Beatrice (The Tipton Hollow 2)

“Just in the nick of time,” Maud whispered as she took a seat.

“Thank heavens,” Beatrice replied in hushed tones as she sidled into the pew beside her. Although it went against etiquette for Maud to share the Northolt family pew, Beatrice considered her to be more of a personal friend than a housekeeper, and insisted on them sitting together.

“I don’t know what his problem is, we aren’t even late,” Maud grumbled as she put her hymn book down and removed her shawl.

“He doesn’t need a reason to judge,” Beatrice whispered and gave the housekeeper a sideways glance.

“I meant to tell you that I am going to go around to my friend Esther’s house after the service because I need to pick up a bag of donations for the rummage sale on Friday,” Maud whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“That’s fine. There is no rush, so take your time. I will just have some pie before the fire for tea,” Beatrice replied in a voice that was no louder than a breath.

While she waited for the service to start, she felt his gaze on her. At first she tried to ignore it but, when she struggled not to squirm, lifted her head and stared defiantly back at him. Her stomach flipped; then dropped to her toes when their eyes met.

There was no anger in the depths of his brown eyes; no hatred; disgust or anger; just a quiet watchfulness that seemed to probe far too intensely, and see far too much. Why was he staring at her? What did he want? He didn’t smile or acknowledge her with a nod, just locked his gaze on her in that rather intense way, and brought forth an awareness of his raw masculinity that left her more than a little shaken.

Ben studied the way the sunlight shone through the stained glass window behind her, and bathed her hair in several shades of copper and gold. Her dark brown tresses were swept away from her face in a rather severe fashion, but it didn’t detract from her beauty. Instead, it seemed to emphasise her high cheek bones, and beautiful sky blue eyes which were slightly up-tilted at the corners, and accompanied by the longest lashes he had ever seen on anyone.

If it wasn’t for the presence of Beatrice Northolt at the service each Sunday, Ben wouldn’t be there at all. She was by far the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life and, if she didn’t always look so bloody terrified of him, he would have taken the opportunity to get to know her long before now. To his consternation, every time he got anywhere near her, she always hurried in the opposite direction as though he was about to ravage her and didn’t bother to stop to talk, or even say ‘hello’ to him.

As far as he was aware he had never done anything that should worry her in any way, or make her feel threatened by him. Now, as a result of her disconcerting behaviour, he was left with no alternative but attend the blasted church each Sunday just to be able to sit opposite her, and stare at her like some love-sick fool while he waited for that perfect opportunity to engage her in conversation.

If only he could just break down some of those barriers of hers, he knew that they would get on well. He had no idea how he knew, he just did. If only the good Lord would take pity on him and give him the opportunity to change her opinion of him, he knew that he could have the kind of future he wanted, with Beatrice.

Somehow though, from the way she was studiously trying to avoid his gaze, he didn’t think that the good Lord was listening.

Eventually, the service was over. He watched in consternation as Beatrice and Maud hurriedly left their pew and swept down the aisle without a backward look, and sighed at another opportunity lost. Ben wondered if she would glance back into the church, just once, before she left and was more than a little disappointed when she didn’t. What was a man supposed to do in such restricted circumstances? How was he supposed to engage her in conversation when she was the last to arrive and the first to leave?

It is time to go back to the drawing board and think of something else, he muttered to himself with a sigh, and left his pew to follow the congregation out of the church.

“I will see you later, my dear,” Maud whispered to Beatrice once they were outside.

“See you later,” Beatrice replied. Rather than stop to talk to the vicar, Beatrice merely nodded vaguely in his direction and dipped her head as she hurried past. She saw him open his mouth to speak but didn’t wait around to hear what he had to say. The man was hardly the most affable vicar at the best of times, and the last time she had been foolhardy enough to converse with him, she had received a lecture on judgement and tardiness that had made her hurry home just that little bit quicker.

Ben watched her turn out of the graveyard and hurry down the lane as though the hounds from Hell nipped at her heels.

If you hurry after her, you may just able to catch up with her and engage her in conversation while you walk her home, Ben thought with a sigh. It was a thought, but it might just work.

With that in mind, and no other opportunities on the horizon, he lengthened his stride and made his way down the path after her. Unfortunately, he had taken no more than a few steps before he was forced to stop by a rather shrill voice that shattered the silence.

“Mr Addison? Hello? Mr Addison? Might I have a word with you?”

Ben winced at the high-pitched, autocratic demand from a woman behind him and sighed in disgust. He threw a regretful look at Beatrice’s rapidly retreating back and reluctantly turned around. Given that nearly everyone in the churchyard was looking at him, he was forced to wait for Mrs Underwick to lumber along the path toward him. Unfortunately, manners dictated that he shouldn’t be rude to the woman; however there was nothing to say that he had to be sociable to one of Tipton Hollow’s most notoriously spiteful gossips either.

“Mrs Underwick,” he sighed, with no hint of enthusiasm. “How might I assist you today?”

“Thank heavens you heard me,” Mrs Underwick gasped. She threw him a grateful look as she drew her heavy frame to a stop before him.

To his consternation, she placed a rather sweaty hand on his forearm and leaned heavily against him while she gasped for breath. A dark scowl settled over his features at the woman’s unwelcome familiarity but, however much he wanted to, he daren’t jerk his hand away and force her to stand on her own two feet. From the look of the beads of sweat already dotted along her brow, and the ruddy colour of her cheeks, she looked as though she would just keel right over. The last thing he wanted was to have to pick her large backside off the church path and wait for her to recover, much less carry her ample girth home.

He cast a worried look at the churchyard gate and shifted from one foot to the other while he waited.

“What do you want, Mrs Underwick?” Ben growled when the woman made no attempt to speak for several long minutes, and merely stood opening and closing her mouth like a stranded fish.

“I just wanted to have quick word with you,” Mrs Underwick murmured a bit quieter than before. She glanced around them so furtively that Ben felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He just knew that he wasn’t going to like what the woman had to say but, without just storming rudely off and ignoring her, he had to listen. “I j

ust wanted to forewarn you about the new Tipton Hollow Circle,” she gasped.

“The Psychic Circle no longer exists, Mrs Underwick. It was disbanded after the clairvoyants were arrested. Do you not know that already?” he drawled mockingly, knowing that she was probably one of the main gossips who had spread the news.