Married By May

do it for real.”

Chapter Eight
“I’ve made a decision.”
Natalia looked up from her book at Beatrice’s blurted announcement.
Beatrice hadn’t even bothered calling at the front door of Natalia’s aunt’s house, knowing that Natalia always read in this morning room after breakfast.
“Good morning to you, too.” Talia grinned as Beatrice rushed over to her friend.
Bea sat herself on the window seat beside Natalia then turned to face her dearest, oldest friend.
“I’m getting married,” she announced.
Natalia froze in shock for a moment before she suddenly let out an ear-piercing screech and leapt to her feet.
“Bea!” she cried. “Oh my goodness. This is wonderful. Oh, I knew it. I just knew from the way he looked at you that he was positively smitten.”
She dragged Beatrice to her feet before pulling her into a crushing hug.
“Watch the babe,” Bea laughingly protested.
“How did he propose?” Talia demanded, ignoring Bea’s concern. She jumped back onto the seat and dragged Beatrice down. “Was it terribly romantic? Did you cry?”
“Natalia.” Beatrice finally got a word in. “Ewan – that is, Mr. Brooks hasn’t proposed.”
Natalia frowned at her in confusion.
“But – but – who on earth are you marrying?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m planning on marrying Mr. Brooks.” Beatrice smiled. “But he hasn’t asked yet.”
“I don’t understand.” Natalia shook her head, her raven curls bouncing around her face.
“Tis very simple.”
Beatrice was enjoying herself now.
If anyone could help her see her plan through, it was her scheming best friend.
“Mama is determined to drag me to London. And you know how I feel about the Season and all it entails.”
She heaved a sigh and reached out to clasp Natalia’s hand.
“I don’t want to go and Natalia, I know I’ll never meet anyone who makes me feel the way Ewan does.”
Natalia smiled at her dearest friend.
“You’re in love with him.”
It wasn’t a question, but Beatrice nodded yes anyway.
“If I’m going to marry, I want it to be him. And if I can make it happen before the Season starts, so much the better. And so, I need your help.”
“To get you married?”
“Right,” Beatrice confirmed. “Or at least betrothed. By May.”
“Easy.” Natalia waved a hand as though a marriage were of no consequence. “The way that man looks at you, you could have him begging for your hand by the end of tonight’s ball.”
Beatrice’s stomach fluttered riotously with excitement.
“That’s another thing I need help with,” she said.
“Then let’s get to work.”
Ewan stood in the shelter of the trees, feeling more than a little uncomfortable about standing in the darkness watching Beatrice.
He hadn’t planned on attending the Assembly Rooms tonight. Not after his confrontation with Edmund.
But this morning’s meeting and how it had ended left Ewan more torn than ever.
If he left town now, Edmund would destroy his father.
If he stayed and didn’t help Edmund with his greedy, dastardly scheme, Beatrice would fall prey to something he couldn’t even think of without wanting to cast up his accounts.
If he confessed, even explaining that he’d changed his mind, even explaining that he hadn’t felt as though he had a choice, Beatrice would hate him forever. Would never forgive him.
Ewan tried to imagine what his life would be like should he never see her again. Surely she hadn’t made such an impact in only two weeks that he should feel as though his world would end if she weren’t a part of it?
But that’s exactly how he felt.
And the potent, terrifying, tender feeling that arose in him whenever he saw her – a feeling he didn’t want to give name to – how was he to deal with that when he’d never see her again?
His rambling thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a black lacquered carriage bearing the Staunton crest, and his heart began to race.
He watched as a footman hurried to the door with a step then stood back to allow the occupants to disembark.
First came the golden-haired earl, who stepped out then immediately turned to offer assistance.
A white satin glove reached out to clasp his hand, but it wasn’t Beatrice. It was Lady Staunton, who looked striking in a cloak of deep, navy-blue.
She smiled up at her husband, who bent his head and captured her mouth in a scandalous kiss, seemingly uncaring about the abundance of people gathered about.
Ewan felt a twist of envy.
He wondered what it would be like to take Beatrice in his arms and kiss her whenever he wanted.
Then he couldn’t supress a smile as he imagined timid, shy Beatrice being bold enough to kiss him in full view of whomever was about.
Her cheeks would flush, and her eyes would widen to impossibly big pools of green, and gold, and chocolate brown.
She’d bite that lower lip that drove him mad, too. Something she did frequently in his company.
His loins tightened even as his gut twisted.
He’d been right in his summation of his life earlier that day. It was a damned mess.
The countess stepped aside, and the earl turned to once again hold out his hand.
Ewan watched intently, feeling like a madman, desperate for the glimpse of even a glove.
Dainty fingers encased in white satin made an appearance.
He swallowed hard as Lady Beatrice finally came into view, and the heart that had been racing suddenly screeched to a halt.
How had he ever thought her anything other than utterly perfect? She was ethereal. Everything he could ever want. Everything he couldn’t have.
Her hair was once again unencumbered by a bonnet and was piled atop her head in silken, chestnut curls dotted with diamonds.
Some tendrils curled over one shoulder, brushing against the exposed skin of her collarbone and making him think all manner of wicked things.
He was definitely a madman since he stood there feeling jealous of the hair that got to stroke her slender neck.
He could see only glimpses of her gown beneath the emerald silk cloak she wore, but he could imagine how it would dip tantalisingly low at the neckline, how it would skim her hips and give glimpses of her ankles as she