He laughed. “It takes some getting used to, but, yes—”
The door opened, interrupting him. Quick came in with a tray of tea. “Here’s something for you, miss.” She set down the tray. “Oh, and a note for you, my lord.”
She handed a folded scrap of paper to Lord Hope.
Beatrice watched him as she took a dish of tea from Quick. Lord Hope knit his brows as he read, and then he crumpled the paper and threw it into the fire.
“Not bad news, I hope,” she said lightly.
“No. Nothing for you to worry about.” He got up from his chair. “In fact, you should be resting now. I’m off to see about some business.”
“I’ve been resting for four days,” she called to his broad back.
He merely smiled over his shoulder and shut the door behind him.
“I’m tired of lying abed,” she complained to Quick.
“Yes, miss, but Lord Hope says as you’re to stay there another day or so.”
“When did everyone start listening to him?” Beatrice muttered childishly.
But Quick considered the question solemnly. “I think ’twas when he took charge of Henry after he was wounded, miss. And then he seemed to know just what to do when you were hurt.” The maid shrugged. “I know he ’tisn’t officially the earl yet, miss, but it’s hard not to treat him that way.”
“He does seem to’ve fallen naturally into the role,” Beatrice murmured.
In the last week, Lord Hope had overseen her medical care. In addition, from what she could tell by the letters he read and the conversations she overheard with the servants, he seemed to be receiving reports from the various Blanchard estates and holdings. Reports that normally would go to her uncle.
She hadn’t seen Uncle Reggie since the morning after she’d been attacked, and now she wondered—rather guiltily—how he was getting on. No matter how Uncle Reggie protested, everything was changing about him. It must be hard for him. Harder still since he seemed to have the idea that she was only on Lord Hope’s side. If it were up to her, she’d be on both their sides… if only they’d let her.
Beatrice sighed. She was tired of lying abed, tired of only hearing about news and events instead of experiencing them. “I’m getting up.”
Quick looked alarmed. “Lord Hope said—”
“Lord Hope is not my master,” Beatrice said loftily, and threw back the covers. “Have the carriage brought round.”
Forty-five minutes later, she was rolling through London on the way to Jeremy’s house. She hadn’t seen him since the attack, and she was beginning to get rather worried. Lottie had sent a note every day and a lovely little bunch of flowers, but Beatrice had received no word from Jeremy. Had he even heard that she’d been hurt?
o;Good God, I’d forgotten that incident.”
“I haven’t,” Reynaud muttered. “She had a big bruiser for a pimp.”
“Yes, well, her argument was with the fact that I refused to pay triple her price when her pimp showed up, not with my bed skills,” Vale pointed out. “Even at seventeen, I could’ve shown you a trick or two—”
“Jasper,” Reynaud growled in warning.
Vale hid a grin in his glass and then sobered as he lowered it. “Who were the assassins?”
Reynaud threw himself into a chair. “Three ruffians, not very skilled at it, I think. They were led by a man with a pronounced walleye.”
“Indeed?” Vale tilted back his head to stare at the ceiling. “Did he have any other interesting characteristics that might make him recognizable?”
“Tall, quick, knew how to use a knife.” Reynaud shrugged. “Not much else, I’m afraid.”
“The color of his hair?”
“Brown.”
“Ah.” Vale considered for a moment. “I’ll send another letter to Munroe. We need him here.”