“But that’s madness,” Lottie whispered in horror.
“I know,” Beatrice murmured. “And I’m afraid that Uncle Reggie will use it against Lord Hope to keep the title.”
Lottie looked at her. “But if he is mad… Bea, dear, surely it’s better that he not inherit the title?”
“The matter is more complicated than that.” Beatrice closed her eyes for a moment. “Lord Hope seems perfectly fine—if hostile—most of the time. Should a man be deprived of his title because of one moment of confusion?”
Lottie cocked her head, looking skeptical.
Beatrice hurried on. “And there’s more to consider. If Lord Hope attains the title, he might take his vote in parliament and cast it for Mr. Wheaton’s bill.”
“I’m as much in favor of Mr. Wheaton’s bill as you,” Lottie said, “but I don’t know if I want it passed at your expense.”
“If it was just me, I don’t think I’d mind,” Beatrice said. “I know it would be hard to live in reduced circumstances in the country after being in London all these years, but I think it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s Uncle Reggie I worry about. I’m truly afraid that losing the earldom might kill him.” She pressed her hand to her chest to ease the ache there.
“There is no way for everyone to win, is there?” Lottie said somberly.
“I’m afraid not,” Beatrice replied. They strolled in silence for a moment before she said, “The whole thing was terrible, Lottie. Poor Henry was quite soaked in his own blood, Uncle Reggie was shouting, the servants were in an uproar, and Lord Hope was striding about with a dueling pistol, looking like he wanted to kill someone. Then, two hours later, he says I kissed him when clearly he kissed me. And until that point, I didn’t even think he liked me.”
Lottie cleared her throat delicately. “Well, to be absolutely correct, he doesn’t have to like you to want to kiss you.”
Beatrice looked at her, appalled.
“I’m sorry, but there it is.” Lottie shrugged and then said entirely too innocently, “Of course, generally speaking, the lady does like the gentleman when they kiss.”
Beatrice pressed her lips together, though she knew her face was warming.
Lottie cleared her throat. “Do you? Like Lord Hope, that is?”
“How could I like him?” Beatrice asked. “He’s surly and sarcastic and quite possibly mad.”
“And yet you kissed him,” Lottie reminded her.
“He kissed me,” Beatrice said automatically. “It’s just that he has such an intense way of looking at one, as if I’m the only other human in the world. He’s so full of passion.”
Lottie raised her eyebrows.
“I’m explaining it badly,” Beatrice said. She thought a moment. “It’s as if the only music one had ever heard was a penny whistle. One would probably think it was quite all right, that music was a rather nice thing but nothing very special. But what if one then attended one of Mr. Handel’s symphonies? Do you see? It would be overwhelming, beautiful and strange and complex, and so utterly compelling.”
“I think I understand,” Lottie murmured. Her brows knit.
Across the room, one of the gentlemen misjudged the chair’s weight and dropped it. The chair smashed to the ground, the other gentlemen doubled over in laughter, and the young lady’s chaperone escorted her from the showroom, scolding her all the way. The proprietor hurried over to the scene of his wrecked merchandise.
Beatrice shook her head. “I’ll never understand men.”
“Listen, dear,” Lottie said. “Do you know what my husband did this morning?”
“No.” Beatrice shook her head. “But I don’t really—”
“I’ll tell you,” Lottie said without regard for her friend’s answer. “He came down to breakfast, ate three eggs, half a gammon steak, four pieces of toast, and a pot of tea.”
Beatrice blinked. “That seems like quite a lot of food.”
Lottie waved her hand irritably. “His usual breakfast.”
“Oh.” Beatrice frowned. “Then why—?”
“He said not a word to me the entire time! Instead, he busied himself reading his correspondence and muttering over the scandal sheets. And mark this—he left the room without bidding me good-bye. And when he came back in a minute later, do you know what he did?”