“Scandalous,” Jeremy breathed in delight. Flags of high color were flaming on his cheeks.
“I’m overexciting you.” Beatrice frowned.
“Not at all,” he replied. “But even if you were, I’d beg you to go on. I’m here every day, all day and night, Bea, dear. I need the excitement. So, tell me. What is the real problem with Lord Hope? He may have a bushy beard and tattooed himself with anchors and snakes, but I don’t think that’s what’s troubling you.”
“Triangular birds,” Beatrice said absently.
“What?”
“The tattoos are strange little birds, three of them, around his right eye. What could’ve possessed him to have them placed there?”
“I haven’t the faintest.”
“It’s just that he’s so bitter, Jeremy!” she burst out. “He’s… he’s positively hateful sometimes, as if whatever happened to him seared his very soul.”
Jeremy was silent a moment; then he said, “I’m sorry. He was in the war, wasn’t he? In the Colonies?”
Beatrice nodded.
He sighed and said slowly, “It’s hard to explain to someone who has never experienced it, but war and the things that happen in war, the things one is forced to do and see sometimes… well, they change a man. Make him harsher, if he has any sensitivity at all.”
“You’re right, of course,” she said, twisting her hands. “But it seems more than that somehow. Oh, I wish I knew what he’s been doing for the last seven years!”
Jeremy half smiled. “Whatever it was, I doubt your knowing his history will change anything about him now.”
Beatrice looked at him, into his dear, much too perceptive eyes. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I? Expecting a romantic prince, from a man I knew only from a portrait.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But if it were not for romantic dreams, life would be terribly dull, don’t you think?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “You always know exactly what to say, Jeremy, dear.”
“Yes, I know,” he said complacently. “Now, tell me. Will he take your uncle’s title from him?”
“I think he must.” Beatrice frowned down at her clasped hands, feeling her chest tighten. “Just this morning, Viscount Vale came to visit him, and although they argued, I don’t think there can be any more doubt that he is, indeed, Viscount Hope.”
“And if he is?”
She glanced at him, wondering if he knew how panicked the prospect made her. “We’ll lose the house.”
“You can always come live with me,” he teased.
She smiled, but her lips trembled. “Uncle Reggie might just have another attack of apoplexy.”
“He’s tougher than you give him credit for,” he said gently.
She bit her lip, not even pretending to smile now. “But if he does become ill, if anything happened to him… Oh, Jeremy, I just don’t know what I’d do.”
She pressed her hand to her chest, rubbing at the constriction.
“It’ll come right in the end, Bea, dear,” Jeremy said soothingly. “There’s no use worrying.”
“I know,” she sighed, and tried to look cheerful for him. “Uncle Reggie had an appointment this morning with his solicitors. He came back just before I left.”
“Hmm. That’ll be a mess. If your uncle doesn’t just hand over the title, I expect they’ll have to present their case to parliament.” Jeremy looked cheerful. “I wonder if there’ll be fisticuffs at Westminster?”
“You needn’t sound so happy at the prospect,” Beatrice scolded.
“Oh, I don’t see why not. It’s things like this that make the English aristocracy so very entertaining.” Despite his words, Jeremy ended with a gasp. His hand on top of the coverlet balled into a tight fist, his knuckles white.