He smiled at that. It looked nothing like his own, upon which all documents were squared. Hers were positively exploding as if they were as full of passion as their owner.
And much like Diana above them, Beatrice filled the room with her formidable presence as she paced before the tall windows overlooking the park.
It was not at all how he’d expected to find her. She was whispering aloud, gesturing as if speaking to several people.
It reminded him of his rehearsals for when he spoke in Parliament.
It suddenly dawned on him that while he was expected, she was not sitting around waiting for him.
He couldn’t describe the emotion that overtook him at the realization. It was more than relief. It was pleasure.
So often it seemed as if people had arranged themselves into their seating positions or poses a good fifteen minutes before he arrived anywhere. And when they spoke? He often felt certain that whomever he was speaking with had rehearsed everything they were going to say to him before they’d even met.
Not Lady Beatrice.
It was almost as if she did not care that he was going to arrive, which was startling in itself. But oh, he loved the fact that she was so transfixed in her work she seemed wholly unaware that he was there.
It was impossible to pretend ignorance of how intimidated people often were in his presence, and her complete lack of diffidence thrilled him.
He cleared his throat, and Heaton left the door ever so slightly ajar behind them.
Beatrice turned to him and nearly jumped. “Goodness,” she said, “you’re here.” She pressed a hand to her middle, laughing in her surprise. “I did not think you were coming until ten o’clock.”
He smiled at her. “It is ten o’clock, Lady Beatrice.”
She swung her gaze to the French clock on the marble mantel. “Oh dear,” she said, blowing out a breath. “I had no idea so much time had passed since six.”
“Have you been in here since six o’clock?” he queried, unable to stop his brows from rising.
“Indeed I have,” she replied easily. “I took my coffee in here this morning and have been at work ever since.”
“What occupies you?” The intensity of her interest and work reminded him of his own dedication. What could so captivate her?
“You are not interested,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Of course I am,” he protested, shocked she would suggest otherwise. Still, he knew humor worked best with her, and so he winked. “I am interested in all the things that take up your time so that you may cause trouble in the world.”
She gave him a wry look before she propped a hand on her hip, which caused her pale yellow gown to swing about her long legs. “I’m working on a new pamphlet and a speech that I will deliver to the Ladies’ League of Rights.”
“Indeed?” he said, impressed by her tenacity. “Will you allow me to hear it?”
“I will not,” she replied, narrowing her gaze, though she didn’t appear actually angry. “You have had the opportunity to read all of my pamphlets, sir, and responded meaningfully to none of them. If you ever wish to hear one again, you will have to earn the right to do so.”
God, she was something. He loved how she stood up to him. It was true… If she had been born a man? She would no doubt have been at the front of rule.
As it was, she had to do whatever she could to make change at all.
That sort of determination and strength was no small endeavor. For one had to overcome disappointment after disappointment.
No doubt he had been a recurring disappointment. Which was quite frustrating, given the depth of his love for those pamphlets. A fact he wouldn’t confess. He could scarce admit to himself the way her words affected him. The way they shook him from his stoic anchor and urged him to throw off all he had worked for and give in to the delicious things he felt when reading her passionate petitions.
The painful reality, given his promises to himself and the brutality of society, was that she wished things from him he couldn’t give. She longed for freedom for all women, and whilst he supported that, he doubted even his power to change Parliament, society, and a thousand years of male rule.
But he would do what he could to at least make her seen and heard.
“Fair play, Lady Beatrice,” he said with an elaborate bow and twirl of his wrist. “Shall I grovel? Would that work? I’ve never done it so will likely do it poorly, but I’ve heard groveling can—”
“Now, do not mock me, sir,” she warned.