“Ladies, please,” Beatrice implored, finally able to find her voice.
“Twomen?” Mrs. Kilborn huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, I never!”
She shook her head, clearly disgusted, but then she took a step back and pointed in the direction of the parlor.
“Duke or not, I will box your ears if you take one step toward the stairs. You are allowed in the parloronly,” she warned.
She turned to give Beatrice a discouraging look then shook her head as she walked away. Deborah, though, still refused to move. She did, however, raise a parasol up—something Beatrice did not even know she was holding until that moment.
“I will strike you if you hurt her,” Deborah warned, pointing it at Algernon.
“I insist upon it,” Algernon replied with an earnest look.
It startled Beatrice, but she waited quietly. After another tense moment, Deborah lowered the parasol and stepped into the parlor.
“Ladies, come,” she said with authority to the few curious girls that still remained there. “Upstairs to your rooms. Go on!”
Beatrice glanced over her shoulder and watched as the young women quickly disappeared up the stairs.
“I will be in the dining room just across the hall,” Deborah said, placing a reassuring hand on Beatrice’s shoulder as she turned to her. “Simply say my name, and I will come running.”
Beatrice offered Deborah a small smile as she reached up to her shoulder and squeezed her hand.
“Thank you,” she answered quietly.
Deborah shot another warning look toward Algernon, who met it with a steady gaze. Then she left, going to the dining room as promised and leaving Beatrice alone in the doorway with the man that had broken her heart.
For a moment, they just stood there, as if neither of them knew what to do next.
“Here, Beatrice?” Algernon rasped, breaking the silence. “Thisplace is better than my home?”
Beatrice steeled herself against fresh wave of heartache and shook her head.
“There was no chance of running into you here,” she confessed, “or hearing your voice. I needed… I could not take anymore.”
Algernon swallowed, hurt shining in his eyes. Then he nodded.
“I suppose I understand,” he said hoarsely.
Feeling her resolve already starting to fade, Beatrice beckoned him inside. Algernon followed, shutting the door behind him before entering the parlor. She turned around as she reached thecenter of the room and nearly collided with Algernon. As if by reflex, his hands shot out and steadied her by the shoulders. The moment she felt his touch it was followed by sweeping wave of longing that was so terrible, she gasped.
“Apologies,” Algernon offered quickly. He let go, and immediately, despite her heartbreak, she missed his touch.
“What are you doing here, Algernon?” she asked, trying to talk around the sob welling up in her throat.
“I needed to speak with you, Beatrice. I… I… I needed to tell you the truth.”
There was something different in his deep voice. There was not the usual tone of command but an earnest yearning. She’d never heard him in such a way, and despite the pain he’d caused her, empathy rippled through her broken heart.
“Go on?” she tentatively offered.
For a moment, he just stood there, eyes to the ground, wide shoulders drooped. She almost reached for him. Almost offered the support she so very much wanted to give, but then at the last second, she wrapped her hands around her arms to stop herself—perhaps even shield herself from whatever Algernon was about to say.
“I have been terrified for a long portion of my life,” Algernon confessed.
His words had her looking up at him again, and she was taken aback by the fear and vulnerability she saw in his eyes.
“I understand that fear,” she whispered.