With versipellian heightened senses in mind, Beatrice made her way around the chamber as soundlessly as she could. She donned her night rail and dressing gown, retrieved a note that had been slipped under the door, poked at the fire, quiet as a mouse.
It mattered not, for Arthur slept like…well, a bear in hibernation.
She tidied up the remains of their supper, such as it was, for Arthur’s appetite was prodigious. In all things. Yet despite his size, despite his Shape, he was gentle and careful in his actions and movements…but at the same time, determined upon his objective. He did not hesitate once the way was made clear to pursue his pleasures. She did not feel merely a convenient figure, but that her pleasure was as important as his. Not a means to an end but the end itself.
She pulled aside the curtain: the sun had risen, and they would miss breakfast if they tarried any longer. It was past time to join whatever a collective of bears was called.
It was time to rouse her husband.
“Arthur.” No response. “Osborn.” Not even a groan. “Your Grace!” He pulled a pillow over his head. “Come and bathe,” she said, and he groaned and grumbled and mumbled.
“Bathe?” he demanded of the pillow slip. “How do you suggest I fit in that wee tub?”
“The laundry has been prepared to accept us.”
“Us?” A big brown eye blinked up at her.
She held up the note. “There is a receptacle of adequate size to contain the Alpha and his, his mate. Ben saw to preparing it for us.”
He scrubbed his face against the pillow to slough off his sleep. “What hour is it? Surely you may allow yourself a day of rest, Madam. This is like to be our honeymoon.”
“It is nearly past time for breakfast, Your Grace. You have eaten all the food provided for us, and we have whiled away more than one hour—”
She whooped as a large hand pulled her onto a larger body. “‘Those hours, that with gentle work did frame,’” he quoted, “‘the lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell—’”
“Not every eye, and nor shall every eye,” she muttered, turning her nose to his neck. “We are to bathe and clothe ourselves and join the family, as I am told it is necessary we present ourselves as a bonded pair. Or nearly bonded.”
“It is required.” He squeezed her in a hug his kind were prone to. “This bed is too small.”
“What shall we do about the ducal suite?” she asked. “I cannot feel good about removing Ben and Charlotte.”
“There is another suite on the first floor.” He stretched, and his muscles were put on display to their best effect. “They were the staterooms, which I propose we do not make hospitable and thus prevent a protracted stay from our regent.”
“Let us take them for ourselves,” Beatrice mused. “We may call them what we like.”
“‘A rose by any other name,’” Arthur intoned through a mighty yawn.
“Your comprehension of Ben Jonson is impressive,” she teased. Her robe was removed in a trice considering the slumberousness demonstrated up to that point, and those hands slid underneath her nightgown, up her back, and down over her hips as she was rolled beneath him.
“There are scholars who would take that out of context and supply it with a bawdy explanation.” His fingers trailed over her cunny. “For this is a rose by another name, and its sweetness I vow I shall never tire of. Let us refer to our rooms as the Rosalia Suite, perhaps.”
“I may have been happy with that before you have—oh.” He found what he sought, and her bones turned to water.
“We may call it the Crimson Suite if your blush is anything to go by. This may be my favorite color yet.”
She gently moved his hands away and cuddled into his side. “My favorite color—”
“Is?” He contented himself with carding his fingers through her hair.
“I cannot fix upon one. It may be brown, but two different hues appeal. Or it may be golden.”
“I have it on good authority that golden is not a color.” He grinned, looking youthful and happy.
Beatrice saw his eyes flash, molten with pleasure, his essential self showing his joy. “Brown, then,” she decided. “A color not considered appealing amongst the ton, but to be truthful, their opinion has never mattered much to me.” She ran her fingers through his luxurious hair and reveled in his gaze. “Brown is a warm color, and warmth is safety, and safety is to be sought under a repaired roof and within uncommonly strong arms. Yes, it has much to recommend it, does brown.”
“Madam, you take my breath away.”
Oh, kissing. When done correctly, it truly was a prodigiously wonderful thing, and she discovered an appetite for it. How would she keep her mouth from his, going forward? She sighed against his lips, and he rumbled his displeasure as she withdrew. They must learn how to discipline themselves, and there was no time like the present.
“Come, husband, our bath awaits.”
***
Beatrice hoped the staff would not be too cross about the water puddled on the floor of the laundry.
She and Arthur appeared in the kitchen and were greeted with applause from the gathered servants; the uproar assured that those within hearing distance soon swarmed into the room. As they were Shifters, that was the entire household. Beatrice returned Charlotte’s embrace with her whole heart and Ben’s kiss to her cheek with one to his. Tarben leapt around them like a frog, and for once Bernadette left off her decorum to let loose a few hearty cheers.
“Now then,” Charlotte said, “I do hope that was not unexpectedly terrible.”
“What are you on about, Charlie?” Arthur scowled.
“A private jest between herself and her husband, I am certain.” Beatrice pinched her sister-in-law, and both laughed.
“Blessed Freya,” Ben said, “these two with their heads together will be our undoing.”
“It will be the making of you—” Charlotte objected just as Beatrice said, “It will be the making of us all.”
“We are doomed,” Arthur muttered.
“If this is doom,” Beatrice countered, “then I invite it in.” She smiled up at him, and his face fell, not in dismay but in, well… She had no idea what his expression conveyed. No one had ever looked at her like that before. His eyes were soft, and they drank her in as if she was an oasis in the desert. Was it because she was smiling? She reached up to touch her lips, and he took her hand, kissed her fingertips, held her hand to his heart, and kissed her before the assembly. The roar released by the entire company was like to tear off Arcadia’s newly fortified roof.
Flustered, she pulled away, but not without a squeeze to the great paw enveloping her hand. “But where is Ursella?” Beatrice asked as she looked about. “Have the children taken their breakfast in the nursery?”
“Oh, that child,” Charlotte groused. “How could she be missing this? It was all I could do to keep her from spilling what she sensed.”
“Ursella!” Ben called.
There was no response. “She is never far when we call,” Beatrice said.
“Ursella?” Charlotte called, her tone puzzled.
“Have you seen her, Bernadette?” Beatrice asked. If one of the children were to notice, it would be she.
“Last night, we picked flowers for the stillroom,” Bernadette began.
“I know what the flowers mean!” Tarben tugged Beatrice’s skirt. “I know red roses are for love and blue hyacinth are for constancy and peonies are for—”
“And then we came back and went to bed.” Bernadette looked troubled.
“Ursella only found daisies, which mean loyalty,” Tarben added. “She was cross because I knew something she did not and she is an Omega and thinks she knows everything—”
“I scolded you three up the stairs and into the nursery, squawking like the little rattletraps you are,” Morag said, offering up her taciturn joking for the children’s sake.
“We had no story because Mum said you were otherwise occupied, Aunt Beezy,” Bernadette said.
“We checked on them directly,” Charlotte said, struggling to keep her voice steady, “and that was that.”
Beatrice leaned against Arthur as a tremor ran through her. She was not the only one who experienced a quaver in the atmosphere, and fear settled over them like a heavy cloak.
“This is my fault,” Arthur whispered. “No sooner had I been so arrogant as to claim my place than disaster strikes.” He tore at this hair, and a thunderous rumble built in his chest.
“Arthur, come, let us keep our heads.” She laid a hand on his arm and addressed those assembled. “We shall look over the house and see where she may be hiding. If, as you have told me, Charlie, she is prey to the emotional well-being of our, our—” She looked to her husband.
“Sleuth,” Arthur said.
“Of our sleuth,” she continued, “then it only follows that even joyful emotions are taxing.” Beatrice took stock of those before her. “Morag, if you would organize Glynis and Ciara and the household footmen to search the ground floor and then mind Tarben and Bernadette in the den. Mr. Conlon, please direct Mr. Brosnyn as you see fit in dispersing footmen on the first and second floors and as well the attics. Bernard and Christopher may take the nursery and the schoolroom.” The footmaid nursemen appeared dismayed beyond comprehension. “Once we have concluded our searches, we shall reconvene if we have not discovered her hiding place. Mr. Todd, please remain behind. Thank you.”
She waited for the servants to embark on their assignments. She had a delicate question, but there was no time for hesitancy. “I must ask why, if scenting is among your powers, you cannot detect Ursella’s?”
Mr. Todd looked at Ben, whose expression conveyed sheer dread. “Mr. Todd drew to my attention a disturbance in the glasshouse, a great growth of neem in the southernmost corner.”
“It is not a varietal suited to our climate, and given its growth, it has taken years to cultivate, if I judge it correctly.” Mr. Todd’s demeanor said he did so. “It would not have been suitable for use until earlier this year.”
“Who would seek to conceal their signature?” Beatrice asked.
“Do not.” Arthur’s voice trembled with suppressed fury. “Do not tell me you were withholding the possibility Hallbjorn was here.” His dominatum vibrated around them, threatening to explode.
“The usurper? Who killed your father?” Beatrice wished she had power the opposite to this oppressive force, to spread peace instead. Which she supposed was Ursella’s gift, and the child’s absence pained her afresh. “Why should we think it was he?”
“Who else would have a stake in this place?” Arthur railed. “Who else would seek to undermine what little authority I can call mine without having done anything to make us a true sleuth? Who else would wait until we were at our weakest—”
Charlotte reached out and grabbed Arthur by the hand. “Artie, please open the sentio.”
“I cannot do that and fix this.” He was adamant but took Charlotte’s hand in both of his. “If he senses the connection has opened, he will be able to call us to himself, and it would not be within our power to resist. We escaped the first time because my father’s heart was broken and with it the connection. Had it not been, the result would have been horrendous.”
“What is the sentio?” Beatrice asked.
“Now is not the time, Madam, to further your indoctrination into matters versipellian,” he snapped.
“Then when, Your Grace?” This was no use. “In the amount of time it took to speak that speech, you could have explained the concept.”
“It is the connection within the collective of a clan.” Mr. Todd fell on his sword. “It allows every soul to feel the strength and care of the Alpha and to aid one another through him.”
“It will endanger every soul here as it will be too new to have any useful strength except for the usurper to command us through it,” Arthur insisted.
“How is it he will be able to connect?” Was this what she had felt in the Alpha’s study?
“It is attached to this place, and he is still Alpha here.”
“I find it hard to believe,” Beatrice scoffed, “that he would still hold sway.”
“I am certain that his lack of offspring prevents it,” Charlotte said. “Artie, please.”
“When all is said and done,” Beatrice said, “it is Georgie’s responsibility to deal with the usurper.”
“The sins of the father, Madam?” Arthur huffed.
“The sins of your kind you say you wish to eradicate.” She was overwhelmed, not in a way that paralyzed but rather galvanized. It was not fear that flooded her but fury. Here was another old man who expected the world to turn on his antiquated, vengeful, self-centered ideals. And here was her noble husband caught in the web of meaningless protocol.
No. This would not do at all. “Arthur, we must proceed methodically. You and I shall go through the ducal suite and the staterooms. Come, come.” She slipped a hand in Charlotte’s and stroked the other down Ben’s arm. “Idleness will not serve. Let us go over the house, and then we’ll know if indeed further action is necessary.”
Over the next two hours, calls rang throughout Arcadia from top to bottom with no room overlooked, no cupboard left unopened. How fortunate they were in their coterie of footmen and in the diligence of the original servants of the house. Beatrice kept one ear out for a triumphant call; it did not come. She led the way back down the stairs, exchanging shaken heads with those she passed. Arthur had left her to take the staterooms himself, and she made her way alone to the kitchens, where the searchers reconvened.
She looked about for Arthur and Mr. Todd, who were not present. No matter: the rest turned to her for guidance. She stood at the head of the table, where she found a scrap of fabric.
“What is this?” she asked, even as she feared she knew the answer.
Brosnyn cleared his throat. “I discovered it on the doorstep, ma’am.”
“Ursella’s pinafore,” Charlotte moaned.
Ben took it to scent. “Nothing,” he said. “No scent other than her own, no hint of who she is with or where she may be.” He looked at Charlotte, helpless. “This is my fault.”
“It is the fault of he who is perpetrating this outrage. Let us reach out to the friends of the Osborn sleuth,” Beatrice said and headed for the so-called Beta’s study. “We shall send word to Lowell Hall and Carlton House for help. Who will take the messages?”
“I am a peregrine falcon, Your Grace.” Faulkner, one of the gardening footmen, stepped to the front of the group following her.
“Ma’am.” A dark-haired, large-eyed household footman joined him. “I am a bat.”
“You are the faster, Wybern,” said the falcon. “I shall make for Lowell Hall.”
“And I for Town,” said the bat.
“If the note is precise, you may carry them in your mouths. Is that a satisfactory solution and not an insult?” She opened the door to the Alpha’s study. “Your Grace?” He was not there. She cut through her study and down one door to the steward’s office. “Mr. Todd? Where have they gone?” How could they believe disappearing was a wise choice? She did not have the time to dwell upon it. “Let us assume they have taken on an aspect of this search best suited to their skills.”
Beatrice turned to her brother-in-law. “Ben, I cannot fathom your despair at this moment, but I have several questions, and I require answers. Now.”
***
Curled into as small a ball as she could manage and tucked up against a tree, Ursella watched the bad man walk back and forth, talking to himself. All through the rest of the night until dawn, he muttered and moaned and growled.
“…I shall once again prove my greater strength by challenging and winning. They’ve no right to be here—lost, lost in fair battle. Paid good money for the mate to be taken. The son of the king, a fool, a fribble, his father weak. Ought I challenge for the highest sleuth in the land? Think on it, think on it…”
She knew the story of her grandfather who had been killed in a challenge. What her parents didn’t know she knew was that her grandfather’s heart had not been in the fight. He’d tried his best, but he’d been so sad, and the sentio so broken, he could not prevail. That she had this insight was as much a part of her lineage as was the color of her eyes, as the way that Tarben was like Mum and Bernadette was an old dowager like their great-great aunt on Papa’s side.
This was the beast who’d killed her grandfather, and she would not allow him to kill anyone else.
“My uncle is not my grandfather,” she said, against the voice of her mum she heard in her head telling her to hush.
The beast rounded on her and loomed, like a specter. Only this was no ghost; no, he was very real, flesh and blood and bone.
“He will soon meet the same fate.” He bared his fangs, and she shivered, more from the cold than fear. This one would not do anything to her. He could not touch her, for if he did, his fight was forfeit before it began. “I traveled far and bided my time. I have done so again and killed the small creatures and will challenge the big creatures, and I will keep my hold, and then I will prevail for eternity.”
“This is not a good story. Aunt Beezy’s are like this.” Ursella waved her hand around and around. “Mixed up and they end in the wrong places.” She sighed and tried to find comfort against the tree root. “I’m hungry.”
“You do not hunger until you have known the hunger I have suffered from this rebellion of this sleuth—”
“And I’m thirsty.”
He struck out as if to throttle her; he thought better of it, but claws appeared at the ends of his fingers. “No, no. I will not forsake my rights to this place, witless child. How glad I am I had none of my own to whinge and demand and cry.”
“I am not crying.” Ursella was not, and she would not, no matter how he snarled and sprang his claws. “I am shivering because I am cold, you mean old man.”
The creature growled, incensed, pushed to the limit of his patience. He Changed, fell forward, and revealed his ursine self to her.
And Ursella smiled.