quite
devoted to his young cousin, constantly at his side, studying Bea as if she
were a mystery he must solve.
For Bea their encounter in the park dangled between them
like a pendulum swinging Bea’s emotions from embarrassment to fascination and
back again. Simon did not indicate in any way that he shared her predicament.
Instead he treated Bea with a sort of jaded humor, as if he saw through her
attempts to grab Henry’s attention and found them entertaining but doomed to
failure.
But it had been four long days since Savoy’s musicale, since
Beatrice had seen Henry. Bertie had been quite busy handling some matters
pertaining to his country estate and had not been able to fully devote himself
to learning which entertainments the young Earl would be attending.
Finally Bea bemoaned the delay to Bertie.
“Why can’t we simply throw an informal dinner then? We can
invite Henry and Easton and Lady Palmerton.”
“I know that seems a perfect idea to you,” Bertie said
gently, “but it would be seen as highly presumptuous on your part.”
“Time is moving too quickly,” she moaned. “I must engage his
affections soon. I cannot do that if I do not spend time with him.”
“I do not disagree that we must move this mad scheme of
yours forward,” Bertie said. “Perhaps a picnic?”
“Can I include Lady Palmerton in a picnic?” Bea asked.
“Bea, do not become sidetracked by Lady Palmerton.”
“But I never thought to meet her, and now I have. You cannot
expect me to just forget her. These few weeks are likely to be my only chance
to know her.”
“Next you’ll want to invite their mother!” Bertie threw up
his hands in mock exasperation.
“Good God, no!” she exclaimed. “I’ve no wish to make that
lady’s acquaintance. She has not returned from the country?”
“No, thank goodness. Your stratagem would surely be in
jeopardy.”
“Yes,” Bea agreed. “I shall write the invitation now.”
“Fine, fine, but allow me to read it before you post it.”
It took Beatrice the better part of two hours to find just
the right words.
My Dear Lord Hastings,
I hope this note finds you well. Bertie and I have spent
a lovely few days together exploring the city. We visited The Tower yesterday
and I do believe I saw the ghost of Anne Boleyn floating about the dark halls
of that great dungeon.
It put me in mind of our talk in Paris about the ghosts
that wander the halls of the Bastille. I so enjoyed the time we spent together
in that lovely city. And of course riding with you and Lord Easton was
wonderful. Thank you again for the lovely bonnet. I have been wondering when I
shall have an opportunity to wear it. It is such an impractical little
confection that the only event to which I could possibly wear it would be a picnic. It seems fitting that you should be present when it makes its
debut.
We would be pleased if you were to join us in Viscount
Moorehead’s gardens for a picnic on Saturday at eleven of the clock. Please
invite Lord Easton and Lady Palmerton if you think they might enjoy an
afternoon spent in the shade of the little gazebo with us. I was quite
captivated by that Lady’s beauty and would enjoy an opportunity to capture it
with charcoal. Perhaps she might someday allow me to paint her?
Yours in friendship,
Miss Beatrice Morgan
“Did you change your mind, then, about the picnic?” Bertie
asked that evening as they rode in his carriage to a supper hosted by one of
his friends.
“No, of course not,” Bea replied.
“If you desire Hastings to attend you in two days, the
invitation should have gone out today.” He looked at her suspiciously.
“Oh dear,” she said, trying to keep the smile from her lips
with little success. “I forgot to have you read it before I posted it.”
“Beatrice Marie,” he replied, “you did not forget. You
willfully sent it without my approval.”
“Perhaps I did. But really, Bertie, the invitation was all
that is proper. I simply
devoted to his young cousin, constantly at his side, studying Bea as if she
were a mystery he must solve.
For Bea their encounter in the park dangled between them
like a pendulum swinging Bea’s emotions from embarrassment to fascination and
back again. Simon did not indicate in any way that he shared her predicament.
Instead he treated Bea with a sort of jaded humor, as if he saw through her
attempts to grab Henry’s attention and found them entertaining but doomed to
failure.
But it had been four long days since Savoy’s musicale, since
Beatrice had seen Henry. Bertie had been quite busy handling some matters
pertaining to his country estate and had not been able to fully devote himself
to learning which entertainments the young Earl would be attending.
Finally Bea bemoaned the delay to Bertie.
“Why can’t we simply throw an informal dinner then? We can
invite Henry and Easton and Lady Palmerton.”
“I know that seems a perfect idea to you,” Bertie said
gently, “but it would be seen as highly presumptuous on your part.”
“Time is moving too quickly,” she moaned. “I must engage his
affections soon. I cannot do that if I do not spend time with him.”
“I do not disagree that we must move this mad scheme of
yours forward,” Bertie said. “Perhaps a picnic?”
“Can I include Lady Palmerton in a picnic?” Bea asked.
“Bea, do not become sidetracked by Lady Palmerton.”
“But I never thought to meet her, and now I have. You cannot
expect me to just forget her. These few weeks are likely to be my only chance
to know her.”
“Next you’ll want to invite their mother!” Bertie threw up
his hands in mock exasperation.
“Good God, no!” she exclaimed. “I’ve no wish to make that
lady’s acquaintance. She has not returned from the country?”
“No, thank goodness. Your stratagem would surely be in
jeopardy.”
“Yes,” Bea agreed. “I shall write the invitation now.”
“Fine, fine, but allow me to read it before you post it.”
It took Beatrice the better part of two hours to find just
the right words.
My Dear Lord Hastings,
I hope this note finds you well. Bertie and I have spent
a lovely few days together exploring the city. We visited The Tower yesterday
and I do believe I saw the ghost of Anne Boleyn floating about the dark halls
of that great dungeon.
It put me in mind of our talk in Paris about the ghosts
that wander the halls of the Bastille. I so enjoyed the time we spent together
in that lovely city. And of course riding with you and Lord Easton was
wonderful. Thank you again for the lovely bonnet. I have been wondering when I
shall have an opportunity to wear it. It is such an impractical little
confection that the only event to which I could possibly wear it would be a picnic. It seems fitting that you should be present when it makes its
debut.
We would be pleased if you were to join us in Viscount
Moorehead’s gardens for a picnic on Saturday at eleven of the clock. Please
invite Lord Easton and Lady Palmerton if you think they might enjoy an
afternoon spent in the shade of the little gazebo with us. I was quite
captivated by that Lady’s beauty and would enjoy an opportunity to capture it
with charcoal. Perhaps she might someday allow me to paint her?
Yours in friendship,
Miss Beatrice Morgan
“Did you change your mind, then, about the picnic?” Bertie
asked that evening as they rode in his carriage to a supper hosted by one of
his friends.
“No, of course not,” Bea replied.
“If you desire Hastings to attend you in two days, the
invitation should have gone out today.” He looked at her suspiciously.
“Oh dear,” she said, trying to keep the smile from her lips
with little success. “I forgot to have you read it before I posted it.”
“Beatrice Marie,” he replied, “you did not forget. You
willfully sent it without my approval.”
“Perhaps I did. But really, Bertie, the invitation was all
that is proper. I simply
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