This time, as they bowed to another to finish the dance, Beatrice’s relief was quite evident.
“I should like that very much,” she replied earnestly, “You are right. I have had a good time. However, I did not realize how much energy it takes to appear so happy and carefree for so many hours. It is even less easy without Henry’s cheerful encouragement.”
Algernon took no offense to her explanation. ‘Cheerful’ was not an emotion he was overly familiar with, and he had no doubt that Henry’s bubbly nature and dramatic praise could indeed make a nervous woman feel more at ease. He was simply glad that Henry had helped ease some of Beatrice’s stress, even if it was temporary.
“Let us take our leave then,” Algernon replied, doing his best to use his body to block out as many of the other guests that he could.
He could not tell at that point which way the gossip seemed to be flowing, but either way, he did not want Beatrice to hear a single word of it. He just wanted to get her home, and he certainly wished to do the same for himself. With his hand at the small of Beatrice’s back, he led her through the crowd, making light conversation about anything he could think of so that she would remain facing him as they walked out of the ballroom and toward the carriages.
The ride home was quiet. Blissfully so. It was if both needed to take a moment to lower their defenses and simply sink into the cushions of the elegant carriage. It was vastly different than the last ride they had shared alone when he had brought her home from the auction and had dragged her into a situation that wasquickly becoming a mess. A mess that would only end once she was married to Henry. Only then would the rumors do her no harm.
“Tomorrow, we resume your lessons,” Algernon informed her as walked with her up the stairs of his quiet home. “We will focus on the art of conversation. Discuss which topics are appropriate to converse on, which ones are not, and how to move the conversation away from questions about your personal life if any should arise.”
He could have sworn he saw a look of disappointment briefly flitter across Beatrice’s face as they reached her room, but as they stopped, she merely said ‘very well then.’
He gave her a gruff nod, ignoring the steadily rising desire to take her in his arms and provide comfort another way, and took a step back.
“Thank you, Algernon, for bringing me home,” Beatrice said softly, making him pause.
He turned to her and gave her another curt nod.
“Of course,” he replied, and though he did not quite want to, added, “And do try to find forgiveness for my brother’s rather abrupt departure. It was not proper, but I am very certain that he did not do so to cause you discomfort.”
Her smile in return was small, and he felt another pain lash through his chest when her cobalt blue eyes remained tired and dim.
“Of course, I forgive him,” she answered tiredly. “He is an important man. A duke's brother. I suppose if we are to marry, then I should grow accustomed to such sudden departures.”
Algernon’s discomfort grew as he continued to harbor his brother’s secrets. However no matter how much he wanted to tell her, it was not his story to tell. He could only hope that Henry was man enough—or trusted Beatrice enough—to confess to her the type of man he truly was.
“Sleep well, little cake,” he said, not able to help himself from throwing one last, small barb at her ensemble.
He was instantly glad that he did, for this time Beatrice’s smile was genuine, and her cobalt eyes positively glittered with an equal amount of annoyance and mirth.
“You as well, you brooding giant,” she replied.
Algernon could not help himself. He chuckled. He bowed his head toward her, acknowledging her equal wit, and went to his own quarters.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“There you are,” Mira sang, gently drying Beatrice’s freshly washed hair, “as new and fresh as an English tea rose. Do you feel better, Lady Beatrice?”
In the vanity mirror, Beatrice managed to give the other woman a small smile.
“I do indeed, Mira. Thank you for helping me out of my ensemble and with my bath,” Beatrice replied politely.
While it was true that Beatrice did feel better now that the cosmetics and hair pomade had been washed from her as was the sticky perspiration her heavy dress had caused her to suffer from the summer heat and crowd of people, she still felt remnants of discomfort swirling within her.
“It must have been quite an exciting evening for you,” Mira went, dropping the towel to pick up the hairbrush. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“At times,” Beatrice whispered softly.
Then as the maid brought the brush to the top of head, Beatrice reached back and laid a gentle hand upon it, stopping Mira from continuing.
“Apologies, Mira, but I am quite weary from the evening. Would you mind if I told you about it tomorrow? I shall give full details, I promise you, but for now, I would like to rest,” Beatrice explained.
Mira gave her a look of understanding and let the brush be taken over by Beatrice’s hand.
“Of course,” she replied readily. “Forgive my overexcitement, I have just never had the pleasure of lady who was willing to tell me of such parties before.”