Page 76

A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard to dislodge it.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Eyes twinkling, the duchess patted Beatrice’s hand.

“Ah, I hear my mother-in-law, Elizabeth. Everyone calls her Libby,” she told Beatrice with a confidential smile before raising her voice and calling, “We’re in Beatrice’s chamber, Mother Westbrook.”

Tinkling accompanied the uneven gait as the thumping grew louder.

A petite, plump woman wearing spectacles appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on a cane.

Beatrice counted no fewer than six pendants hanging from her neck, nine bracelets on her wrists, and five feathers, each a different color, in her silver hair. Long, ornate earrings, more befitting a gypsy dancer, dangled from her earlobes.

The dowager duchess toddled a few steps farther into the chamber before pointing her ivory-handled cane at Beatrice. “You’re the niece of that sniveling whelp, Highbury?”

Disdain for Uncle Cedric radiated from her fragile form.

How did she know Uncle Cedric well enough to know what a rotter he was?

“I am, ma’am.”

“Hmph. I knew your grandmother well.” She gave a sage nod, causing the feathers in her hair to bob in unison. “Your mother too. Sweet gel, though a bit flighty.”

Well, that answered that question.

She peered at Beatrice for several long seconds. “I must say, you are not at all what I expected.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, Your Grace.” How else could Beatrice respond?

The dowager broke into raspy laughter which sounded like old paper crinkling, and the sisters-in-laws exchanged amused, tolerant glances.

“Don’t be a dunderhead, girl. That was meant as a compliment.” Still chuckling, the elderly dame shuffled closer. “I feared Highbury had ruined you, but I see you have your grandmother’s spunk. Good thing. Had you been sweet and compliant like your mother, Highbury would’ve squashed you.”

Thank you,didn’t seem an appropriate reply, so Beatrice fashioned a polite smile.

“I found Highbury’s irrational jealousy toward your mother worrisome, even when they were children.” The dowager curled her lip when she mentioned Uncle Cedric. “Your grandmother tried to protect your mother, but he was a sly lad. Grew into an even craftier adult.”

So Uncle Cedric had been jealous of Mama.

“When Euphemia didn’t disinherit Seraphina, but instead, provided for her and you, the earl nearly had an apoplexy.” The dowager was a veritable fountain of information. “Highbury thought for certain the scandal surrounding your birth would ensure he inherited all his mother’s money too, greedy sod.”

Her unexpected revelation explained why Uncle Cedric couldn’t bear any mention of Mama. His jealousy had driven him to madness, it seemed.

“Mother Westbrook,” the Duchess of Latham gently chastised. “Are you certain now is the right time for this?”

“The girl deserves to know the truth. Besides, she’s no wilting wallflower, are you, dear?”

Beatrice shook her head, liking the unconventional woman immensely.

“Hmph. I thought not. You have pluck and gumption. I can tell.” The dowager placed both hands atop her cane handle before continuing her sordid tale. “When Euphemia found out Highbury had bribed that Italian miscreant to ruin your mother…”

Beatrice sat up straighter, wincing as her leg protested the sudden movement.

He did what?

Uncle Cedric was behind Mama’s ruination?

The cad. Blackguard, Scoundrel. Villain.

Fury tunneled through Beatrice.

The man was truly irredeemable—rotten to the core. What was more, he’d turned his hatred of Mama onto Beatrice. If anyone deserved to burn in hell, it was Cedric Fairfax, Seventh Earl of Highbury. If she never saw the wretch again, it would be too soon.

Firming her mouth into a thin ribbon, the elderly dame shook her silvery head again, once more sending her feathers into fisticuffs with each other. “I tell you, Euphemia was a shrewd and intelligent woman. She made certain Highbury would never see a farthing of her money.”

The dowager duchess chuckled again, but a fit of coughing interrupted her laughter.

“Perhaps a cup of tea with honey is in order, Grandmama, non?” Aurelie suggested.

Beatrice angled another surreptitious glance toward the door.

Not furtive enough, however.

“Cassius and the others aren’t here, my dear.”