He did not leave her side for the remainder of the promenade, keeping her hand tucked on his arm and helping her over rough spots in the ground. Bea wished she had the heart to tell him to run off like he usually did. But as minutes passed into an hour, she began to despair of ever having the opportunity to be with Tip in private.

When they reached the house, her brother squeezed her fingers yet again. "I'm off to the cottage to speak with Lady Bronwyn then."

"What will you say to her?"

His chest expanded on a deep breath.

"I'll leave it up to her to decide, I suppose. It's the gentlemanly thing to do." He shrugged. Bea patted his hand. He tipped his hat and headed toward the stable.

Heart climbing to her throat again, she turned toward her great-aunts and Tip approaching up the path.

"What a lovely outing. I feel entirely myself again," Aunt Julia said on a sigh. "Where is Thomas off to, Beatrice dear? To see that pretty girl, no doubt. Poor thing. He never knew what was coming from that direction, did he?"

Bea couldn't prevent herself from looking at Tip. He was smiling slightly at Aunt Julia. Would he avoid looking at her for the remainder of the day?

"Beatrice?" Her father stood in the doorway to the lower floor of the keep. "I would like to speak with you for a moment." His gaze shifted to a point over her shoulder. "I have at least a few more weeks to demand a father's prerogative," he added in a firmer voice.

Bea tilted her head around. Tip stood just behind her, his stance unmistakably protective. Her stomach somersaulted.

She ought to have expected it of him, of course, after the broom closet.

"All right, Papa." She followed him toward the parlor, struggling not to glance back to see if Tip watched her go.

Her father closed the door and turned to her, his shoulders heavy.

"Daughter, I owe you an apology."

Bea's jaw loosened; she was not fool enough to let it drop. "Papa?"

He seemed remarkably uncomfortable. "I have underestimated you. I never imagined you had it in you to defy your mother, and certainly not me."

"I am not defiant by nature, Papa. Only determined."

"I never knew that."

"I don't think I did either, until recently."

"And you are happy with this match with Cheriot?" He narrowed his gaze.

Bea's throat got tight. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Your mother always told me how tame he ran around the place, like a brother. I noticed it myself when I could still bear to reside in-" He seemed to recall himself. "He is certainly well set up, but a man's situation in society does not always suffice for the ladies, I realize. I know what it is like to be in a marriage where the partners are not suited to one another. I don't want you marrying yourself off to someone you cannot care for simply to get clear of your mother."

"I am not, Papa." Bea's voice was much smaller than she liked.

"Because if you'd rather not, I will write to your aunt Audrey. I suspect she would be glad to have you live with them in town."

"Thank you, Papa. I am content with the situation as it is." Entirely. Anxiously.

He patted her on the cheek. "You are a good girl, Beatrice." His brow creased. "Perhaps too good for your own good."

He walked from the chamber stiffly. She had never seen him so discomposed. Not even when he learned that Kievan had returned from Ireland to finally claim Georgie, and Georgie was his favorite.

Bea's gaze strayed to her embroidery bag, forgotten beside a chair days earlier. Her hands still shook a little, and she felt astoundingly light-headed. She could spend some time in quiet reflection with her work and rally her nerves before seeing others again. Or she could go find Peter Cheriot.

She marched toward the door.

He was leaning against the wall outside the chamber, one foot propped against the stone, hands in his pockets. He drew them out and pushed away from the wall.

"I was just coming to find you," she said. Best to tackle the bull head-on. She hadn't an ounce of energy left after her morning's tacklings, but her blood sizzled to life at sight of his enigmatic smile.

"Lady Bronwyn's grandmother has come forth from her boudoir and called luncheon in the dining room. Shall we?" He gestured her forward.

Bea nodded and he fell in beside her.

"That was an impressive show in there earlier," he said quietly.

"It was not a show. It was real." She spread her shaking hands on her skirt.

"Good. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

A moment's silence.

"So you think to force my hand?"

Not trusting her exhausted tongue to behave, she nodded.

He glanced aside at her. "I seem to recall at least twice vowing-out loud to you on both occasions-that I would not renew my suit."

"You don't have to," Bea whispered. "I already have."

"Yes. Rather publicly."

Her stomach twisted.

He fixed her with a serious regard. "What will you do if I refuse to honor this one-sided agreement? Return to your mother's home?"

"I would go to Georgie and Kievan in Ireland, or Aunt Audrey in London. Or-" She paused. "-I could hire myself out as a governess. Then perhaps when I retire I might return here and learn witchcraft from Miss Minturn. I understand it comes in very handy when one is crossed by a ghost, or some such thing." She grinned, her lips shaky.

Tip's expressive eyes glimmered. "Then when I am gone and done for, I will be certain to haunt this castle."

They halted before the dining chamber door. He reached for the latch. Steeling herself, she laid a hand upon his arm, staying him.

"I always thought you never asked my parents for permission to address me because you lacked sincerity."

His expression sobered again. He shook his head.

"Thank you for your confidence in me, Peter. You are the best friend I have ever had."

He offered her a beautiful smile. "I wondered if you would ever notice that." He pulled open the door and ushered her within.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

Lady Bronwyn returned to the castle after luncheon. She came to Bea tentatively, took her fingers in a warm grasp, and regarded her with contrition.

"Oh, I am very happy for you, Beatrice," she said in remarkably subdued tones.

"And am I to wish you felicitations as well?" Bea asked quietly.

"Your brother and I have decided on a long, private betrothal. We would like to come to know each other first, to determine if we suit." Her gentian eyes glinted with skepticism, but her grip tightened.

"How is Miss Minturn?" Bea changed the subject.

"Oh, she is quite miserable." Bronwyn's gaze relaxed. "I had no idea she had such passion in her. Will Miss Dews seek out the magistrate?"

"She cannot very well do that, can she? What magistrate would believe the story?"

"Thomas told me that your parents have no idea of Lord Iversly at all. My father did not believe it, either, although I wrote him countless letters."

"I understand he is something of a recluse."

"Oh, yes. And very old. My mama was his fourth wife."

Bea cocked a brow. For a recluse, Lord Prescot had been a busy man.

"Bronwyn, would you like a season in London?"

The girl's eyes lit. "Oh, it is my fondest wish. But it is unlikely, I'm afraid."

Perhaps if the girl saw what a prize her betrothed was, she would not be so hesitant about him. Or, perhaps during their time in London together, Thomas and Bronwyn would realize they should by all rights not wed.

"If Lord Cheriot does not object, I would be glad to bring you out," and take Bronwyn to all the fashionable venues Bea's mother had neglected to take her to after those first few months, with Aunt Audrey to assist.

Bronwyn's hands squeezed Bea's. "Oh, Beatrice, you are exceedingly kind. Especially after-" Her cheeks colored up. "I am excessively mortified. I had no idea."

"No one did."

"That must have been very difficult for you."

Bea smiled and glanced across the chamber to Tip. His emerald gaze rested on her.

"No," she said, returning her attention to Bronwyn, a flutter of nerves in her belly. "Not really."

Thomas suggested they all go for a ride. Aunt Julia remained happily in the castle. Casting her husband resentful peeks, Lady Harriet said she would stay in as well. But Aunt Grace agreed to the venture, and Bea's father enlisted his groom to fit up the old gig tucked away in the stable.

Because of the gig, the going proved slow along barely tracked roads and paths, but pleasant. The hills were bright green, straggling with mists, dotted with wooly white denizens, and tangled with copses of mottled gray trees. Tip made no effort to speak with Bea in particular, and said nothing to her that could not be heard by everyone.

By the end of the ride, Bea's head swam with bewildered exhaustion. After everything they'd been through, he seemed perfectly at ease and just as always before-friendly, kind, laughing, and entirely unsatisfying to her hungry heart. She should feel like a fool for expecting something else from him, but her blood still tingled with awareness each time he looked at her. Which seemed quite often.

When they returned home, she hurried up to her bedchamber and in weary relief fell soundly asleep.

She awoke to evening's gray peeking through the draperies and a knock on her door. She dragged herself from bed.

Her mother swished into the room, a vision in saffron taffeta trimmed with silk flowers.

"Beatrice, your father has commanded dinner at half past the hour. I have come to make you presentable."

This was a turnabout. Bea rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Thank you, Mama."

Lady Harriet dug into the traveling trunk. "Do not thank me. It is the least I can do."

"Mama, you needn't-"

"No, I needn't," Lady Harriet agreed, her back turned as she drew out a gown, but her voice wavered. "You are to be a grand lady now, a baroness, and I will not have you believing your own mother an ungrateful puss." She swiveled around. "How will this one do? It suits your coloring nicely. I do not recall it. When did you purchase it?"

"I had the shop in York make it up last spring." She paused. "Mama, I don't hold a grudge."

"Then you are a better person than I, Beatrice, for I certainly would," she said tersely. "But you deserve happiness now." A tear sparkled at the edge of her crystal eye. She held the dress forward, assessing it approvingly. "He will not be able to take his eyes off you in this."

Apparently he could not. It disconcerted Bea nearly more than anything had as yet. He said almost nothing to her throughout dinner and afterward in the parlor while everyone took tea, but he watched her as she never recalled him watching her before, his look unreadable. Bea found it extraordinarily difficult to eat. The longer it continued, the more her nerves jittered.

"Well I'm done up for the night," Thomas declared, setting his empty port glass on the tea table. "Mama, may I see you up?"

Lady Harriet glanced at her husband, a curious expression on her face. "No, Thomas. I believe I would like your father to have the honor." She stood and extended her hand. Bea's father rose and took it upon his arm, and they left the room.

Lady Bronwyn looked shyly at Thomas.

"Mr. Sinclaire, would you see me up? I would like to say good night to my grandmother before retiring."

Thomas bowed neatly, his gracious smile tickling Bea with pride. Perhaps the girl would make a man of him, after all. Or else they would come to despise each other.

She glanced at her great-aunts. Julia's head had fallen back upon the sofa, her mouth was hanging open. The dowager nudged her awake.

"Come, Julia. To bed," she clipped. "Lord Cheriot, Beatrice, see us to our chamber."

Tip went forward and took Julia's arm. She blinked, smiled cheerily, and patted his hand.

"Thank you, dear Peter. What a remarkable day it has been."

"A remarkable sennight, forsooth." Iversly's voice sounded through the chamber. Aunt Julia's attention went to the window.