Captive Bride (15 page)

Bea’s attention prickled. “How do you know that? Did one of the servants tell you?”

Bronwyn’s grandmother shook her head. “The woman did.”

“The woman?”

“Oh.” Bronwyn’s delicate brow creased. “She must be speaking of Miss Minturn.”

“Who is Miss Minturn?”

“My old governess.
She lives in the village, but I have not seen her in an age. She is sickly, you know.
Much worse than
Grandmama
.”

“This Miss Minturn told you about the terms of the curse, Mrs. Canon?
And about Lord
Iversly’s
habits?”
Bea’s nerves stirred with renewed eagerness. “How does she come to know about them?”

The grandmother shrank further back into the chair.

“I suspect everyone around here knows about him,” Bronwyn replied
.

Bea nodded. She had already asked Cook and
Dibin
to tell her all they could. Either they were not interested in sharing information, or they truly knew little beyond what Bea had already learned. It seemed remarkable that this Miss Minturn would have more information, unless she had been personally involved with Lord
Iversly
.

Bea peered at the elderly lady. “Mrs. Canon, would you like to return to your chambers and rest a bit?”

She nodded, and Bea gently helped her to stand. Bronwyn followed them through the keep to the grandmother’s room and they deposited her in bed.

“I will send up Cook with a
posset
for you.” Bea closed the door and turned to Bronwyn. “Was Miss Minturn ever married, Bronwyn?”

“Oh, no, of course.”

“I must ask you something indelicate now.” 

Bronwyn’s long lashes fanned outward. She nodded.

“Do you know if your former governess ever had a gentleman admirer?
A
particular
one?”

Bronwyn’s face went blank,
then
comprehension filled her eyes. “Oh, I am fairly certain she did not. She is very plain.”

“I see.” Bea chewed on her lip. “Do you think that if my brother goes to see her she would be likely to speak with him openly about the time she lived at the castle?”

“Oh, no.
Gentlemen frighten her.”

“All right.”
Bea would find a solution. Perhaps Aunts Grace and Julia would go down to the village and interview Miss Minturn. She could hope.

Lady
Marstowe
refused. She stared from behind her lorgnette with hauteur and announced that she would not step foot out of the fortress until Beatrice was gone from it.

“Aunt Grace, unless we learn more about the curse, I may never be able to leave.”

“
Iversly
intends to take the chit as his bride tomorrow night. Let him do so and then we will leave.”

“Aunt Grace!” Bea exclaimed at the same moment Julia warbled, “Gracie.”

The dowager glowered. “I will not be party to further foolishness. You are your family’s bedrock, Beatrice. However much I despise most everything
Harriet demands, your duty is
to her, not to this girl or her ghost.”

Something tugged at Bea’s attention, and she turned toward the parlor door. Tip had entered, handsomer than ever in evening garments.

Her hands went clammy. But it didn’t matter if he had heard her great-aunt’s comment. To him she was an unruly, sharp-tongued miscreant.

He was welcome to his opinion. She wished he had already left
Gwynedd
. His gaze upon her now was warm and she could not help thinking he stayed for her. It was simply odious.
And wonderful.

“Gracie dear, perhaps one of our
party
could make a trip down to the village after breakfast tomorrow,” Julia suggested. “I am in need of red thread, and Cook tells me there is a fine sewing shop along the street.” She reached into her embroidery bag and pulled out a handful of tangled yarns.

“I will be glad to accompany you, Miss Dews,” Tip said with a bow.

Thomas and Lady Bronwyn appeared in the doorway.

“Oh,
Dibin
tells me dinner is served,” Bronwyn said, glancing shyly at Bea’s brother. He took her arm and turned her toward the dining room. Tip approached Lady
Marstowe
and held out his arm, and she laid hers upon it, her thin lips pursed.

Dinner consisted of
several remarkably tasty dishes served all at once
. Bea wished she could stomach it, but Tip sat beside her and her entire attention wrapped around him.

She despised herself for it, but it could not be helped, she supposed. She could rant and rave all she wished about the true woman within, but she could not force her heart to give him up so quickly after loving him for so long. Especially not with him sitting three feet away, so gorgeously wonderful in every way.
Except one.

When the meal ended, he drew out her chair and took her hand onto his arm, stalling her as the others left for the parlor.

“I would like to speak with you in private before you retire tonight, if you would allow it.”
No hint of anger or displeasure colored his candid eyes.

Bea took a steadying breath. She should say no.
Adamantly no.
What good could come of more tête-à-têtes with him?
More teasing?
More accusations?

More heartache.

She must be strong.

“All right.”

She could be strong starting in the morning.

He escorted her into the parlor and seated her beside Aunt Julia. Julia gave him a twinkling smile, he winked in response, and Bea’s heart made an uncomfortable pilgrimage around her chest cavity.

“I wonder if this governess, Miss Minturn, will come now,” Thomas said. “Lady Bronwyn says she hasn’t been to the castle in an age.”

“She sounds like an imbecile,” the dowager remarked with a frown. “Is this Miss Minturn an imbecile, Lady Bronwyn?”

“Oh, no.
I do not believe so. She taught me everything I know.”

Lady
Marstowe’s
lips tightened.

Bea stifled a grin. Bronwyn was a sweet girl, and Bea herself was an absolute
ninnyhammer
to feel so giddy, especially when danger loomed so near. They should be doing something about it. She should at least fix her mind upon it, like Thomas and Aunt Grace seemed to be doing now.

Tip stood by the mantle, his hand tucked at the back of his neck and head bent in an attitude of thought. As though he felt her stare, he looked up and across the chamber at her. He smiled. Bea’s legs went watery.

This
would not do
. She had been in love with him for years, friends for the same time, yet it only required one little kiss and a shouting match to thrust her emotions back to her first months of infatuation.
Ridiculous
.
Especially given what he must think of her now
.

What on earth must he say to her in private? And how would she go on, now that she had convinced herself she must not love him any longer?

No, she could not meet him tonight. She would return to her bedchamber when Aunts Julia and Grace went up, and he would not be able to do anything about it. She was determined to be a new person.
Her
own
person.
The old Beatrice
Sinclaire
wasted away in hopeless attachment to Lord Peter
Cheriot
. Well, not precisely wasted away. She ate and drank and enjoyed walks and read books and gardened and saw to her mother’s needs, after all. But the new Beatrice
Sinclaire
would do all of that with a lighter heart, free of pathetic yearnings. If she were going to live life the way she wished, she could not hang on to unproductive imaginings.

Let him think whatever he liked, and do whatever he did. Bea would no longer be moved. She would resist his enticements however charmingly offered, and maintain a firm stance.

Her new life awaited her. It did not include Peter
Cheriot
.

~
~
~

June 29, 1821

He has never asked me why I refuse him. Today he only smiled and shook his head.

If he continues in this pattern, Diary, I shall be obliged to invent an excuse in the event that someday he requires an explanation.

I doubt he ever will.

~
~
~

CHAPTER
TEN

Tip strode along the corridor, his mouth set in a grim line, his jaw tight. She had escaped him.
Willfully.
Despite her promise to meet him.

Not exactly a promise, of course.
Never a promise.
But not a refusal this time, either.

Clearly she did not wish to speak with him. But he had something to say. So she could just listen. And he wasn’t above going to her bedchamber to make it so. A man didn’t come to an important realization in the course of an afternoon and let it sit without acting on it. Gentlemanly behavior, be damned. He’d had just about enough of it at this point.

He rounded a corner and nearly slammed into Thomas.

“Odd’s blood!
Watch your step,
Cheriot
.” 

“Watch your own,” Tip growled.

Thomas frowned. “What’s the matter? You don’t look well.”

“Good of you to notice.” Tip took a hard breath, anger and impatience boiling beneath his skin. But he couldn’t very well tell
Sinclaire
he needed to hurry off to interrupt his sister at bedtime.

A picture of Bea preparing for bed sliced through his imagination, staggering him momentarily.

Thomas’s frown deepened. “Is there something I should know? Have you had news since I left the parlor? Did
Iversly
appear again?”

“No.” Tip shook his head. “No news. I will escort Lady
Marstowe
and Miss Dews to the village tomorrow to speak with Lady Bronwyn’s governess, as planned. Hopefully she will tell us something we can put to use.”

“But you don’t think she will.” Thomas peered at him the way younger men often did, especially when it came to horseflesh—seeking guidance, answers.

“I don’t know. But we must think of something.
Iversly
did not hoax when he said he is determined to end the curse at midnight tomorrow.” Tip had never heard a man sound the way
Iversly
did when he spoke to Bea, desperate, with an undertone of despair so acute it dug into Tip’s conscience.

He was not about to allow Lady Bronwyn or Bea to be sacrificed for
Iversly’s
eternal contentment, but he couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the fellow. The ghost’s misery was the very thing that now drove Tip to speak to Bea.
Iversly’s
fate was sealed, but Tip still had a chance.

He wanted Beatrice
Sinclaire
, for better and apparently for worse as well. One argument would not turn him into his father, and a single outburst did not make her his mother. He’d been cross with her in the first place because all that talk of warm bodies had him hotter than he’d been in months.
Years.
To prevent himself from grabbing her, he’d criticized her instead. Not very gallant, admittedly, but now that he realized what he’d done he could avoid it in the future.

Yes. They would get along fine.

“Tip,” Thomas said hesitantly. “I’ve been thinking . . .”

“About what?”
He struggled to bank his impatience.
Control.
Calm.
Reason.
His imagination conjured Bea in a diaphanous
nightrail
. Her bedchamber lay just ahead along the corridor. He nearly groaned aloud. “What, Tom?” he pressed.

“
Iversly
can marry only a maiden. He’s said so any number of times. Only a maiden is able
to break the curse.”

“Yes.”

“Well . . .” Thomas’s brows slanted to a point. “It’s only that—”

“Tomorrow we will discover a solution,” Tip said quickly, suspecting where Thomas’s thoughts had gone and not blaming him at all for it. He gripped the younger man’s shoulder. The gesture seemed to comfort Thomas.

“Right then.
Good night, Tip.”

“Good night, Tom.” Tip watched him continue down the corridor toward his chamber. When he heard Thomas’s bolt knock in place, he pivoted around and went the rest of the way to Bea’s door.