Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge

could have his sight back if only to see her, and then she shook her head as Sarah handed her a shawl of spun silver, tassels beaded with the same gold as her dress.

      A fairytale?

      A happy ending?

      The onyx clock on the mantel struck nine-thirty just as the butler knocked on her door to announce that the Wellingham carriage was now waiting and that there was a gentleman downstairs.

      Asher Wellingham stood in the lobby, his hat in hand and his gloves removed. When he saw her she fancied that he might have smiled, though the emotion was long gone by the time she had reached the bottom step.

      ‘You are a woman who is on time, I am glad to see,’ he said. ‘My wife has the same habit.’

      He offered her his arm and they walked outside, her shawl warm against a heightening wind.

      Taris sat on one seat and Emerald on the other. Across Emerald’s legs there lay a blanket of soft wool and on the seat next to Taris were others folded and waiting. For her? Chancing it, she slipped in beside the man she had thought of all afternoon.

      ‘Oh my goodness, Beatrice, your golden gown is beautiful and the colour lifts your hair into all the shades of darkness. And the pearls around your neck…look very pretty.’

      Emerald’s monologue was probably for Taris’s benefit, Bea thought, an inventory of the things she wore and the colours explained and as her hand reached for the blanket Taris’s did the same. When she felt his warmth she pulled back and hoped that Emerald was not looking too closely, for the beat of her heart thrummed strong in her throat as the carriage started moving.

      ‘Taris said that he enjoyed your discussion group yesterday evening, Mrs Bassingstoke.’ The Duke of Carisbrook’s compliment was measured.

      ‘Then I am glad for it, your Grace,’ she answered.

      ‘Were my brother’s opinions a help to you? The property rights of women after marriage are not something he has had any personal knowledge of, so to speak.’

      Bea saw Emerald pushing her thigh against her husband’s in a warning, but was not deterred.

      ‘On the contrary, your Grace, he was most helpful in providing the balance to an argument that was largely one-sided. I would be most happy to have him back again.’

      Taris began to laugh. ‘From your reasoning, Ashe, it might be deduced that nobody can hold an opinion unless they have personally experienced the argument. Piracy was the last topic.’

      Emerald squashed down a giggle and as her ducal husband turned towards the window, Beatrice got the distinct impression that she had missed out on some part of Taris’s counter-claim. Leaning back into the comfort of her seat, she waited as Taris spoke again.

      ‘If anyone should have the poor manners to make reference to Lucinda’s reckless gossip tonight, Beatrice, I would suggest you shake your head and plead ignorance. Your appearance here should have set them thinking, as a guilty party generally slides off to lick their wounds.’

      ‘Guilty party?’ Emerald sounded outraged. ‘You make it sound as though the whole thing is her fault.’

      The Duke of Carisbrook’s teeth showed white in the dimness. ‘A poor choice of phrase, brother.’

      ‘And a poor choice on Lucy’s part as well,’ Emerald continued and sighed loudly. ‘I get less and less enamoured with society in London, Ashe. If we are not released from our duties here soon, I swear I shall take our children and go on home without you.’

      ‘You do not live in London, then?’ Bea asked, glad not to be the topic of conversation any more.

      ‘We live here as little as we are able. Our home is near Fleetness Point at Falder Castle. From my bedroom I can hear the sounds of the sea where it runs aground on the cliffs of Return Home Bay.’ She looked outside at the city all around them and sighed again. ‘Perhaps you might like to come and visit us, Beatrice.’

      She felt Taris stiffen beside her.

      ‘Perhaps, one day.’ Uncommitted. Distant. Two nights together and already Taris Wellingham seemed to be tiring of her company, his lack of interest when she had first entered the carriage telling and the Cannon town house almost reached.

      She was merely a woman whose path had run across his for a time and in circumstances that were unusual, a woman to be protected against the errant gossip of his sister and one to whom he had unwisely given the secret of his poor eyesight. Already she could see that he regretted that, so when he took her hand as they alighted she was surprised.

      ‘Could we walk in together, Beatrice?’ he asked, the steps in front of them many and all around people jostling for entrance. A nightmare if you had difficulty seeing. She understood why he had asked to take her arm as someone bumped against them in their haste to be inside.

      Lord, how he must hate this, she thought, for even as his fingers closed over her own his face was an implacable mask of indifference. A man who would never show the world his true feelings! Bea wished that he would say something that would have allowed her some memory of last night, but he did not. Once inside people called to him on all fronts.

      Taris Wellingham knew most of the names without any formal introduction and the ones that he didn’t had him tilting his head in a gesture that prompted those on the end of it to supply their identities and thus solving the problem altogether. Standing with him, Bea realised his expertise at managing in his world, and also the exertion that it must take to get it right. He always faced full on to the speaker, she noticed, as though sound needed to have some sort of perspective, the tone enhanced perhaps by an equal volume?

      He also made it a point to introduce her to everyone. A man who would shelter her and guard her against a careless remark or a wayward observation, and indeed by halfway through the night she thought that the plan of protection was working very well.

      Until Lady Arabella Fisher approached them with a number of her friends.

      Close up the girl exuded an arrogance that was less observable from further away; a beauty who would take umbrage at not being the most lauded or most visible female in the room because so many people had told her of her charms.

      ‘Lord Wellingham,’ she said, her tone honey silken and sensual. ‘I did not see you at the Charltons’ place last evening?’

      Beatrice was amazed at the way Lady Arabella used her body as a weapon to gain his attention, but with the expected social distance of a foot or so she was also aware as to how much of what Lady Arabella did was lost on him. Still, her voice was lethal in its own right and it was directed straight at Taris Wellingham.

      ‘That is because I was at Mrs Bassingstoke’s discussion group, mulling over the problems of the world.’

      Lady Arabella frowned and the other young woman near her did the same. ‘I cannot believe you would miss the fun at the Charltons’ in the pursuit of that bluestocking’s dusty old group.’

      ‘That bluestocking, as you call her, is right here beside me. Mrs Beatrice Bassingstoke, might I present Lady Arabella Fisher, the Countess of Griffin’s daughter. Though perhaps there is no necessity for the introduction—it seems she knows you already.’

      To give her her due, the girl looked highly embarrassed.

      ‘I do beg your pardon, Mrs Bassingstoke. My manners were most rude. It is just that worrying endlessly about the cares of the world are such a burden and you can never change them anyway.’

      The others around her looked every bit in agreement. Carefree and jaunty, they were all that Beatrice at eighteen had not been and for a second she was…envious. No other word for it. Envious of the years they had been allowed to just grow up. Slowly. Their rough edges polished by love rather than by anger, their mistakes sniggered over in each other’s company at night and all the choices of the world before them.

      Not stupid, really, but just young. Not mean, either, but arrogant in a way that young girls perhaps