“I haven’t a clue.”
“He walked to the sideboard, picked up another piece of toast, and strode right by me again without speaking!”
“Ah.” Beatrice winced. “Perhaps he had important business on his mind.”
Lottie arched one eyebrow. “Or perhaps he’s simply a fool.”
Beatrice wasn’t certain what to say to that, so for a moment she was silent. Both ladies perambulated slowly through the crowded room and stopped with silent consensus before a side table entirely covered in gilded putti.
“That,” Lottie said with consideration, “is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“’Tis, isn’t it? It’s almost as if the maker had a morbid dislike of side tables.” Beatrice tilted her head, examining the table. “I went to visit Jeremy yesterday.”
“How is he?”
“Not well.” She felt Lottie’s swift glance. “It’s very important that we pass Mr. Wheaton’s bill. The soldiers who would benefit from this bill are many—perhaps thousands of men, and some of those men served under Jeremy. He cares so passionately about the bill. I know that it would do him immeasurable good if the veterans got a better pension.”
“I’m sure it would, dear. I’m sure it would,” Lottie said gently.
“He simply . . .” Beatrice had to pause a moment and swallow before she could continue; then she said more steadily, “He simply needs a reason to… to live, Lottie. I worry for him, I do.”
“Of course you do.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Oates leave him in that room by himself for far too long at a time.” Beatrice shook her head. The Oateses’ reaction to their son’s horrific injuries when he returned home had long been a source of concern for her. “They’ve given up on him, I think.”
“I’m sorry, dear.”
“They looked at him when he returned,” Beatrice whispered, “and it was as if he were already dead. As if he meant nothing to them unless he was entirely whole and well. They’ve now turned to Jeremy’s brother, Alfred, and treat him as if he is the heir instead of Jeremy.”
Beatrice looked at her friend, and this time she couldn’t keep the tears from swimming in her eyes. “And that horrible Frances Cunningham! I still get angry when I think how she threw him over when he returned. It’s so shameful.”
“Pity, isn’t it, that no one condemned her for her heartlessness,” Lottie said thoughtfully. “But then he had lost his legs and wasn’t expected to live.”
“She could’ve at least waited until he was out of the sickroom,” Beatrice muttered darkly. “And she’s married now. Did you know? To a baronet.”
“A fat, old baronet,” Lottie said with satisfaction. “Or so I’ve heard. Perhaps she got her just deserts after all.”
“Humph.” Beatrice stared a moment at the putti. The one on the corner of the table nearest her looked remarkably like a fat old man with digestive troubles. Perhaps Frances Cunningham had gotten what she’d deserved. “But you understand, don’t you, how important it is that this bill is passed now—not a year or two hence?”
“Yes, I do.” Lottie linked her arm with Beatrice’s, and they began to stroll again. “You are so good. Much better than me.”
“You want this bill passed as well.”
“But my interest is theoretical.” A faint smile curved Lottie’s wide mouth. “I think it only just that men who have served for years in sometimes deplorable conditions have a fair compensation. You, dear Beatrice, believe with a passion. You feel for those wretched creatures, almost as much as you feel for Jeremy.”
“Perhaps,” Beatrice said. “But in the end, it’s Jeremy that I feel the most for.”
“Exactly. Which is why I am so concerned.”
“Whatever about?”
Lottie halted and took her hands. “I don’t want you to be disappointed . . .”
Beatrice turned her face to the side, but even so, she could not escape the end of Lottie’s sentence.
“. . . if the bill is not passed in time.”
hard, predictably, choked on his wine.