there at the end,” Henry
said with a chuckle. “Too many amusements, indeed.”
From the corner of his eye, Simon caught a flash of green.
She was across the street, tucked into the doorway of a bookstore with
Moorehead, away from the bustle of the crowd. They were deep in discussion,
Beatrice’s hands waving about as she spoke. As Simon watched she threw herself
into her escort’s arms. He could see her shaking even from a distance.
Moorehead was rubbing his hands up and down her back in a motion that was
clearly intended to soothe. Beatrice crying?
But no. She lifted her head from where she had buried it in
Moorehead’s lapels, gave him a quick kiss upon his smiling mouth and stepped
from his arms. Then, and Simon would not have believed it had he not seen it
with his own eyes, she twirled about in a circle, arms outstretched above her,
head tilted back. Across the crowded street, Simon imagined he could hear her
laughter ring out. People stopped to stare, a few laughed, but most moved away
from the doorway as if to avoid a madwoman.
“You don’t suppose,” Henry exclaimed, forcing Simon to tear
his eyes from the scene before him.
“Suppose what?” he asked. It was evident Henry had not seen
Beatrice’s impromptu dance across the way.
“Perhaps she prefers the ladies?” Henry asked in a whisper.
“She could be a—what is it they are called?”
“Sapphist?” Simon asked, incredulous.
“Just so,” Henry replied. “That would explain quite a bit,
don’t you think?”
“Henry, trust me when I tell you, Beatrice is not a
Sapphist.” Simon looked out across the street, but she was gone.
“Oh how now, cousin. Beatrice ?” Henry asked.
“It seems we are to be friends, Miss Morgan and I,” Simon
explained.
“I knew there was something between you this morning in the
park,” Henry said with a chuckle.
“She simply gave me leave to use her given name,” Simon
assured him.
“I even commented upon it to Moorehead when the two of you
lagged behind,” Henry continued.
“You what?” Simon demanded. The last thing he wanted was
Beatrice’s—what? Escort? Friend? Protector? She kissed him right there on the
street! Father? Could that be the mystery? Could she be Moorehead’s
illegitimate daughter? Whatever the relationship, Simon did not want the man
getting any ideas about a romance between them. He had the sneaking suspicion
that Moorehead would be extremely protective of the lady.
“And that gentleman did not seem at all surprised by the
idea, nor put off by it,” Henry went on as if Simon had not spoken.
“What exactly did you say?” Simon asked.
“I merely said that there seemed to be a spark between the
two of you. I noticed it last evening and again this morning.”
“And Moorehead?” Simon asked.
“Oh, well he said, ‘He puts me in mind of his father. Bea
would be good for him’,” Henry said in perfect mimicry of Moorehead’s jovial
voice. “‘Especially in that it won’t go far, as she will only be in London for
a short while.’”
Simon made no reply, for really what could he say? She would
be good for him, would she? As she had been good for his father?
Who was she? And what had been her relationship to his
father?
Chapter Four
With Bertie’s help, Beatrice magically appeared at nearly
every ton event the Earl of Hastings was likely to attend over the next
week. They were remarkably successful in their endeavor, meeting Hastings at
the theater, Vauxhall and an intimate musical for more than one hundred of the
Marquis of Savoy’s closest friends. At each event Hastings and Beatrice greeted
one another with the same roguish bow and shamelessly extravagant curtsy until
the scandal sheets were indeed writing about The Earl and the Artist.
For all that Bea enjoyed her time with Henry, the Earl of
Hastings, there was little opportunity at such fashionable events for her to
charm and befriend him. Adding to her dilemma, Simon was proving to be
said with a chuckle. “Too many amusements, indeed.”
From the corner of his eye, Simon caught a flash of green.
She was across the street, tucked into the doorway of a bookstore with
Moorehead, away from the bustle of the crowd. They were deep in discussion,
Beatrice’s hands waving about as she spoke. As Simon watched she threw herself
into her escort’s arms. He could see her shaking even from a distance.
Moorehead was rubbing his hands up and down her back in a motion that was
clearly intended to soothe. Beatrice crying?
But no. She lifted her head from where she had buried it in
Moorehead’s lapels, gave him a quick kiss upon his smiling mouth and stepped
from his arms. Then, and Simon would not have believed it had he not seen it
with his own eyes, she twirled about in a circle, arms outstretched above her,
head tilted back. Across the crowded street, Simon imagined he could hear her
laughter ring out. People stopped to stare, a few laughed, but most moved away
from the doorway as if to avoid a madwoman.
“You don’t suppose,” Henry exclaimed, forcing Simon to tear
his eyes from the scene before him.
“Suppose what?” he asked. It was evident Henry had not seen
Beatrice’s impromptu dance across the way.
“Perhaps she prefers the ladies?” Henry asked in a whisper.
“She could be a—what is it they are called?”
“Sapphist?” Simon asked, incredulous.
“Just so,” Henry replied. “That would explain quite a bit,
don’t you think?”
“Henry, trust me when I tell you, Beatrice is not a
Sapphist.” Simon looked out across the street, but she was gone.
“Oh how now, cousin. Beatrice ?” Henry asked.
“It seems we are to be friends, Miss Morgan and I,” Simon
explained.
“I knew there was something between you this morning in the
park,” Henry said with a chuckle.
“She simply gave me leave to use her given name,” Simon
assured him.
“I even commented upon it to Moorehead when the two of you
lagged behind,” Henry continued.
“You what?” Simon demanded. The last thing he wanted was
Beatrice’s—what? Escort? Friend? Protector? She kissed him right there on the
street! Father? Could that be the mystery? Could she be Moorehead’s
illegitimate daughter? Whatever the relationship, Simon did not want the man
getting any ideas about a romance between them. He had the sneaking suspicion
that Moorehead would be extremely protective of the lady.
“And that gentleman did not seem at all surprised by the
idea, nor put off by it,” Henry went on as if Simon had not spoken.
“What exactly did you say?” Simon asked.
“I merely said that there seemed to be a spark between the
two of you. I noticed it last evening and again this morning.”
“And Moorehead?” Simon asked.
“Oh, well he said, ‘He puts me in mind of his father. Bea
would be good for him’,” Henry said in perfect mimicry of Moorehead’s jovial
voice. “‘Especially in that it won’t go far, as she will only be in London for
a short while.’”
Simon made no reply, for really what could he say? She would
be good for him, would she? As she had been good for his father?
Who was she? And what had been her relationship to his
father?
Chapter Four
With Bertie’s help, Beatrice magically appeared at nearly
every ton event the Earl of Hastings was likely to attend over the next
week. They were remarkably successful in their endeavor, meeting Hastings at
the theater, Vauxhall and an intimate musical for more than one hundred of the
Marquis of Savoy’s closest friends. At each event Hastings and Beatrice greeted
one another with the same roguish bow and shamelessly extravagant curtsy until
the scandal sheets were indeed writing about The Earl and the Artist.
For all that Bea enjoyed her time with Henry, the Earl of
Hastings, there was little opportunity at such fashionable events for her to
charm and befriend him. Adding to her dilemma, Simon was proving to be
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