A bell-like laugh bounced from Maggie’s lips. “But haven’t you ever longed to kiss someone?”
It made her furious that young ladies were so limited, as opposed to their male counterparts, who seemed to kiss anything that moved.
Ladies could only ever kiss one man; or at least that’s what they were meant to do.
Suddenly, the idea of kissing Blackheath danced through her head. Worse, he was in his bed, and her legs were wound with his in the sheets.
It was the most terrifying thought.
Because as it took root, she realized…she liked the idea. Very much indeed. For surely, such a beautiful fellow would be a wonderful kisser.
She shook the thought away and focused on her cousin.
“Margaret,” she said, “whatever shall I do when you go away from me?”
“I shan’t go away from you,” Maggie protested. “We will be but a few streets apart.”
“Those streets already feel like a thousand miles,” Beatrice lamented. “You and I have slept in the same room since we were almost children.”
“It shall be quite different,” agreed Maggie, solemn for the first time that morning. “But you’ll always be beside me. Shall you not continue to offer assistance and guidance?”
Beatrice stared at her cousin, astonished. “I do not think I can be able to guide you at all. I know nothing of being a wife, and I never shall. No, I’ll be an old lady who will happily be auntie to all your dozen children.”
“A dozen?” Margaret choked.
“Certainly.” She waggled her brows. “I have seen the way you two look at each other.”
Maggie looked quite perplexed. And so Beatrice rushed, “I know that you’ll be happy. For that is your destiny in life. A star smiled the day you were born, Margaret, and it shall smile every day of your life. Of that I am certain.”
Tears shone in Maggie’s eyes. She did not blink them away but rather smiled through them. “That is the kindest thing you have ever said, Beatrice.”
“It is true.”
“And you,” Margaret sallied, “did no star shine the day you were born?”
“It did not,” Beatrice countered. “A star laughed and made me difficult and at odds with everyone. And yet I enjoy it. It is a merry war that I make. For I am ever the optimist despite all odds.”
Though, in her heart of hearts, she knew that was not true. For love? Love was almost always a myth, a song, a poem spun by bards to make the long days of life seem bearable.
Chapter Six
“You look as if you’ve been in the wars, old man.”
Will glared at his brother Ben and drawled, “I don’t wish to discuss it, puppy.”
Ben’s eyes widened with a mixture of amusement and surprise. Quickly, he pulled his purple brocade waistcoat off and threw it. The garment landed on the bench at the side of the large room full of gentlemen happily pummeling each other. “Indeed?” he queried.
“Indeed,” Will replied, not wishing to think about his near battle with ducks who had been most offended by his intrusion into their placid home.
He’d gone home, changed quickly—for there was no way he could go about London like a drowned rat—and was relieved to find that Pericles had indeed found his way home. Intelligent horse that he was, if traitorous in his upheaval, he’d wandered back to the source of his favorite thing aside from a good jaunt.
Food.
“We thought you’d never arrive,” Kit observed as he untied his starched cravat. “What the devil happened to you?”
Will glared at Kit. He was not about to admit that he’d been downed by Lady Beatrice. His morale couldn’t take it.
“None of your bloody business,” he stated, unwinding his own cravat. Besides, his brothers were not supposed to have been at the boxing club so early. They’d both had a late night, but his expectation of being able to avoid them whilst in such an odd state was proving impossible. An unacceptable state of affairs.