The Lost Lord of Black Castle (The Lost Lords Book 1) by Chasity Bowlin

Author:Chasity Bowlin [Bowlin, Chasity]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency, Fiction, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2017-09-06T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Beatrice entered the breakfast room with a serene expression that hid her inner turmoil. She’d slept little, haunted by dreams of Graham, by yearnings for things she did not even fully understand.

The room was full. Everyone was there, including Lady Agatha. Pale and wan, she’d nonetheless roused herself to join the others. Edmund was seated near her, Eloise at his side, looking rather ragged and tired. Whether it was a result of overindulgence in wine or a long evening spent in the arms of her lover was anyone’s guess. Christopher was his typically sullen self, lounging negligently in his chair and refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Was it guilt over cuckolding his cousin right under the same roof?

Lady Agatha smiled at Beatrice. “Good morning, dear! I’m so glad you’ve come down for breakfast. Do tell Graham that I don’t need a doctor! I’m feeling perfectly fine now.”

“You are not,” Beatrice said and walked over to kiss the older woman’s cheek. “You’re still pale and weak, though you do look much better. As for this new doctor, I believe he is already en route, so it’s far too late to cancel and it would be impossibly rude to have him come all this way only to be shuffled off again.”

Lady Agatha waved her away. “Stop being so very logical. It’s an unappealing quality in young women.”

“How did you know the doctor was on his way?”

The question had come from Edmund, his tone ugly and suspicious. Beatrice realized immediately that she’d misspoken, alerting everyone to the fact that she’d had a private conversation with Graham before he’d informed anyone else.

“I was thrown from my horse last night. I sustained a cut and Beatrice was kind enough, along with her maid, to stitch the wound,” Graham answered. “You’ve a nasty turn of mind, Edmund.”

“Thrown from your horse?” Christopher sneered. “No gentleman worth his salt is ever thrown.”

“I’m not a gentleman… I was by birth but, by raising, I am a sailor and we do not mix well with horses,” Graham replied easily.

If Christopher had meant to offend, Beatrice thought he would need to work much harder. Graham, despite years of going through life without knowing his own name, seemed to be infinitely more certain about what manner of man he was than any gentleman of her acquaintance.

Still puzzling over that after filling her plate, and in deference of the charged atmosphere in the room, Beatrice seated herself near Lady Agatha and avoided speaking to any of the men present. Mindful of what Betsy had said about others being able to sense the connection between her and Graham, she felt it wise not to offer further ammunition than they already had. They had only one ally at that table and given Lady Agatha’s fragile state, it would be unwise to depend upon her to intervene should Edmund or Christopher begin tossing out accusations.

Is it an accusation if it’s true? The condemning voice of her own conscience, the very conscience that would

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