To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(24)

Beatrice looked at her, appalled.

“I’m sorry, but there it is.” Lottie shrugged and then said entirely too innocently, “Of course, generally speaking, the lady does like the gentleman when they kiss.”

Beatrice pressed her lips together, though she knew her face was warming.

Lottie cleared her throat. “Do you? Like Lord Hope, that is?”

“How could I like him?” Beatrice asked. “He’s surly and sarcastic and quite possibly mad.”

“And yet you kissed him,” Lottie reminded her.

“He kissed me,” Beatrice said automatically. “It’s just that he has such an intense way of looking at one, as if I’m the only other human in the world. He’s so full of passion.”

Lottie raised her eyebrows.

“I’m explaining it badly,” Beatrice said. She thought a moment. “It’s as if the only music one had ever heard was a penny whistle. One would probably think it was quite all right, that music was a rather nice thing but nothing very special. But what if one then attended one of Mr. Handel’s symphonies? Do you see? It would be overwhelming, beautiful and strange and complex, and so utterly compelling.”

“I think I understand,” Lottie murmured. Her brows knit.

Across the room, one of the gentlemen misjudged the chair’s weight and dropped it. The chair smashed to the ground, the other gentlemen doubled over in laughter, and the young lady’s chaperone escorted her from the showroom, scolding her all the way. The proprietor hurried over to the scene of his wrecked merchandise.

Beatrice shook her head. “I’ll never understand men.”

“Listen, dear,” Lottie said. “Do you know what my husband did this morning?”

“No.” Beatrice shook her head. “But I don’t really—”

“I’ll tell you,” Lottie said without regard for her friend’s answer. “He came down to breakfast, ate three eggs, half a gammon steak, four pieces of toast, and a pot of tea.”

Beatrice blinked. “That seems like quite a lot of food.”

Lottie waved her hand irritably. “His usual breakfast.”

“Oh.” Beatrice frowned. “Then why—?”

“He said not a word to me the entire time! Instead, he busied himself reading his correspondence and muttering over the scandal sheets. And mark this—he left the room without bidding me good-bye. And when he came back in a minute later, do you know what he did?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“He walked to the sideboard, picked up another piece of toast, and strode right by me again without speaking!”

“Ah.” Beatrice winced. “Perhaps he had important business on his mind.”

Lottie arched one eyebrow. “Or perhaps he’s simply a fool.”

Beatrice wasn’t certain what to say to that, so for a moment she was silent. Both ladies perambulated slowly through the crowded room and stopped with silent consensus before a side table entirely covered in gilded putti.

“That,” Lottie said with consideration, “is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“’Tis, isn’t it? It’s almost as if the maker had a morbid dislike of side tables.” Beatrice tilted her head, examining the table. “I went to visit Jeremy yesterday.”

“How is he?”

“Not well.” She felt Lottie’s swift glance. “It’s very important that we pass Mr. Wheaton’s bill. The soldiers who would benefit from this bill are many—perhaps thousands of men, and some of those men served under Jeremy. He cares so passionately about the bill. I know that it would do him immeasurable good if the veterans got a better pension.”

“I’m sure it would, dear. I’m sure it would,” Lottie said gently.

“He simply . . .” Beatrice had to pause a moment and swallow before she could continue; then she said more steadily, “He simply needs a reason to… to live, Lottie. I worry for him, I do.”

“Of course you do.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Oates leave him in that room by himself for far too long at a time.” Beatrice shook her head. The Oateses’ reaction to their son’s horrific injuries when he returned home had long been a source of concern for her. “They’ve given up on him, I think.”

“I’m sorry, dear.”

“They looked at him when he returned,” Beatrice whispered, “and it was as if he were already dead. As if he meant nothing to them unless he was entirely whole and well. They’ve now turned to Jeremy’s brother, Alfred, and treat him as if he is the heir instead of Jeremy.”

Beatrice looked at her friend, and this time she couldn’t keep the tears from swimming in her eyes. “And that horrible Frances Cunningham! I still get angry when I think how she threw him over when he returned. It’s so shameful.”

“Pity, isn’t it, that no one condemned her for her heartlessness,” Lottie said thoughtfully. “But then he had lost his legs and wasn’t expected to live.”

“She could’ve at least waited until he was out of the sickroom,” Beatrice muttered darkly. “And she’s married now. Did you know? To a baronet.”

“A fat, old baronet,” Lottie said with satisfaction. “Or so I’ve heard. Perhaps she got her just deserts after all.”