Beatrice arrived in the Alpha’s study before the others and used that time to lay certain items on the desk. She had ensured the room was tidied, and it was reordered and pristine. With foolscap and pen to hand on her side of the gleaming expanse, she waited until she was joined by the three men.
Mr. Todd stood before the desk as Arthur took his place to sit behind it; Ben stood opposite to her, flanking the duke. Osborn slouched in his seat, his brow like thunder. He perused the assemblage on the desk and growled.
And yet…for his bristling surliness, he was content to sit. To wait? Beatrice looked at him and felt a tug at her breastbone she did not understand. She had broken her fast with but two slices of toast, so she could not blame a bad kipper, for example, for the disturbance within. Yet it was there, a nudge in her chest, rather like someone tapping her on the arm for her attention or as if a thread, an invisible thread, stretched between herself and Osborn and his brother. She looked to Ben, whose hand lay over his heart. His smile was blinding.
“Garben?” He beamed at her but shook his head.
She worried at her wedding ring, running her fingers over the topaz, and turned to the duke. “Your Grace?” she asked. “Would you like to begin?”
“Far be it from me to tread on your patch.” He glared at her as though she was the miscreant.
Beatrice addressed the prince’s factotum. “Mr. Todd, you see before you evidence proving you have sabotaged many of the tasks I have given you to the detriment of this house.” The bell pull lay there, alongside letters he had been tasked with delivering and the broken pea sticks from the garden.
“To the detriment of your health, Madam,” Osborn snarled.
“I had not intended that anyone’s health, much less that of Her Grace, be endangered.” Mr. Todd cricked his neck at Osborn, whose teeth momentarily took the form of fangs.
“What did you intend, Mr. Todd?” Beatrice asked.
“I was charged by His Highness to obey you in all things and to assist as needed in the restoration of Arcadia.” The prince’s factotum was as cool as she.
“He had no way of knowing such help would be desired,” Osborn huffed.
“I believe our prince suspected Her Grace would take command of such an undertaking.”
“His Highness had the measure of you, Madam.” Osborn’s tone belied his teasing of her.
Beatrice felt the pull again and carried on. “And what else did His Highness require of you?”
This query was met with a twinkle of sly glee. “I was exhorted to make trouble for you and His Grace where I may.”
“To what end?”
“The prince hoped that such discord would serve to unite you against a common foe.”
“Discord?” Osborn sprang to his feet. “You call it ‘discord’ when the safety of my—when the duchess is in danger? Look upon these simple objects you have transformed into lethal weapons and know had any ill come to pass it would have gone much the worse for you.”
Lethal weapons? Ben tucked his chin to his chest, failing to hide his smile, and Beatrice came as near to laughing in public as she’d ever done in her adult life. “Osborn.” She gestured to his seat, and he resumed it. “Have you been in correspondence with His Highness, Mr. Todd?”
A spark of guilt flickered across that cunning countenance. “Yes, Your Grace. As to his wishes, I have been informing him of your progress, or the lack thereof. His Highness wished the adversity to be increased, and thus the minor disturbances within the house.”
“And the unfortunate creature stuffed up the chimney?”
“Ma’am, I must say, none of the creatures were my work.” His sincerity was palpable. “Indeed, I had taken it upon myself to seek out what could be doing such a thing.”
“Took it upon yourself,” Osborn muttered.
Beatrice spoke over him. “You have been as a right hand to me over these past few weeks. My disappointment knows no bounds, not so much that you broke my trust, although there is that, of course, but that your hard work was a sham.”
“Ma’am, I beg you to believe me, it was not.” The prince’s factotum showed her his throat. “This place—to have the satisfaction of seeing it return to its former glory, nay, to transcend it—to have had a discernible hand in it…” He dropped his head and whispered, “It went far beyond what one such as I could aspire to. I beg your forgiveness.”
“Well you should beg Her Grace,” Arthur huffed.
“One as canny as you must certainly infer what your punishment ought to entail,” Beatrice said.
Mr. Todd nodded. “I shall right my wrongs and be on my way.”
“And how shall His Highness greet that?”
“I—I would not like to say, ma’am.”
“With demotion at best, I hazard.” Beatrice nodded to Ben, who had yet to cease grinning, and shot a cautionary glance at Osborn. The nudge and pull continued, and it was as if she was following it with her own heart. “I agree that you must endeavor to right the wrongs you caused.” He turned to go. “I have not released you.” There was no other word for the sound Osborn made but a squeal. “I also say that Arcadia is in dire need of a steward. I would see that she has a champion within and without these walls, one who will strive to serve her in the best possible way for as long as he wishes, having a hand and a voice in her return to glory. I say that man is you, Mr. Todd.”
Osborn sputtered and ceased at the lifting of her hand. Mr. Todd took a wavering breath and nodded. For the second time, he bared his neck to her and then bowed. “Ma’am, it would be my pleasure and my honor.”
“Excellent.” Her heart beat like a joyful drum. “I shall confer with His Grace about the contracts we need undertake to make this so and shall write to His Highness myself, expressing your willingness at my request to transfer your loyalties to Arcadia. I trust that letter will find its way into its intended hands.”
“I am all that is willing, and I shall devote myself to you for as long as I live.” He paused. “It is my pleasure to inform you I am a fox, ma’am,” he said.
“Thank you for entrusting me with this knowledge,” Beatrice said. “As such, I suspect you prefer the country to the city. This plan is fortuitous in every aspect.”
“You are ensured of my gratitude for the rest of my days.” If he bowed one more time, she suspected Osborn would embark on a rampage.
“One more question,” Beatrice said. “You say the small creatures were none of your doing.”
“They were not,” said the fox. “If I may borrow a few footmen and walk the lands? We may discover some sign of an interloper.”
“An interloper who felled a deer in its prime,” Arthur said, “and transported it from the boundaries, in its dead weight, to display in my garden. And who had the strength to climb the roof to stuff a dead squirrel down my chimney.”
“I am not one for tormenting animali puri. While a deer of such size would be nothing for one even as small as I, I say again it was not my work.” As their steward’s choler rose, a decidedly northern accent slipped into his usually cultured speech. “Regarding the chimney, on my part I stuffed it with several dead lengths of vine from the glasshouse. As to that, my concerns about some of the growth there need to be addressed, given the presence of the children.”
Beatrice turned to Ben. “I believe you are the man for that job, Lord Swinburn.”
“So I am. Off I get.” Ben bowed to his brother, who rolled his eyes, and as he passed her, he whispered, “Well played, Be—Beatrice,” and left with Arcadia’s new steward.
She turned to the duke, who was engaged in scowling at the blotter on the desk. “Your thoughts, Osborn?”
“Oh, how kind of you to ask my opinion.” He glared around the room and flicked a glance at her, her chest. She lay a hand over her heart as Ben had, and it only served to infuriate him further, if his growl was any measure. “You will have your way when it comes to that fox, but you may not have your way in all things.”
“Did I not…” Had she not done what was required of her? She could not describe what had transpired, how she knew without a doubt what course to take. The prodding beneath her breastbone had subsided, and yet having followed it, she could not see that she had gone wrong.
“Did you not what?” He rose, his massiveness making an overwhelming impression, as she expected he’d intended.
She hid her fists at her sides, behind her skirt. “I did what the atmosphere in the room asked of me.”
Osborn did not greet that statement with scorn nor with hilarity nor with dismissiveness. Worse, he regarded her, his expression unreadable. Finally he grimaced and shook his head. “I will not address this.”
“Do you know what I’m referring to?”
Osborn shrugged, mute, and it incensed her as nothing had yet. “Well.” Beatrice collected the detritus on the table. “Do you rescind my decision?” He shrugged again. “Then I shall carry on with my day. I suggest you take yourself outdoors where you may unearth better humor.”
***
Being out of doors was a tonic for one such as he, and yet he found taking his Shape did not appeal. He remained in his manskin and wandered the grounds, noting the newly refurbished kitchen garden and going for a peek at the cottages. The builders fell over themselves in deference, and he was pleased to see, and said as much, that Her Grace’s directives had been undertaken. A visit to the barn almost sent the draught horses into a frenzy, and the footman in charge—the stable master now, he supposed—was not backward in going forward in telling him off. It was quite refreshing.
The glasshouse was on its way to complete repair thanks to the veritable swarm of footmen on the roof, replacing broken panes and securing beams. Arthur nodded to Ben and Arcadia’s newly minted steward as they convened over the mysterious growths. He did not wish to dwell on what had transpired in the study, which he was certain Ben was keen to discuss. He could see the look in his brother’s eye from where he was and hoofed it away.
He would not address it, in the main because he could not explain it. The sentio required a ceremony and, yes, a fire to stand around, to open it and unite a clan. It also required the apogee of the hierarchy to be sworn to duty, and that had not been the case this morning.
How, then, could the sentio flow? That fox was not his Beta.
Arthur went, without shame, to hide in the rose arcade. He kicked a pile of deadheaded blooms and then guiltily piled them back up again. The place had been his mother’s pride and joy; walking down the aisle, he sat on one of the two facing benches she had placed at the end of the path among a cluster of lavender bushes that were on the verge of wholesale rebellion. Charlotte came from the direction of the glasshouse with a basket full of Freya knew what. She caught sight of him and sat on the opposite bench.
“Moping?”
“Why ought I be?”
“Only because Beezy behaved with protocol, unaware she did so.”
Beezy, his bear crooned. “Beezy,” he scoffed. “That name is apt enough, for she is like a grist of wasps when her choler rises. How the ton dubbed her Lady Frost I do not know.”
“Do you not?” The benches were close enough to allow Charlotte to set her little slippered feet over the toes of his enormous boots.
“It was Lady Frost who sent me out from underfoot, lest I interfere in the running of my own—”
“Your own?”
“This place.” Arthur tugged at a lavender bush, wrenched a handful of the herb, and ran it through his fingers. “This godforsaken place. I never wanted to see it again, I vowed I would not, and if not for Georgie and his threats and his machinations, I would not have done.”
“What happened to your father was horrendous, Artie.” Charlotte’s voice was a soothing balm and yet resonant with her own grief. “And I know you think it was your fault.”
“I failed.” He leaned over and scattered the heads of the lavender into the trug. Elbows on his knees, head hanging, he let out a breath. “I failed to save us.”
“It was not your fault.” Her tone brooked no argument. “You were a child.”
“I was an Alpha.”
“You were a six-year-old child, not yet in full harmony with his creature. Imagine Tarben in your place and tell me you believe him able to take on a full-grown male.” A small hand patted his head, and fingers ran through his hair. “You cannot hold yourself responsible for what happened then, only what is happening now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he groused. Much the way a six-year-old might.
“That child witnessed the most horrific thing imaginable. You must truly grieve it to become the Alpha you are meant to be. That you already are. The fate the Norns wrought was a desperate, terrible thing, and yet here we are, Ben and I and the children, you and Arcadia and Beatrice—”
“Beatrice.” He said her proper name for the first time. “Who thinks I am a clod and of no use and an obstacle.”
“If the boot fits,” she chirped. Arthur glared up at her. “What would happen should you cease to be an obstacle?”
“She will not take care!” He sat up and was aware he gestured melodramatically, like a lesser player in an entr’acte. “She goes hither and yon with no thought to her safety. She will face down any creature with no thought to their essential selves and what harm they may wreak. Freya only knows what she was like with Castleton. She defied Georgie to his face and then curtsied with such scorn! I have never seen such a disdainful thing.” He laughed and rubbed his hands over his sideburns. “I have never seen such a thing in my life.”
“It sounds as though you admire her.”
“Do not put words in my mouth.” His mouth, which he wanted to put on Beatrice’s mouth, an unlikely and unwelcome impulse that was visited upon him as she stood beside him in the Alpha’s study, having woven into a sentio that did not exist. Her lips: a darker pink than her blush, akin to the blooms lining the bottom of the arcade, the tea roses that were easily overlooked but were the hardiest of the lot.
“What thinks your bear?”
A yearning growl as he had never sounded in the whole of his life tore from him without volition on his part. Charlotte beamed and tip-tapped her feet against his toes. “Well then,” she said and reached out to grasp his hands, which he was by no means wringing like a dithering maiden. “There is no accounting for taste, but I think she fancies your cloddish ways and rather looked forward to furthering your intimacies.”
His head came up. “What said she?”
“It is not so much what she said but how she watches you,” her voice came over singsongy, “and how she buttons your coat and calls you ‘Osborn’ when she is pleased and ‘Your Grace’ when she is cross and orders everyone about for the restoration of your home.”
His blood thrilled in his veins. “None of that means anything.”
“It means more than you can imagine, you numpty.” He tilted his head so she could pull his ear. “Your duchess came to you after years of horror. It is a miracle she allowed you to touch her at all.”
“‘Though she be but little she is fierce,’” Arthur quoted.
“Do not babble Marlowe at me,” Charlotte said.
“It is Shakespeare, you barbarian.” They shared a smile at this old joke between them.
Charlotte kicked her toes against his shins. “I never thought to admit this aloud in my life, but I think Georgie knew what he was about.”
“Oh, now, Charlie,” Arthur moaned and tore at the lavender again.
“Never mind the indolence and profligacy he plays at, we both know he is fit to rule. He strives to change versipellian ways for the better. I believe he was not mistaken in his matchmaking.”
“There is no way he could have known we would suit so well.”
The smile that spread on Charlotte’s face was equal parts joyful and devilish. “Do you and Beezy suit? So well? So very well?”
“Say nothing!” His bear was capering in his aura like a fool ursus puri in Phineas Drake’s Equestrian Spectacular and Exotic Traveling Menagerie. “Charlie, do not, do not say I said that. She and I, we have agreed upon a cordial affiliation—”
“Is that where that came from? The children loathe it!” Charlotte shrieked. She left off kicking him but reached up to tousle his hair as she would Tarben’s. “I shall keep my peace. On one condition.”
He had dreadful memories of such as she’d wrung out of him in the past. “Go on.”
“Tell Beezy what happened.”
“Charlie—”
“Tell her.” Her hand gave his hair one last, fond scrubbing, and she sat back. “She has known sorrow and fear. She will understand.”
Arthur smoothed his hair back into place and rose. He held out a hand, which Charlotte took with great gravity, and he pulled her into a hug. He took her basket and turned them toward the house. “I am going to have to thank Georgie, aren’t I.” It was not a question.
“Do not lose your sense entirely, Artie.” The children, who had been “helping” the gardening footmen, raced to meet them, Ursella predictably distracted along the way. Charlotte pulled him to a halt and into another hug, one of her special ones, the very embodiment of home and safe harbor. “We are only as content as our unhappiest heart,” she began, and to Arthur it felt like an arrow had pierced his own. “When we arrived, it was Beatrice’s, so like an ember gone cold. It took a falling-down house and friendship and unruly cubs to fan it to flame. And perhaps a certain duke.”
Arthur sighed. “My turn then, is it?”
“Mum, Uncle Artie, I planted one hundred tomatoes!” Bernadette exclaimed as the children danced around the both of them.
“I planted two hundred!” shouted Tarben.
“Your uncle needs a squish,” Charlotte said, and his niece and nephew turned on him with the same look of devilish joyfulness he’d seen on the face of their mother. Each child grabbed a leg, and Freya bless them, they were verispellis children so there was some strength in it. With a theatrical groan, he tumbled them to the ground, the basket spilling its contents onto their heads to shrieks of joy and even stronger squeezes. Ursella turned up as unexpectedly as ever, seemingly from nowhere, and twined her little arms around his neck in a delicate yet inexorable hold. He embraced her in turn, light but steadfast, rolling on his back to amuse her siblings, and let them all sneak into his heart that bit further, deeper and stronger, to the point of no return.
***
As Beatrice oversaw the removal of the paintings in the Long Gallery—one of the footmen was of artistic bent and assured her they needed to be cleaned and restored—she decided she wanted her way. In all things.
It had been enough, or so she thought, to take charge of the improvements to Arcadia. It gave her such satisfaction to use the money from her first abominable marriage to the benefit of her second and in the fortification of a place she knew would make Castleton spin in his grave.
On from that, it was eminently satisfactory to take on the builders who had no badness in them, just an occupational drive to undermine her schedule and cut corners where they may. Defending Arcadia and herself and their future tenants sent vitality humming down her veins. She garnered respect due to her perspicacity and reveled in it.
Then, standing in the Alpha’s study… Managing that undertaking had transcended everything she had done to this stage. If it didn’t sound utterly mad, a winding flow of knowing had coursed between her and Osborn and Ben. It was akin to the sensation of words being on the tip of her tongue, of catching sight of something out of the corner of her eye. It was both tangible and etheric, known in both the body and the mind. She knew without question the decisions she made were correct despite Osborn’s sullenness.
As she looked out one of the windows, watched Charlotte and Arthur chat in the rose arcade, watched the children hug him and roll around on the lawn, she wanted all of it. The child, the home…
The husband. A true husband. One thrust upon her by fate and Georgie, it was true, but one who might transcend their cordial affiliation and become everything to her. Lover, father… She thought of Ben and Charlotte: and friend. She had more love than she knew what to do with when she thought of having a child of her own, of their own. She had so much already overflowing when it came to Osborn’s nieces and nephew—her nieces, her nephew. Would love follow naturally should they make a child? Would they make a family?
While he spoke to Charlotte, he had run a gamut of emotions: despair, laughter, disgruntlement, and pain. She could see the pain he suffered even from her distant vantage. How deep must it run; was it why Arcadia had been in ruins? If only she had the vaunted senses of a versipellis, she would have earwigged on Arthur and Charlotte’s conversation without compunction.
Was this the first time she thought versipellis rather than creature or beast? It must be.
Progress, then, she thought and stood at the window until they were long gone, until the sun set.
She crept down to the stillroom, hoping to raid the pantry after the rest had eaten. At the foot of the stair waited Ursella, who took her by the hand and led her toward the kitchen.