Page 3
Two
Still in Highbury House’s gardens
HALF A DOZEN FRENZIED HEARTBEATS LATER
Slowing her pace, Beatrice scanned the landscape and rubbed her arms to dispel the gooseflesh that had arisen there.
Other than a pair of turtle doves soaring toward a horse chestnut tree, nothing disturbed the morning’s tranquility. A lone, pristine white cloud floated in the cerulean sky. A ten-foot weather-worn stone wall encased the estate, assuring that no vagrants or uninvited visitors could enter the earl’s immaculately tended property.
“It’s all right,” she assured the dogs, although she wasn’t positive everything was all right.
Nala gently nudged Teddy’s nose and received a wet tongue across her muzzle in response.
Perhaps having both experienced abuse and deprivation, the two dogs had become inseparable, besides being Beatrice’s most ardent protectors. She could walk nearly everywhere in Brighton with only the dogs as her chaperones—which she did at every opportunity, despite her uncle’s disapproval, though he hadn’t forbidden her jaunts.
After all, what was he to do?
Accompany her or prohibit her sojourns and bear her presence all the more?
No, permitting her to roam at will was the lesser of the evils, and how she relished that small jot of freedom.
With her faithful dogs at her side, no one dared so much as glance in her direction without the appropriate degree of respect awarded to the Earl of Highbury’s niece.
With another small sigh, Beatrice surveyed the lavish grounds.
Golden sunlight bathed the tidy verdant lawns, neat-as-a-pin hedgerows, the dual rows of meticulously tended roses, and the ostentatious five-story manor painted a pleasant ivory shade.
Elegant stone Grecian urns brimming with trailing ivy and seasonal flowers, including regal orange, pink, red, and yellow begonias, nasturtiums, and pink and purple petunias—a rather new bloom to England—adorned the terrace on the house’s west-facing side.
The continuous muffled roar of the waves breaking along the shore echoed in the distance, harmonizing with the ever-present, ringing cries of gulls.
How Beatrice loved those comforting sounds. She always wanted to live near the sea. But not in Brighton, where she might encounter her taciturn uncle.
Filling her lungs with balmy air, she closed her eyes and willed her topsy-turvy stomach to settle. The house and grounds, while beautiful, were nothing but a façade, an elegant veneer presented to the public, hiding the dysfunction within.
Hans bobbed his blond head as he patted Nala’s back.
“Morning, Miss Beatrice.”
“Good morning, Hans.”
He opened the door, and Beatrice slipped into the carriage house, Nala and Teddy on her heels.
Fabian, a three-legged fox, missing half an ear and blind in one eye, lifted his head and gave her a foxy smile before burying his face in his bushy, russet tail once more. He’d spend this afternoon outdoors in the long run, built on one side of the carriage house.
“Can I feed Fabian today?” Hans gazed at the fox with adoration.
“Of course you can.”
Sporting a wide grin, the boy hurried to the shelf where Beatrice kept Fabian’s food—mostly leftovers the boy’s kind-hearted grandmother saved for the animals.
Monty, a hare Beatrice had rescued from a snare, hopped with a lopsided gait to the side of his cage to greet her. Isabella, a dove with a broken wing who would never fly again, but who spent her mornings in an aviary when the weather permitted it, cooed softly.
Deaf and blind after two bratty youths had tried to drown him, Lancelot, the ugliest cat Beatrice had ever seen, unfolded from his feline coil and unerringly found his way to her despite his sensory deficiencies.
Laughter bubbled up from her chest at the warm greetings from her animal friends.
Hans chuckled while petting the contented fox, happily munching away on a meaty bone. The lad knew the daily routine so well he could care for her pets by himself if needed.
