A man interjected. ‘These people were murderers who committed untold acts of barbarity on the open seas. They are not to be excused.’
‘Priests and magistrates and merchants in the West Indies excused them all the time, sir. Money sometimes has a louder voice than morality.’
Emerald Wellingham again! Beatrice felt swayed by her argument.
‘Indeed.’ She sought for the words that might not alienate a group of folk who were by and large titled and wealthy. ‘If one was from the West Indies, the availability of goods sacked by the pirates might have been considered a godsend.’
‘You speak of heresy.’ The same man as before spoke and his face had reddened.
‘And of conjecture,’ Beatrice added with a smile. ‘For such stories are often that of fable and myth and it could take one a lifetime to truly know the extent in which they were entangled.’
She hoped such a platitude might console the man’s anger and was relieved when it seemed to, and Elspeth’s announcement of a light supper was timed well.
As all those present moved through into the dining room, Beatrice tidied her notes and when she looked up Emerald Wellington stood beside her.
‘For a woman of strong views you are remarkably diplomatic.’
‘Perhaps because a heart attack of a patron at one of my soirees may not be conducive to their continuation.’
‘And it is important to you that they do…continue?’ Emerald’s green eyes slanted bright against the lamplight. Was this a threat? Had she come for a reason? Laughter surprised Bea.
‘You remind me of myself, Mrs Bassingstoke. Myself a few years ago when the past held me immobile.’
‘I do not know what it is you speak of. Now if you will excuse me…’
‘My brother-in-law mentions you often. I think it was your bravery that impressed him the most.’
Anger made Bea feel slightly faint. Certainly his inspiration was not gained from her beauty or her easy giving of love.
‘I wondered if you would perhaps come and take tea with me. Tomorrow at half past two.’ Emerald Wellingham placed her card on the top of the papers and waited.
‘Thank you.’ Beatrice had no possible reason to be rude and she had always prided herself on her good manners.
‘Then you will come?’
For a moment the hard edges in her green eyes slipped and supplication was paramount. Still Bea could not quite say yes.
‘It would just be the two of us…?’ she began, for if it should be the whole of the Wellingham family she would not chance it.
‘It would.’ Quickly answered as though the Duchess had thought such a question might be voiced.
‘Then I would like that.’
The other bowed her head. ‘Until tomorrow, then.’
‘You will not stay for supper?’
‘I think not. My opinions on piracy could never meld with those of the others here and I would not wish to make a…nuisance of myself. However, I look forward to some privacy together.’
A small nod of her head and she was gone, the gown she wore bright against the more sombre shades of the others present and her gilded curls catching corn and gold and red.
A beautiful woman and a puzzle! Yet as Beatrice stacked the papers beneath her arms she had the strangest of feelings that they could one day be the very best of friends.
‘I saw Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke today, Ashe. She runs weekly discussions on current topics with the Hardy sisters and is not a woman inclined to just parrot the opinions of the day.’
‘What sort of a woman is she, then?’ Her husband’s fingers traced a line down her arm, as he pulled off his clothes and joined her in bed.
‘An interesting one. I can well see why Taris was rather taken by her. She is unexpectedly…fascinating.’
‘High praise coming from a woman who seldom enjoys “society”.’
Laughing, Emerald wound her fingers through his. ‘Has your brother said anything else about that night to you? It’s just that I do not think it was quite as innocent as he might insist it was.’
‘I doubt Taris would be pleased to have you question him, Emmie. Certainly he has shied well away from the topic with me.’
‘Mrs Bassingstoke blushed bright red when I mentioned your brother and this from a woman who had just stood in front of a roomful of strangers espousing theories that excused those guilty of piracy as needy and forgotten members of the communities they had been hounded out of.’
‘A fairly radical point of view, then.’
‘Exactly!’
‘Every woman Taris meets finds him attractive. Perhaps your answer lies in that.’
‘And they last but a moment when he realises that beauty is so…transient and he is too clever to be long amused with a siren who has little to say.’
‘You speak as though the combination of beauty and brains is impossible, yet I have achieved it in you.’
She threw the pillow behind her at him and he caught it, a look in his eyes that told her discussing anything would soon come to an end.
‘Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke has a quiet comeliness that is apparent when you talk to her. She is possibly the cleverest woman I have ever had the pleasure to encounter, but there is also something hidden about her…’
‘Which you should well recognize, given all the secrets you kept buried from me.’
‘I invited her here tomorrow, for afternoon tea.’
‘God!’ He sat up. ‘Taris will be back from Beaconsmeade about then!’
Emerald merely smiled.
‘If this backfires on you, I won’t be pulled into being the cavalry…’ Tweaking a long golden curl, he pulled her down across him. ‘But enough of subterfuge. Show me lust and passion, my beautiful pirate.’
When she started to laugh he simply removed the sheet and placed his hand in a place that took away mirth.
‘Love me, Emerald,’ he whispered.
‘I do.’ Two little words that fell into the heart of everything!
Chapter Five
Taris arrived back in London in the early afternoon and he was worried. A report on the carriage accident had come to him a few weeks back and it was not as simple as he may have thought it.
The axle had been cut, sawed through to within an inch of the circumference, the shearing off of the wheel a deliberate and callous action from someone who wanted to create mayhem. Well, he had. One man was dead and the driver’s fingers would never be right again, banishing the man and his family to penury for the rest of his life.
Well, not quite, his thoughts so akin to high drama that they made him smile. He had offered the man both a job and a cottage at Beaconsmeade, the substantial property he had inherited from his uncle three years ago.
Who the hell did the person responsible want to harm? Was it him? He sifted through memory. In his life there had been many things he had done that might invite such an action. Yet why now and why there in the middle of a county he seldom visited? Who else, then, could have been the target? Not the innocuous and timid mother and son, he decided, or the sensible and level-headed Mrs Bassingstoke. Perhaps the perpetrator had achieved his