Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways #5)(73)

She was too innocent, too fine, to be what fate had intended for him. But he wanted her too badly to care. He would take her, and whatever calamity fate might choose to inflict in return, he would keep Beatrix safe from it.

Or from himself, if necessary.

A shriek came from the drawing room, disrupting all conversation at the Ramsay House soiree.

“What the devil was that?” Christopher’s grandfather, Lord Annandale, asked with a scowl. He was holding court in the family parlor, occupying a settee while various guests came to offer their homage. The long journey to Hampshire had made him querulous and exhausted. As a result, Annandale had demanded that Audrey, who had accompanied him from London, stay at his side.

Christopher suppressed a grin as he saw his sister-in-law staring at the doorway of the drawing room with patent longing. Although she had always gotten on fairly well with Annandale, she had spent the entire previous day shut away with the old codger in a private carriage.

“Why would someone scream at a soiree?” Annandale persisted, scowling.

Christopher maintained a bland expression. Since it most likely involved one of the Hathaways, it could have been anything.

“Shall I go and find out?” Audrey asked, clearly desperate to escape her grandfather-in-law.

“No, you may stay here, in case I need something.”

Audrey suppressed a sigh. “Yes, my lord.”

Beatrix entered the parlor and made her way through the clustered guests. Reaching Christopher, she said in a low tone, “Your mother just met Medusa.”

“My mother was the one who screamed?” Christopher asked.

“What was that?” Annandale demanded, remaining seated on the settee. “My daughter screamed?”

“I’m afraid so, my lord,” Beatrix said apologetically. “She encountered my pet hedgehog, who had escaped from her pen.” She glanced at Christopher, adding brightly, “Medusa’s always been too plump to climb the walls of her box before. I think her new exercise must be working!”

“Were any quills involved, love?” Christopher asked, repressing a grin.

“Oh, no, your mother wasn’t stuck. But Amelia is taking her to one of the upstairs rooms to rest. Unfortunately Medusa gave her a headache.”

Audrey glanced heavenward. “Her head always aches.”

“Why do you keep a hedgehog as a pet?” Annandale demanded of Beatrix.

“She can’t fend for herself, my lord. My brother rescued her from a fencepost hole when she was still a hoglet, and we couldn’t find her mother. So I’ve taken care of her ever since. Hedgehogs make delightful pets, as long as they’re handled properly.” She paused and regarded Annandale with frank interest. “My goodness, you are an eagle, aren’t you?”

“A what?” the elderly man asked, his eyes narrowing.

“An eagle.” Beatrix stared at him closely. “You have such striking features, and you exude power even while sitting still. And you like to watch people. You can assess them instantly, can’t you? No doubt you’re always right.”

Christopher began to intervene, certain that his grandfather would incinerate her with his response. To his astonishment, Annandale practically preened under Beatrix’s admiring regard.

“I can,” the earl allowed. “And indeed, I am seldom mistaken in my judgments.”

Audrey rolled her eyes again.

“You look a bit chilled, my lord,” Beatrix observed. “You must be sitting in a draft. One moment—” She bustled off to fetch a lap blanket, and returned to drape the soft blue wool over him.

It wasn’t the least bit cool in the room, and there couldn’t possibly have been a draft. However, Annandale received the blanket with obvious pleasure. Recalling the overheated rooms in his grandfather’s house, Christopher reflected that he probably had been chilled. How Beatrix could have guessed it was a mystery.

“Audrey,” Beatrix implored, “do let me sit next to Lord Annandale.” As if it were some coveted privilege.

“If you insist.” Audrey leaped from the settee as if she had been launched by a spring mechanism.

Before Beatrix took her place, she bent to rummage beneath the settee. Dragging out a drowsing gray cat, she settled it on Annandale’s lap. “Here you are. Nothing warms you faster than a cat in your lap. Her name is Lucky. She’ll purr if you pet her.”

The old man regarded it without expression.

And to Christopher’s astonishment, the old man began to stroke the sleek gray fur.

“This cat is missing a leg,” he remarked to Beatrix.

“Yes, I would have named her Nelson, after the one-armed admiral, but she’s female. She belonged to the cheesemaker until her foot was caught in a trap.”

“Why did you name her Lucky?” Annandale asked.

“I hoped it would change her fortunes.”

“And did it?”

“Well, she’s sitting in the lap of an earl, isn’t she?” Beatrix pointed out, and Annandale laughed outright.

He touched the cat’s remaining paw. “She is fortunate to have been to able to adapt.”

“She was determined,” Beatrix said. “You should have seen the poor thing, not long after the amputation. She kept trying to walk on the missing leg, or jump down from a chair, and she would stumble and lose her balance. But one day, she woke up and seemed to have accepted the fact that the leg was gone for good. And she became nearly as agile as before.” She added significantly, “The trick was forgetting about what she had lost . . . and learning to go on with what she had left.”