She hurried out of the room, wondering where the blazes William could have gotten to. She rushed up the stairs to her own chambers, wishing to get dressed and face the day quickly.
It was going to be a difficult one.
As she crossed into her chamber and shed her dressing gown, she heard William’s boot steps coming down the hall from his own chamber.
She dashed to her door and flung it open.
Was he trying to make an escape?
She stood in the empty doorframe in her night rail and met his gaze.
William looked fresh, clearly having bathed himself. His hair was wet, and he wore new clothes.
But his gaze? It was guarded, not at all as it had been for the last several weeks.
He looked at her as if he was uncertain if she were friend or foe.
“Good morning,” he ventured, but it was not his usual welcome tone. There was something wary about him.
She pressed her fingers into the doorframe, willing herself to stay calm. “Is it? You are acting oddly.”
“Am I?” he queried, standing still, neither giving or taking.
“You are,” she affirmed quietly.
“Well, I am not certain if it is indeed a good morning,” he replied, a muscle tightening in his jaw as he eyed her with an assessing quality she had not felt since the first night of their acquaintance. Yet, somehow this was different.
He’d withdrawn somehow.
“Likely not,” she replied honestly. “At least not for Kit.”
Will cocked his head to the side. “Then it is not good for me, either. He is my brother.” His mouth pressed into a hard line, and then he asked, “Will Margaret marry him?”
Her heart began to slam against her ribs—a painful sensation, for this time it was out of alarm and not desire. “She says not.”
Will gazed at her with a sort of forlorn hope mixed with hard resignation. He took one step toward her, as if she might be able to still solve this conundrum. As if she had the key to it.
And perhaps, to him, she did. She was Maggie’s cousin and dearest friend, after all.
“Can such a thing be of any good sense, Beatrice?” he asked, his voice brittle. “To throw her entire safety and life away simply because of a”—his lip curled ever so slightly—“feeling.”
“A feeling?” she echoed, stunned. In fact, it so stunned her she could make no further reply at present. The comment was so…dismissive of Margaret, so appallingly male as to suggest Margaret was a typical purveyor of hysterics. A creature of emotion not to be trusted.
Which was the usual line of the male sex and why women were denied power—because their brains were always overcome by emotion.
Her mouth soured.
This was a new tack from William.
He had always proved so practical in response to her. This did not seem to be a rational response. He seemed as if he was humming with something she could not quite put her finger on. But it was bitter and cold.
“Yes,” he said firmly, warming to the argument. “Margaret is throwing away her own happiness, as well as Kit’s, because of a feeling—a feeling of inadequacy. And, frankly, a whim.” He gave a terse nod as if this explained everything. “She’s not inadequate. She is still exactly who she was. She’s still worthy of him.”
Her jaw nearly dropped. It was terribly cliché, but the words coming out of his mouth? Was it even William?
“Worthy of him?” Beatrice challenged.
His eyes hardened with resolve as if he’d found the key to bringing Margaret and Kit together. “Whether she has money or not does not qualify her as worthy or not for my brother. She shall be a good wife to him. She shouldn’t throw that away. She’ll regret running away for the rest of her life.”