Catherine was pleased with her decision to leave the house for a few hours, for although she found Mrs Timothy's chitter-chatter quite exhausting, she much preferred the busybody Mrs Timothy to Beatrice's unbearable presence.
Heaving a loud breath at the thought of Beatrice, she reached for her tea on the coffee table and raised the lukewarm liquid to her lips as Mrs Timothy blabbered about a charity ball she had attended in London.
"Poor Lady Wilkinson must now live knowing that the man who was once her husband is now an in-law through his marriage to her grandchild. The consensus of the ton is that she's to be blamed for her own stupidity in admitting the advances of a man way beneath her age and station. A gold digger, no less. Can you imagine what it must feel like?" Her dark locks bounced in sync with her head as she shook it from side to side.
"Indeed." Catherine could not imagine the hurt and betrayal Lady Wilkinson felt, but she certainly knew what it was like living with a gold digger; a woman whose aim was to destroy her son like Lady Wilkinson's foul ex-husband. If only she could be rid of Beatrice like Lady Wilkinson had eventually gotten rid of her opportunist husband.
"The poor thing must be devastated. More tea?" Mrs. Timothy raised the pot.
Catherine shook her head in response, glancing at the clock; it was time to leave, for she knew it would be rude if she stayed longer into the evening.
"I must take my leave." She replaced the cup on the table and rose to her feet. "It's nearly time for dinner."
"You may dine with us," Mrs. Timothy offered.
"Oh, no." She shook her head. It was bad enough she had barged in on Mrs Timothy unannounced; accepting an unplanned invitation to dinner would be an imposition. "I cannot, for I'm expected to be home right away. Please, accept my regrets and perhaps we shall arrange for dinner on a different date."
Mrs. Timothy nodded, her brown eyes lighting up with a smile. "I shall look forward to it," she said, nodding her agreement.
After the two women bade each other farewell, Catherine exited the building. She neared the waiting carriage, a frown immediately claiming her face at the sight before her; the footman sleeping in the box. As if his sloppy driving to Mrs Timothy's home wasn't proof enough of his indulgence in alcohol, she scoffed, marching over to the driver's box and poking him in the arm.
"I'm ready to leave," she hissed, once he had jerked upright and turned bloodshot eyes her way. He stared at her for several seconds, confusion creasing his brows. "Now!" she half yelled, turning from him and marching back to the door of the carriage. She waited until he climbed down from the box and helped her into the carriage.
Leaning against the window, Catherine decided to inform Noah of his footman's indulgence the second he returned from his trip to London. It was no use having an incompetent footman, especially because Noah already had an incompetent wife. There was certainly no room in the Bleiz's mansion for two incompetent people.
She frowned at the thought of Beatrice, and for the next few minutes, she sat scheming for ways to get rid of her, until a loud sound interrupted her thoughts and darkness clouded her vision.
*
"Are you certain of this, my lady?" the maid asked as she helped Beatrice into her dress that evening.
"Indeed, I am," Beatrice answered quickly, standing still so the maid could tie her laces.
"But I don't think it's a good idea to go out like this. Surely my lord shall be displeased when he hears of this."
"I cannot simply sit still knowing there's a possibility something might be wrong."
"Perhaps you're wrong? I'm certain my lady shall return home when she deems fit."
Beatrice considered the maid's words for several seconds. There was a possibility that Catherine's disappearance was in furtherance of her plan to frustrate Beatrice into leaving her marriage.
"Perhaps." She nodded solemnly.
The maid sighed. "Very well, if you must go out there, I cannot let you go alone. I beg your pardon, my lady, but it is unwise to do so."
"I cannot ask you to come along."
"Not I, but the butler, Richardson. If you don't mind, I shall go now and fetch him for you."
"Very well, go right now."
The two women hurried out of the room together, with the maid turning in a different direction once they reached the landing. Beatrice ran down the stairs, grabbing her coat that hung by the door. She had barely shrugged it on when she heard loud footsteps hurrying in her direction. She glanced up in time to see the butler.
"My lady," he called, weary lines creasing his face.
"We must go in search of the dowager Lady Camden. She hasn't returned from her excursion since noon. I have a feeling something might be wrong," she explained, turning to pull open the door. The chilly evening air stung her face as she stepped onto the front porch. "Get the horses."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, my lady."
"What do you mean?" She turned back to him, confused.
"There are no horses left from my lord's trip to London and my lady's trip earlier today."
His words sent a chill of apprehension down Beatrice's spine. She couldn't possibly go out in the snow without a horse; it would be madness to do so. She would not only be putting herself at risk, she would risk the butler's life as well. And for what? For all she knew, she was fussing over nothing, and Catherine was likely on her way home this minute.
She shook her head, unable to shake off the feeling of foreboding; something was certainly wrong.
Sighing, she nodded to the butler's words. "Very well, grab your coat, we'll walk."
YOU ARE READING
Bound To Bea
Historical Fiction"No respect for the dead." His words came out in silent whispers, his teeth clenched. A small smile tugged on her lips. "Respect is earned in life, my lord. When a man fails to earn respect in life, it cannot suddenly be bestowed on him simply becau...
