“And for once he’s right.” Lottie tried her tea again and must’ve found it palatable, because she smiled and set aside her cup. “Now tell me: is he or is he not truly Lord Hope?”
“I think he must be,” Beatrice said slowly, choosing a biscuit from the tray on the tiny table between them. Pan raised his head and followed her hand as she transferred the pastry to her plate. “But so far no one who actually knew him from before the war has seen him.”
Lottie looked up from selecting her own biscuit. “What, no one? He has a sister, doesn’t he?”
“In the Colonies.” Beatrice bit into her biscuit and said somewhat indistinctly, “There’s an aunt as well, but she’s somewhere abroad. Her butler was rather vague. And Uncle Reggie said he’d met Hope, but the viscount had been a boy of ten or so at the time, so it doesn’t help.”
“Well, then, what about friends?” Lottie asked.
“He’s too ill to go out yet.” Beatrice bit her lip. It had taken all her powers of persuasion to keep Lord Hope in the scarlet bedroom this morning. “We have sent word to the man who said he witnessed Hope’s death—Viscount Vale.”
“And?”
Beatrice shrugged. “He’s at his country estate. It may be days before he can come.”
“Well! Then you shall simply have to play nurse to a wickedly handsome man—even if he has far too much hair at the moment—who is either a long-lost earl or a black scoundrel who might imperil your virtue. I must say I’m terribly jealous.”
Beatrice glanced down at Pan, who had discovered a fallen lump of sugar near her chair. Lottie’s words made her think of the viscount’s body on hers and how very heavy it had been. How she had, for a small second, almost feared for her life.
“Beatrice?”
Oh, dear. Lottie was sitting bolt upright, her nose practically twitching.
Beatrice affected an unconcerned look. “Yes?”
“Don’t you yes me, Beatrice Rosemary Corning. You sound as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth! What happened?”
Beatrice winced. “Well, he was somewhat delirious that first afternoon . . .”
“Ye-es?”
“And when we took him to a bedroom—”
“Something happened in a bedroom?”
“It really wasn’t his fault—”
“Oh, my goodness!”
“But somehow he pulled me down on the bed and he fell, too.” Beatrice glanced at Lottie’s excited face and closed her eyes very tightly to say, “On top of me.”
There was a small silence.
Beatrice peeked.
Lottie was goggling at her and seemed—miraculously—speechless.
“Nothing happened, really,” Beatrice said somewhat weakly.
“Nothing!” Lottie found her power of speech to nearly shout. “You were compromised.”
“No, I wasn’t. The footmen were there.”
“Footmen don’t count,” Lottie said, and rose to yank vigorously on the bellpull.
“Of course footmen count,” Beatrice said. “There were three of them. What are you doing?”
“Ringing for more tea.” Lottie looked critically at the demolished tea tray. “We’ll need another pot and a new plate of biscuits, too, I think.”