Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(53)

He felt a surge of protectiveness well up inside his chest. He wanted to go find whomever it was who had made her react this way and do something about it. He wanted to hold her, to tell her it would be fine, that he was there.

But he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right, he most certainly didn’t have her permission, and he would likely be rejected if he even intimated that that was how he felt.

“You have an enormous house,” the duchess said, her voice indicating she was surprised.

“I do!” Mr. Beechcroft said in satisfaction. “I commissioned it when Edward first came to live with me. I wanted it to be the biggest house in the area, and it remains so, even after twenty-five years.”

Edward wished his father didn’t sound so proud, as though he were bragging. Which he absolutely was. It made him sound like what he was—a merchant who had so much money that people in a social status above his were forced to acknowledge him. To visit him at his country house.

And now Edward was doing just what he’d always thought proper Society did—judging people on their politeness, their fitness to be in company with. He was as misguided as Lady Olivia.

Another thing they had in common.

His father took the duchess’s arm to lead her into the house, chattering away about the amenities he’d had installed—the private water closets, the plumbing, the innovations in heating. Things the duchess likely did not care at all about.

He had to push that aside. He would not be ashamed of his father or who his father was. Especially since his father would not be here for much longer.

“Lady Pearl, Lady Ida, Lady Olivia,” he began, noting the concerned look on Lady Pearl’s face and how eagerly Lady Ida was looking at the house—likely anticipating how large the library must be if the house itself was so big. Not looking at her, in case her expression was still so raw, so he wouldn’t embarrass himself or her by demanding to know what was wrong. How he could fix it.

“Thank you for inviting us,” she replied, and he could hear the strain in her voice. “You do have a lovely home.”

“It is my father’s,” Edward corrected, then felt like an ass for being so sharp.

“Could we go inside?” Lady Ida said, her tone making it clear he was an ass for making them wait outside for so long.

“Of course, please.” And he held his arm out toward them, with Lady Pearl and eventually Olivia taking one each.

Lady Ida had already started up the stairs, her soft slippers seeming to march as she went.

“Bennett arrives tomorrow,” Edward said, speaking to Olivia. Wishing his friend wasn’t always prompt, but knowing it was inevitable no matter when he arrived.

“I see,” Olivia said, not sounding at all the way he would have expected her to.

“Mrs. Hodgkins has set up tea in the drawing room, if you would care for refreshment before retiring for the evening.”

“That would be wonderful,” Lady Pearl said. “Please thank her for us.”

Edward brought them into the drawing room, scanning the area for any signs of poor taste in design or anything that might betray his father’s origins. And then hated himself all over again for it.

Thankfully, the drawing room—like the rest of the house—was tastefully decorated, giving the duchess and the rest of her family no cause for thinking Mr. Beechcroft was vulgar. Beyond his own admittedly lower-class heritage.

“Duchess, will you pour?” Mr. Beechcroft asked, gesturing to the silver tea service laid out on one of the mahogany tables. The silver sparkled so much it seemed to light up the room, which was already lit with sconces and low lamps.

Lady Olivia put her hand over her mother’s as the duchess stretched her hand to the teapot. “I can do it, Mother. You should rest after our journey.” And she didn’t wait for the duchess’s reply before beginning, fixing a cup for her mother and handing it to her, then looking expectantly at Mr. Beechcroft.

“Your tea, Father,” Edward prompted. “How do you take your tea?”

Mr. Beechcroft clapped his hands together, his eyes lit with pleasure. “Milk and plenty of sugar please,” he exclaimed.

Olivia smiled at him as she prepared his tea. What would it be like to have Mr. Beechcroft as a father? It would certainly be a lot more cheerful, she could say that. And he spoke to his child, didn’t just grunt from behind a newspaper. Edward was so lucky in that way. Although if Mr. Beechcroft hadn’t been who he was, Edward would have grown up in a foundling home, probably forced to wear something Olivia had sewn.

That would be a terrible situation, even without including Olivia’s inability to be a seamstress.

“And now let me serve you ladies,” Mr. Beechcroft said, putting his teacup down on the table beside him. A table, Olivia could see, decorated with tiny globes on axes, each delicately made and painted in a variety of vibrant hues.

“Those are lovely,” Olivia exclaimed, getting up from her seat to crouch in front of the table. “Where did you get them?”

She reached out a tentative finger to touch one, setting the globe to gently spinning.

Mr. Beechcroft blushed and ducked his head. “I make them, actually.”

“In one of your factories?” Olivia put her finger on England; there was probably enough room for two of her fingertips on their country, but not much more.