A puzzle. And he knew that the puzzle was linked somehow to the husband who had died only a few months back.
Corrected.
My husband said that if I ate more that I should appeal to him better
Clues that something had not been right. He remembered Asher’s words at the ball when he had said that Beatrice and her husband had not mixed much and that few people in the area had a good knowledge of them.
The town they had lived in had been Ipswich. Perhaps it was time to find out something about the late and very mysterious Mr Bassingstoke.
Three hours later with the intrusion of Ashe and Emerald and Lucinda and his mother into the breakfast room, Taris decided that his home in Kent, which was a little removed from all the other Wellinghams, definitely had its advantages. He was also glad that they would be repairing to Falder come the morrow for he felt like a goldfish might in a glass bowl, the curiosity of his family firmly fixed upon him and the questions that they asked leading to one person.
Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke.
‘Lucinda said that she was unable to have children, Taris. A sad state of affairs in a woman nearing thirty.’ His mother’s tone was more than critical, though Emerald seemed to be leaping to the defence of Bea.
‘I think that would be an enormous sadness, Mama, and if a medical problem is the culprit then it is hardly Mrs Bassingstoke’s fault.’
The wheelchair that Alice rarely got out of these days creaked as she turned it. ‘I did not intimate that it was, Emerald. I only think that with such knowledge a liaison would be foolish to consider, especially if one needed heirs to consolidate properties.’
Taris stood and walked across to the window. Here the shadows were not so thick and the sun today allowed him to see the rough shape of his hand as he laid it out against the glass.
‘I am not certain where you are receiving your information, Mother, but I have no intention at the moment of providing heirs for any of my properties. Ruby, Ashton and Ianthe are quite sufficient as my legally designated recipients.’
Asher joined the fray. ‘ You are thirty-one, Taris, and the Earl of Griffin has asked me to approach you regarding the future of his daughter.’
‘A lovely girl,’ his mother exclaimed, ‘and so very convenient with her lands bordering your own.’
‘She has few opinions on anything,’ Emerald interjected. ‘I doubt you would be much entertained by her company, Taris.’
‘She is young, Emerald. He could teach her about the world…’
‘I think she is more interested in what lies within the shops, Mama.’
‘Stop.’ Taris hated the impatience in his tone, but he had had enough. ‘If I choose to pursue an acquaintance with Lady Arabella it will be my business.’
‘She has a stable of lovely horses,’ his sister suddenly said.
‘I hope that Taris would not marry a woman for her horses, Lucy.’ Asher began to laugh.
‘Horses? Heirs? What of love?’ Emerald sounded angry and a silence followed.
‘I fail to see why my personal life cannot remain just that. My personal life.’ Taris wished he had not said anything as Lucy jumped in to illuminate him.
‘It’s because of Mrs Bassingstoke, Taris. You seem more interested in her than you ever have been in anyone before. And she is clever and strong and most intriguing…’
‘Bassingstoke?’ His mother turned the name on her tongue and then repeated it. ‘Not the Bassingstokes of the railway fortune? Lord. The husband had some sort of apoplexy three years ago and his wife was the one who looked after him.’
‘Was it a bad attack, Mama?’ Lucy asked the question, her voice low and horrified.
‘Indeed, my dear, it was, and his good wife did everything for him until he died a few months ago.’
‘She loved him,’ Lucy said, and Emerald’s answering laugh of disbelief made Taris turn away.
Love or hate, the dependence of the man must have taken a toll on Beatrice-Maude. For three whole long and lonely years?
Complete blindness would have its own need of dependency too. His hands fisted at his sides.
If he were honourable he would walk away from Beatrice and allow her to lead the sort of life that she had never had.
Freedom. How often had she said that? And meant it.
Chapter Ten
When she awoke Beatrice was sick for the third morning in a row and she tried to think what it was she had been eating lately that should make her feel this way. She always felt better by lunchtime and the malady seemed to be like no other, as with a little food she began to feel instantly better.
Perhaps it was the fattiness of the pork pies that she had started to take a liking to. She decided that she would not nibble at another piece, no matter how her body craved it.
She was suddenly thankful that Taris Wellingham had not stayed to see her in this state, and pleased as well that so far this morning her maid Sarah had not appeared.
A small respite. A little reprieve for she also knew that the servants’ chatter would have alerted Sarah to the unusual fact of an overnight guest.
Drawing up the sheets on the bed, Bea tidied the room so that it was not quite so apparent as to what had been going on. She was an older woman, for goodness’ sake, and should have been long past this…licentiousness.
Unexpectedly she began to smile.
Would she see Taris tonight at the Cannons’ Ball? She knew that he was going for they had discussed it. Lord, what exactly should she say to him—what manner of words might sound even vaguely correct after such a liaison?
She shook her head and determined to stop overthinking things. Taris Wellingham was a friend. There could be nothing else between them and he had never, even in the most intimate of embraces, given her any cause to believe otherwise.
She was a barren widow; as a man who could have any woman he wanted, that woman almost certainly would not be her.
She should begin to go through her papers to keep her mind off things, she thought, and resolved to stop dwelling on matters that would never be and start focussing on what was.
A little after three in the afternoon, while Bea was sitting in the library reading a new book that had caught her eye, a footman came in.
‘There is a man who says he was your lawyer, madam. In Ipswich, he says, and he asked if you would speak to him for a moment?’ Handing over a card that was engraved with the name James Radcliff, the footman stood quietly.
‘If you will show him through, Thomas, I will see him in here.’
‘Very well, madam. Should I send one of the maids in with refreshments?’
‘No. I do not think so.’ All her dealings with any of Frankwell’s lawyers had always ended in difficulty and the years of very little ‘allowed’ money still rankled. ‘I am certain that this will only take a few minutes.’
Radcliff was dressed very fashionably as he made his way towards her, his height giving him an appearance of almost gaunt thinness. He sported a small moustache, meant, she thought, to cover the thinness of his lips. He spoke with an accent that Beatrice could not quite determine.
‘Thank you for allowing me this meeting, Mrs Bassingstoke. I realise that it is most impolite of me to simply come to you like this, but I have only the smallest amount of time in London.’
‘Indeed?’