neat shrubs and plants some of her child-like delight at being up early on this fresh new morning dwindled. The sight of the herbs had reminded her of Colin. His work as a doctor had necessitated him knowing about natural remedies for ailments and Bea had taken an interest in the healing powers of plants too.

Her fingers brushed against rosemary spikes, filling her nostrils with a pungent perfume. Suddenly she crouched down, unable to pass by without touching the velvety leaves of lady’s mantle, cradling their watery jewels. The image of tiny diamonds jolted her upright, thinking of another gentleman who had the power to disturb her peace of mind.

She marched briskly on, trying to shake off the unwanted memory of Hugh’s degeneracy. Mulling the secret scandal over in private, she’d guessed, from Lady Groves’s hint, that it had occurred abroad, and that Hugh’s investment in India held the clue to the outrage he’d committed. When she’d joined Elise in the nursery yesterday she’d asked her sister—quite casually—if she could shed any light on the matter alluded to by Lady Groves. The viscountess had given a little shrug, reminding Bea that Hugh was a notorious rake and saying that she doubted he’d remain celibate just because he was on foreign soil.

Bea had already arrived at the same conclusion: the idea of Mr Kendrick having foreign affairs, as well as a few closer to home, had probably sent the elderly ladies into a tizz...but it certainly didn’t surprise her.

Of course Bea knew the only way to find out for sure what it was all about was to ask him...and she’d no intention of doing that! Why would she bother when she didn’t care a jot what he got up to...?

‘You’re up early, Beatrice.’

‘So...so are you, sir.’ Bea had swivelled about and automatically stuttered a reply, despite her amazement at seeing the very person who’d been intruding on her thoughts.

Hugh was emerging from the first stall she’d passed, leading a large chestnut horse. ‘Are you riding alone?’

‘I am... Elise told me last night she would not stir herself before ten o’clock. She and Alex often like to lie in...’ Bea cleared her throat, wishing she’d kept her answer brief.

‘I’m sure they do...’ Hugh muttered, glancing at the house.

‘I thought you would by now be in London,’ Bea blurted, unable to curb her curiosity at his reappearance.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ Hugh drawled. ‘But it was foolish of me to suppose I’d get even as far as Enfield last night. Half the road had been washed away by the flooding so I turned back after a couple of miles.’

Bea found the idea of him, unbeknown to her, sleeping beneath the same roof rather disquieting. And if he had returned to the house he hadn’t joined them at dinner yesterday. ‘You stayed at the Hall last night after all?’

‘I was tempted to,’ he said huskily. ‘Too tempted...’ he muttered at the leather he was tightening on the chestnut’s flanks. ‘I put up at the Red Lion instead.’

His tawny eyes ran over her smart figure and returned quizzically to her lovely face. He was too polite to voice the obvious: that she was dressed in her sister’s expensive finery. Bea’s gloved fingers adjusted the tailored jacket; she wasn’t too proud to hide the fact that she wore borrowed clothes. Besides, he already knew her father’s income wouldn’t stretch to such luxuries.

‘Elise kindly loaned me one of her habits,’ she said carelessly.

‘And very becoming it is too.’ Hugh fondled the chestnut’s ears soothingly as the stallion continued nudging him to gain attention. ‘Will you accompany Elise to London when she returns there?’

‘No, we are going back to Hertfordshire this afternoon.’

‘The roads will still be hazardous to travel on.’

‘My brother-in-law has given us a good sturdy coach and the driver is skilled. The journey to Berkshire was very comfy despite the potholes.’

Bea was aware that they were politely skirting about the obvious. Much as she wanted to forget him holding her close yesterday, the incident constantly played over in her mind. And she believed he was also brooding on it. A solid heat seemed to be building between them, despite the yard or two of cool atmosphere separating their bodies.

‘Molly, is it, for you, ma’am?’

A young stable lad had poked his head above the door, startling Bea with his question about her choice of ride.

‘Yes...thank you...’ Bea managed a smile for the youth. ‘She suits me very well,’ Bea explained as the ensuing quiet stretched. ‘I always take her out when I visit. I hope she remembers me...’

‘You’re not easy to forget,’ Hugh muttered. ‘You were right in thinking your father wished to thank me yesterday for reminding Burnett of his manners.’

‘Are you hinting I should follow his suit?’ Bea crisply enquired. ‘Because if you are I must disappoint.’ She avoided a pair of preying eyes, glad of the distraction of clopping hooves ringing on cobbles as the ostler led a small dappled horse towards her.

Once the lad had assisted her in mounting the mare Bea felt energised and calmer. She smoothed Molly’s nose, murmuring affectionately as she heard her snicker softly. The opportunity to ride was a great treat for Beatrice; Walter Dewey hadn’t owned any quality horseflesh for many years. In her early teens Bea had shared the use of a pony with Elise and they had both delighted in galloping about under their father’s strict supervision. Then the sisters’ world had crumbled when their mother had abandoned them and their father had bankrupted himself trying to win her back.

Bea had retained a modest skill, despite the intermittence of being in the saddle, and she wanted to savour her morning constitutional. She dipped her head at Hugh in farewell, trotting on towards the beckoning open space off to the south.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Hugh had swung easily onto the stallion’s back, bringing his prancing under control within a matter of seconds.

‘Not at all...’ Beatrice called over a shoulder. ‘Don’t feel obliged to try to keep up, though...’

With that bold challenge she prodded her mount into action and Molly sprang forward immediately, covering ground.

As soon as Bea had leapt the small brook that edged the meadow she gave Molly her head. The mare might be small and pretty but she was a wiry little animal, and Bea’s exhilaration soared as stinging air battered her soft cheeks. She laughed softly, racing on, but it was just seconds later that she registered the thud of hooves closing on her. She knew when he reined in to allow her to retain the lead as the drumming rhythm subtly changed tempo. Bea allowed Molly to slow down too, reluctant to appear determined to outpace him in some silly contest. She’d known from the start that docile little Molly was no match for the sleek thoroughbred on her tail.

Having reached the valley where the brook fed a fast-flowing stream, Beatrice slackened the reins so the mare could take a drink and crop grass.

Hugh came to a halt some yards away, then dismounted. He strolled over, wordlessly extending his arms, inviting her to get down.

Bea hesitated, then went to him because she could see he imagined her wary of his touch. And she wasn’t afraid of him. Neither had she any need to be. In an instant he’d lifted her easily, swung her about with giddying speed, then put her down on the turf and walked off.

Feeling flustered by his efficient handling, she wandered towards the water’s edge, glad to stretch her legs, while he tethered the stallion to a branch.

‘He’s a fine beast.’ Beatrice was keen to make conversation. The tense silences between them seemed more awkward than an exchange of barbed remarks. ‘He must be new; I don’t recall seeing Alex ride him.’

‘He’s mine.’

‘You brought your own horse with you?’ Bea turned about.

‘I rode him here; I left London quite late and I didn’t want to miss Susannah’s funeral.’ He came slowly closer. ‘Travelling across country is quicker than using a carriage on the roads.’

He assessed Bea’s thoughtful expression.

‘You’re wondering why I didn’t make it home yesterday, in that case.’

Bea nodded, aware of his eyes roving her flushed complexion, making her wonder if mud had flown up from Molly’s hooves to dirty her face as well as her hands.

‘I found I didn’t want to go home, Beatrice. I wanted to stay here for a while longer...’

Beatrice turned away, then bent down to dip her fingers into the cold water, sluicing off the soil stains. If he thought she’d ask him if he’d returned to see her, he was mistaken. She’d no intention of giving him an opportunity to scoff on that score.

‘Elise is worried Alex will pine for his mama as he has no brothers or sisters.’ She sent that over a shoulder before standing and drying her hands on her skirt.

‘Siblings can be more of a burden than a support.’ Hugh joined her on the bank of the stream.

Bea glanced at his harsh, chiselled features. She was sorry that he felt that way, considering how close she was to her beloved Elise. Hugh had a sister and a brother, and she wondered to which he’d referred when making that damning comment about his kin.

Curiosity loosened her tongue. ‘Are you not a close family?’

‘I visit my mother regularly, but my sister only rarely now she’s settled in the shires with her husband. We have no quarrel with one another.’ A chuckle grazed his throat. ‘Which is remarkable, considering how Sarah has tested my patience and my pocket in the past.’

‘And Sir Toby?’ Bea asked after a short silence.

‘The less I see of him the better I like it,’ Hugh replied. He jammed his fists into his pockets, turning his head to gaze out over the fields. ‘He is an unpleasant character and I would advise anybody to steer clear of him. My aunt Edith couldn’t abide him, so she said.’

Beatrice sensed the soft clod beneath her feet giving way and scrambled backwards. Hugh grabbed at her whirling hand, jerking her away from the water and to safety higher up the bank.

He didn’t immediately relinquish her and Bea made no effort to wriggle her fingers free of his warm grip. She blushed beneath the golden gaze she sensed scorching the top of her head, finally liberating herself with murmured thanks for his assistance. She was determined not to give the impression of being susceptible to his polished charm. And he was very attractive...more so than when she’d fallen in love with him...she grudgingly acknowledged while darting him a glance.

He had the height and dark good-looks that appealed to women and made lesser-blessed fellows resentful. He also now had the wherewithal to purchase expensive tailoring to enhance his broad shoulders... Beatrice abruptly curtailed her wild appreciation. It was now nothing to her how handsome his face, or how snug his clothes! But she could understand why women everywhere—even in exotic locations—might succumb to him...

‘I have been remiss in not offering you my condolences,’ Beatrice uttered briskly, in order to curb her annoying preoccupation with his attractiveness. ‘I had no idea that your aunt Edith had passed away till recently.’ She started to walk along the bank. ‘Elise told me the sad news when she came to Hertfordshire. I liked Mrs Vickers, although I spoke to her only a few times when in London.’

It had been during that particular sojourn in town three years ago that she had met Hugh Kendrick and almost disgraced herself with him.

With hindsight Beatrice was aghast at what she’d done. Why she had ever thought it a good idea to adopt the soubriquet Lady Lonesome when advertising for a husband in a gazette, or to arrange clandestine trysts with strangers to select her mate, she would never fathom. She’d matured in character since, with Colin’s staid influence, she was sure. But the memory of what she’d risked—and forced her younger sister to risk as her reluctant accomplice—horrified her.

Bea was very fortunate that her antics had not completely sullied her future and her family’s name, already tarnished by her parents’ divorce. Few people had ever been aware of her stupid scheme; the man at her side had known because he’d responded to her advert. As a lure she’d pretended to possess a dowry and Hugh Kendrick had been eager to lay claim to it, if not to her...

‘Ah...I do recall you first met my aunt and me at Vauxhall Gardens. You were attending a concert with your sister and the Chapman family.’

Hugh sounded as though he’d dredged up the details from the pit of his memory while strolling at her side. In fact he’d not forgotten a solitary thing about that first encounter. Neither had he forgotten that he’d replied to Lady Lonesome’s advertisement because of Toby’s refusal to loan him money to pay his rent and keep a roof over his head.

But there had also been the matter of Sophia Sweetman’s expensive tastes depleting his bank balance. Sophia had been under his protection then—until he’d found he couldn’t afford to keep her any longer. Now she was again his paramour, and he was able to give her all she wanted this time round, but Hugh wasn’t sure he wanted Sophia—or Gwen Sharpe for that matter—no matter what delightful tricks they dreamt up to keep his interest and defeat one another. Annoyingly, he knew that the coltish blonde at his side would have no such difficulty arousing him...

Hugh cursed beneath his breath at the direction his thoughts...and his loins...were taking. ‘My aunt liked you,’ he said in a voice roughened by frustration. ‘When you and your sister left town that year and returned to Hertfordshire she lacked your company.’

‘I expect Edith missed having the details of our hasty escape explained to her.’

Beatrice had sensed his irritation. If he were already bored with her company she’d not impose on him longer. She retraced her steps towards Molly, hoping he might offer to assist her in remounting rather than watch her scramble in an ungainly fashion onto the mare’s back.

‘I missed you too.’

‘Did you?’ Beatrice jerked around. ‘You had an odd way of showing it, Mr Kendrick, as I recall.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I believe you were paying attention to Fiona Chapman before I had unpacked my case in Hertfordshire.’

‘Were you jealous?’

Beatrice whipped a biting glance to his rugged profile but found a denial refused to trip off her tongue.

Slowly he turned his head, his hawk-like eyes trapping her, bringing her to an involuntarily halt.

‘It is a shame you have become arrogant and conceited,’ she whispered. ‘I think I liked you better as a penniless fortune-hunter.’ She marched on, but had covered very little ground when a hand clasped her wrist, jerking her back.

‘And I liked you better when you were a country miss keen to please me.’

‘That silly girl no longer exists.’ Bea twisted her wrist in an attempt to free herself.

‘I think she could be resurrected, given time...’ he growled.

‘And I think you might now be rich, thanks to your aunt’s bequest, but the Indian sun has addled your wits.’ Beatrice forced a fist between them to prise herself away from him.

Hugh grunted a laugh, dipping his head as though he would kiss her. But he skimmed his mouth past her mutinous face, letting her go. ‘Quite possibly something’s addled my wits,’ he muttered, and walked on.

Inwardly he mocked himself for feeling like a randy youth. He’d been burning with desire for her yesterday and only the thought of an audience with her father had checked his lust. If a roomful of mourners at a wake hadn’t put him off pursuing her he knew he should quickly distance himself, in case he lost control while they were alone. He should have gone home yesterday, he realised, and straight to Gwen and a long night of release.

There was nothing to be achieved by wanting her; he was tormenting himself for no reason. Alex would kill him if he seduced his sister-in-law, and Hugh was sure he wasn’t ready for a wife. Inwardly, he mocked himself that if he did propose Beatrice Dewey would throw the offer back at him. But she’d accepted Burnett, and Hugh knew there’d been a suitor before the doctor...

‘Did Mr Vaughan propose to you?’

Beatrice quit gazing at the mud underfoot. ‘Mr Vaughan? How do you know of him?’ she gasped in surprise.

‘Because you told me,’ Hugh replied dryly. ‘Don’t you remember that conversation, Beatrice?’

Bea bit her lip. No doubt when in Hugh’s arms, in a blissful haze, she had confided her secrets to him. Mr Vaughan had been the first gentleman for whom she’d formed a tendresse. The lawyer had pursued her when she was eighteen, then repaid her shy devotion by dropping her like a stone to wed the fiancée he’d omitted to mention.

‘No...he did not propose. Rather like you, he enjoyed flirting while chasing a dowry to make taking on a wife worthwhile.’

Hugh strode back towards her, caught her face in a fierce grip when she avoided looking at him. ‘I told you at the time I was wrong to mislead you when I had nothing to give. If things had been different we would by now have been man and wife. Things for me are different now.’

Beatrice would have pulled back but Hugh caught the tops of her arms, keeping her against him. Oddly, he was calmly certain that whatever he thought he knew about himself, whatever secrets he’d be obliged to expose, he was on the brink of asking her to marry him.

‘Things for me are different now, too,’ Bea retorted, glaring into hard hazel eyes. ‘Once home that year I fell in love properly, with a decent man, and soon realised that I’d felt mere infatuation for you.’

‘Is that so?’ Hugh asked softly. ‘I wonder if I’m able to infatuate you again now your decent man has disappeared...’

This time his mouth closed with hers relentlessly, tracking every evasion until she ceded with a little gasp and allowed their lips to merge. She felt his long fingers forking into her hair, dislodging her hat and a few pins. But though she struggled Bea knew she was defeated. Since the moment he had turned up at her father’s house with news of Alex’s mother she had unconsciously craved this. Within a second of his caress skimming her silhouette she had melted closer.

Hugh sensed her need and immediately deepened the kiss, manoeuvring her jaw to part her mouth. His tongue teased the silk of her inner lip, sliding and circling with slow eroticism, while a determined hand stroked from her back to her buttocks, jolting her into awareness of the effect she was having on him. His hands cupped her face, forcing her back from him so he could gaze at her features. A flush had spread across a soft cheek where his stubble had grazed her and her mouth, moist and temptingly slack, was scarlet and plump from his passionate assault.

But she was not the sweet ingénue she’d been before. He could read behind the desire in her large eyes that her response was reluctant...measured...and he wondered just how much the doctor had taken before he’d gone away.

‘You’re easily infatuated, sweetheart,’ Hugh murmured. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d bedded down at the Hall last night, after all, and got to know you again.’

His brutal comment was like a dousing with cold water for Beatrice. He couldn’t have made it plainer that he thought her a wanton, desperate for his attention, just as she had been years ago when she’d promised him anything he wanted, then cried when he’d coolly told her he must stop seeing her.

A small hand, liberated from entrapment between their bodies, flew up to crack against his unshaven cheek, jerking his head sideways. ‘I’m not infatuated and never will be again...not with you, at least. I’m disgusted by your lust and insolence.’ She backed away, pressing quivering fingers to her pulsing lips. ‘Colin might not be able to marry me under the terms of his inheritance but I’d sooner be his mistress than your wife.’

Hugh stalked her on their way back, until she realised she’d got the stream directly behind her and could go no further.

‘I don’t recall proposing to you...ever...not then, not now,’ he gritted through his teeth, infuriated with himself as well as her.

He would have risked even worse humiliation at her hands if he’d let those four damnable words circling his mind trip off his tongue.

‘But if it’s a lover you want...’ Hugh continued in a deliberately lewd tone as he trailed just one tormenting digit down a hot silky cheek. ‘I’ll provide a better service than the doctor...in every way. Just name it and it’s yours, whatever you desire.’ He grunted a callous laugh as she flinched at his crude proposition. ‘So...the decent man’s gone off to Miss Rawlings to keep his estates safe, has he?’

‘Don’t you dare mock him!’ Beatrice cried. ‘He didn’t want to leave me! He had to for his future heirs’ sake!’

‘Quite the martyr, then, isn’t he?’ Hugh mocked. ‘Yet Sir Colin, as he demands to be known, gives the impression of a man content with his lot in life...whereas I have just realised I am not, because I want what he doesn’t.’

Beatrice gulped down an indignant protestation. She had not seen Colin since he’d jilted her, but for her pride’s sake she’d clung to a belief that he was missing her as she missed him. She might tell her family...she might tell herself...that she was glad they’d parted, but in private moments she knew it wasn’t wholly so. There had been tender interludes during their relationship, if no great passion. For this man to brutally throw her fiancé’s faithlessness in her face—even if it were the truth—was galling.

‘If Colin seems content it is because he is stoic and sensible enough to know he must accept what he cannot change!’ Beatrice hissed. ‘Whereas you are a disgusting degenerate.’

‘Am I? Who told you so?’ Hugh enquired with specious softness.

Beatrice pressed together her lips, as though to prevent herself repeating what she’d learned about him from Lady Groves: he was a man who preferred spending time with harlots rather than decent women, despite his popularity with debutantes. If the ladies’ comments about the flirtatious Miss Rawlings were to be believed Colin’s future wife seemed, with awful irony, particularly taken with Hugh Kendrick. And if that were not enough then there was the other business which, if she’d guessed correctly, had taken place overseas.