His Beautiful Bea: A Touches 0f Austen Novella Book 1 Page 2

  Max shook his head and laughed. “Not likely. My knowledge of poetry is limited.” He stretched out his arms, resting them on the back of the sofa with one wrapped around her shoulders. “I know a few poets and poems, but not a vast array. You would be better to ask Everett or even Graeme. They would know more.”

  “Then if I require assistance, my dear brother, I will ask one of them and not you.”

  “I will be eternally grateful.”

  She laughed softly as Max squeezed her shoulder. “Did you enjoy your walk?” she asked.

  Everett and Max, accompanied by Felicity and Grace, had left the garden at one point and meandered down some path in the wilderness. Graeme had suggested they follow, but Bea, who, due to the lingering effects of a childhood fever, tired more easily than most ladies, had thought it best to return to the house since there was a full afternoon of entertainment and a dinner yet to come.

  Graeme had not been disappointed and readily acquiesced, admitting that he preferred not to hear the babblings of flighty females in his own garden. Apparently, listening to such ladies in London was acceptable if one was at a ball or some other function. However, in the privacy of one’s own estate, such activities should be avoided as much as was possible.

  “I wish you had joined us.” Max rubbed her shoulder as he often did when he wished to soothe her.

  “You did not seem inconvenienced by my absence. In fact, you did not even bother to ask me to join you.” She pursed her lips, and her brows furrowed. Max was one of the few people to whom she ever spoke so freely. “I am surprised you even remembered I was here.”

  Max tugged her closer and kissed her head. “Oh, come, now, Bea. You were pleased to sit and read. Do not tell me you would rather have listened to our cousins regale you with stories of their adventures in town.”

  She shrugged. It was not the fact that she had been left to return to the house that bothered her, as that was her preference. It was the feeling of being utterly forgotten.

  “Still struggling with that passage, I see.” Graeme sat on the arm of the sofa. He nudged her leg with his. “Slide over so I might sit properly before Mother lectures.”

  Bea peered up at him. Graeme was another person to whom she felt comfortable being less than accommodating and often spoke as freely with him as she did with her brother. “There is room beside Max.”

  “I do not wish to sit next to Max and have his arm draped around me. Slide over.” He batted his eyes. “Please.” He chuckled at the small exasperated sound she attempted not to make. It really was quite enjoyable to provoke her beyond her bounds of propriety at times.

  “Very well.” She nudged Max, who moved over, pulling her with him as Graeme slid down the curved arm and into the corner of the sofa.

  “She needs a new book of poetry,” Max said, leaning around Bea to talk to Graeme.

  Graeme once again snatched Bea’s book from her. “She has not even finished this one. Why ever would she need another?”

  “My book, if you would,” Bea said, holding out her hand. “And this is a novel, not poetry.”

  Graeme smiled and with a small shake of his head, tucked the book between his leg and the arm of the sofa. “Reading is for when you are alone.” He tilted his head and looked at her with a playful glint in his eye. “Unless, of course, you would like me to read to you.”

  “Are you courting my sister?” Max asked with a laugh.

  “Gentlemen can read to ladies without courting them,” Graeme retorted, although he did admit to himself that he usually only read to pretty ladies from whom he wished to earn favours; however, Bea, though most certainly pretty, was not one of those ladies. “Have you never read to your sister?”

  “I prefer to read to myself,” said Bea before her brother could reply.

  Max read to both her and their mother at times, just as her father had done. It was a lovely tradition, but when she wished to thoroughly enjoy a book by rereading and pausing to ponder things, such as now, she would rather do the reading herself.

  “If you would kindly return my book.”

  Graeme ignored her request, for he had come with one of his own. “Miss Grace has proposed playing whist. They will need a fourth to complete their set.”

  “I thought they were going to play the piano,” Bea said in some confusion. Was that not why Felicity was sorting through music and batting her lashes at Everett? Her cousins certainly did flit easily from one thing to another!

  “No, there shall be singing and playing after dinner. They are only selecting their pieces,” Graeme explained. “So, do you wish to be their fourth. I said I would ask.”

  “They would far rather have Max,” Bea assured him.

  “No, Everett specifically asked me to inquire of you, not Max.”

  It was nearly the truth. Everett had clearly said Bea and not Max when Graeme had asked which Tierney sibling Everett would prefer. Of course, that was after he had made certain to hint at why Bea might be the better option. Thankfully, his dimwitted brother had made the correct choice. The way Bea’s eyes grew large and her mouth formed a perfect o was the reward for which he had hoped. She was pleased, and, therefore, so was he.

  “Oh,” was the only reply Bea gave for a moment. The idea that Everett should request her was rather pleasant. “I suppose I could endure one round.”

  “I thought you might,” Graeme whispered with a wink. “Please, allow me to escort you to your table, my lady,” he said as he stood and extended his hand with a flourish.

  ~*~*~

  “Miss Abernathy’s playing was such a delight,” Grace placed her card on the table. “But then the harp is so beautiful when played well, do you not think so, Beatrice?”

  “I imagine it is. However, I have not had the pleasure of hearing a harp. There is none of my acquaintance who plays it.”

  Grace clucked her tongue. “Such a pity,” she murmured. “And what of you, Mr. Everett Clayton, what do you think of the harp?”

  Everett studied his cards. “I have always found the song of a harp to be a most ethereal one.” He lay his selection and took the trick. “That is six for Miss Love and me,” he said with a smile for Felicity, who sat opposite him. “Four more and we win.”

  “We are a very winning pair, are we not?” Felicity dipped her head and smiled as she asked it.

  “Indeed, we are,” Everett replied, his smile growing slightly. “I have not had this much success at whist since the last time we played our brothers at Christmas. Do you remember that?” He turned to his right and directed the question to Bea.

  “I do. We were very successful, much to our brothers’ disappointment,” she agreed.

  “I should think Bea and I could take the lot of you,” grumbled Graeme. He was sitting just behind Bea and to her left, between her and his brother, and he was not at all pleased with the progression of the game. And it had nothing to do with who was winning or losing.

  Bea was supposed to have partnered Everett. That was the plan. However, before Graeme could convince her to take a spot at the table, Miss Love had weaseled her way into that spot. And for the entirety of the game thus far, the comments had been about this gown or that carriage as well as several soirees that were absolutely the thing! Nothing that was of interest to either he or Bea. It was enough to make his head spin and his blood simmer since it appeared that each story was specifically designed to show Bea at a disadvantage.

  “Oh, then we shall deal you in at the next hand. I am certain my sister would not mind surrendering her seat to you for one round, would you dear?” Felicity turned to her sister with what Graeme classified as the most patronizing of smiles.

  Grace blinked and looked first at Graeme and then her sister.

  Graeme, who had made it a bit of a sport for himself to observe chits in the ballroom for their small unspoken conversations, did not miss the slight tip of Felicity’s head toward Bea and her pleading eyes that flicked in Everett’s direction. Apparently, Felicity found Bea to be so
mething of a threat. This was good, Graeme supposed. It likely meant his brother had spoken of Bea and had not forgotten her completely when faced with the fawning and flirtatious Felicity.

  “Most happily,” Grace replied with a smile that was given a moment too late to be genuine.

  “Very good then,” said Graeme, settling back and crossing his arms, “pay attention to what is being played and do not leave me in a place where it will be impossible to make ten before my brother does.” Graeme ignored the scowl Everett gave him as well as the flustered gasping noise Grace made.

  “Mr. Clayton does not like to lose,” Bea tried to cover Graeme’s rudeness. “He is rather intense when he plays. It was not at all a pleasant evening when Mr. Everett Clayton and I beat Mr. Clayton and my brother.”

  “I should say it was not,” muttered Max, who was sitting diagonally across the table from Graeme and between the two Misses Loves. “Graeme can be rather blustery when he is in a foul mood.”

  “And are you as blustery as he?” Grace lay a hand on Max’s sleeve.

  “Mind your cards,” Graeme growled.

  “None is so blustery as Mr. Clayton,” Bea answered, turning to give Graeme a small teasing smile that caused him to catch his breath and swallow instead of retorting.

  Good heavens, his brother was a fool!

  “I, on the other hand, do not care if we win or lose,” Bea continued, “as either way my book shall be returned when our game has concluded.”

  Graeme raised his left brow. “She jests. Bea enjoys winning as much as I do. It is just that she is incapable of being anything less than gracious.”

  Idiot, he shouted in his mind while glaring at his brother. He doubted Miss Love contained two ounces of the good-natured temperament Bea possessed.

  “You speak of my cousin so familiarly,” said Felicity with a raised brow.

  “My brother likes to flout social conventions when he can,” replied Everett, once again laying his card and taking the trick.

  “I see no need for such formality with good friends of long-standing.” Graeme stretched out his legs and purposefully bumped his brother’s, the idiot’s, leg with his foot. “How old were you when you arrived at Heathcote, Bea?”

  “Can you not do the maths?” Max asked with a chuckle. “You know how old you were then and how old you are now as well as how old my sister is. It is but a simple calculation.”

  Graeme shrugged. “I prefer to allow Bea to save me the bother of such things.” And he wished to give Bea an opportunity to speak about something of substance as well as the previous claim she held to both his and his brother’s attentions and affections. It was likely that Everett would miss the point of the lesson as he was once again smiling at Felicity, but perhaps that lady would feel a small jab of something. Graeme didn’t care what. She had given enough of her own over the course of the game.

  “I was nine, Max was fifteen, as was your brother — no, that is not correct. Mr. Everett Clayton had just turned sixteen, and you were…”

  Bea’s lips were curled into a small smile, and she tapped her lip with a finger as if she actually had to strain to remember his age.

  The bumbling blockhead! Graeme’s foot bumped his brother’s once again as Graeme uncrossed and re-crossed his ankles. If Everett would pause for even one moment and take his eyes off his cards or Miss Love and looked — really looked ─ at Bea and the way her lips pursed into a perfectly kissable pucker before she decided she had calculated Graeme’s age appropriately, there would be no way Everett could continue entertaining Miss Love when such a beguiling creature as Bea sat beside him.

  “I believe, Mr. Clayton was an extremely ancient seventeen, were you not? Your birthday is in May, and we had arrived in March, just at the end.”

  “There is no fault in your memory,” Graeme replied. “But do mind your cards.”

  “She only had to take her mind off them because you could not subtract ten from nineteen,” protested Max, who was once again laughing at Graeme, not that it bothered Graeme in the least. He preferred not to be taken too seriously. Serious times would be his eventually, but they were not his lot just yet.

  “It is not that I could not do the calculation. It is that I did not wish to do it,” Graeme replied. “The other one,” he whispered to Bea.

  “Are you cheating?” Everett asked.

  “I am just attempting to see myself in a better position to beat you.”

  Everett turned toward his brother, who was still leaning over Bea’s shoulder, whispering in her ear. His brows furrowed as he took in the way the two were cozily positioned. “Yes,” he said, “but are you cheating?”

  Graeme smiled at his brother’s expression. It was good to see him finally taking notice of Bea, even if it was only because Graeme was nearly cheek to cheek with her.

  “Mr. Clayton –”

  “Graeme,” Graeme hissed in Bea’s ear.

  “Mr. Clayton,” she said firmly, “does not cheat. Cheating is for a much weaker sort of man, is it not, Mr. Clayton?”

  Graeme nearly forgot himself and gave her cheek a brushing kiss when she turned her head, but he caught himself in time not to embarrass her. He could have withstood the teasing he would have received, but he would never do anything to harm Bea.

  “Indeed, it is. I do not play games of shifting and shadows,” he straightened and smiled at Miss Love. That lady seemed the shadowy sort.

  He had heard her name bandied about his club as flirtatious and a likely candidate to be lead astray in some dark corner. In his opinion, she was not the sort of lady after whom a soon-to-be-parson should be chasing. No, Everett would do better with a lady of Bea’s quality. He should probably take his brother aside and inform him of the things he knew about the lovely Miss Love. Perhaps he would — after their guests left. For now, he would continue as he was, attempting, with little success, to get his brother to notice Bea while enjoying spending so much time at her side.

  Chapter 3

  Bea sighed as she watched a drop of rain trail down the window pane. Usually, she did not mind rainy days, for after her work was done, she would sneak up to the old schoolroom where she could paint, read, or simply sit at the window and watch the world get washed clean of the past and made ready for the new growth that would follow the rain. However, today, she would be expected to help entertain her cousins, and both Grace and Felicity had already grumbled several times about not being able to go on the picnic that had been planned.

  The sky was growing darker, and the light for working on her stitching was fleeting, so Beatrice tucked the sash she wished to add to her yellow dress back into her work-basket. Michaelmas and its assembly were yet six weeks away. There was no need to strain her eyes to adorn her dress when there would be ample sunny days between now and then to complete the pattern she had begun.

  “Oh, la,” Grace said dolefully.

  Bea closed her eyes and drew a calming breath in preparation for whatever complaint she was about to hear. Then, she fixed a smile on her face as she lifted her eyes from her workbasket to her cousin.

  “I had such hopes of visiting the meadow,” Grace rose and walked to the window where Bea sat. “Mr. Everett Clayton described it so well that I am certain I have never seen anything so lovely in all my life.”

  “We picnicked there the last time you were here.” Bea kept her voice soft in an attempt to mollify some of Grace’s disappointment and hopefully, prevent another declaration about how hideous it was that it was raining on a day when the delight of a picnic was anticipated.

  “Oh, but I am certain it has changed so much in two years that I shall not recognize it. Things are that way, you know,” Grace pulled her eyes away from the greyness of the day and turned them toward her cousin. “When you see them all the time, you forget how much they have changed and how delightful they can be.” She sighed and sat down next to Bea. “I am certain I shall find it much altered.”

  Bea could not help smiling at the forlorn look on Grace�
��s face and the wistful tone of her voice. She sounded very much like a young girl, and Bea found she could not fault Grace for being unable to contain her disappointment as she should. Grace was, after all, merely seventeen, and not all ladies matured as quickly as Bea had, especially not ladies who still had both their mother and their father to dote on them.

  “Beatrice likes to paint on rainy days,” Mrs. Tierney offered. Bea could tell by the tightness of her mother’s expression that having young ladies about who were not averse to grumbling and complaining was beginning to wear on her. Neither Bea nor Max had ever been the sort of children to carry on about a disappointment for long.

  “There are supplies in the schoolroom.” Mrs. Tierney suggested, her smile softening as she looked at her daughter. “Although Beatrice has not had a lesson in almost two years, I cannot bring myself to redo the room just yet, and so it remains, waiting to be used on days like today.”

  Bea caught her frown before her mother could see it. Her father had insisted that the schoolroom be made up specifically for Bea, and she was loath to share it. It was her room, her bastion of solitude. However, she knew sharing her personal refuge would benefit not only her cousins but also her mother, and bringing pleasure to her mother was not something Bea would refuse to do. So with more excitement than she felt at the prospect, she agreed with her mother and insisted that her cousins join her in painting.

  “Max will return soon,” Mrs. Tierney added encouragingly. “I am certain he would be willing to sit for a silhouette or a portrait.”

  This brought a delighted squeal from Grace. “Felicity is the very best at taking likenesses. Mr. Bailey complimented her on her work all the time when she was at school and even used one of her pieces to demonstrate how a likeness should be done.”

  To Bea, it appeared that, according to Grace, Felicity was always the best at one thing or another. Felicity’s samplers were the best and most elaborate. Felicity knew just the right ribbon to add to a hat to make it the envy of her friends. Felicity had the best taste in gowns and music. It was most frustrating! Bea sighed softly and directed her frustration to carefully organizing her work basket before tucking it away and leading her cousins to the schoolroom and seeing that they had everything they needed to be entertained.