Patricia Rice by All a Woman Wants

and refuses to accompany me. Do you believe a
woman’s place is in the home, Mr. Warwick?”
    He squirmed uncomfortably, and Beatrice felt a
twinge of sympathy. Aunt Constance had a way of trapping people into
saying things they would not admit otherwise. It didn’t seem quite fair
to practice on someone who obviously had as little skill at social
discourse as Mr. Warwick.
    “Aunt Constance, you know perfectly well he must
insult one or the other of us if he answers that honestly. Pick on Mr.
Carstairs, if you must. He is quite capable of giving you a polite
two-faced reply.”
    Mr. Warwick choked on his tea.
    Dav grinned. “Why, Miss Cavendish, I hadn’t thought you’d noticed me or my talents. I must have made an impression after all.”
    “You’re a rogue, sir,” Lady Taubee said pertly.
“Now, I wish to question Mr. Warwick. Why don’t you toddle along and
admire your new acquisitions.”
    Warwick was out of his chair faster than Dav. “He
hasn’t acquired them yet, my lady. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll leave you
ladies to more civil discourse.”
    He stalked out, practically dragging a blustering Dav—who, unlike Warwick, at least managed a polite bow and farewell.
    “Well,” Aunt Constance said after the men left. “That was enlightening. Have you more suitors I should interview?”
    “They’re not suitors, Aunt Constance,” Bea said
wearily, relaxing with her tea now that the invaders had departed. “Mr.
Warwick will be gone within a week or so, and Dav will be gone as soon
as he has his hounds.”
    “Don’t be too sure of that. You’re an available
female with land. Every single male in the shire is bound to be sniffing
around. Who is the Lord Knowles they mentioned? Is he married?”
    “He’s Papa’s age and his only interest is in
hunting. Don’t matchmake, please. The curate has tried for years,
without success. I’m quite content as I am.”
    “Nonsense.” Lady Taubee firmly set her teacup down.
“All the world can see you’re unhappy. You’re just too isolated to know
better. Now, I think I’ll visit with Mary’s mother. It should be
entertaining to meet Mr. Warwick’s children.”
    Beatrice definitely did not like the way her aunt
said that, but she had no means of telling her not to interfere. Aunt
Constance was a force of her own, akin to whirlwinds and tidal waves.
One was swept helplessly along.

Nine
    He had to leave. The old lady was far too sharp, and
she was already suspicious. Mac fretted the whole time he discussed the
damned dogs with Carstairs. He should never have forgotten how small an
island England was. Lady Taubee could probably trace his ancestral tree
back to Adam and Eve if she knew his full name. She only needed to
trace it to Viscount Simmons.
    He had to escape. Now.
    “My brother is at the blacksmith’s. He can give you a
bank note for the balance,” Carstairs said as he handed over the coins
in his purse. “Are you staying on with Miss Cavendish? You should talk
with Hugo. He’s been trying to persuade the squire to enclose his fields
for eons.”
    “Hugo?” Mac had lost track of the conversation.
    “My older brother, the baron, remember? Father sent
him to persuade Overton to take a position on our Somerset estate, but
the chap is being stubborn. Can’t say as I blame him. If I had a little
land of my own, I’d not work for anyone else either.”
    Mac had heard all this last night and could
sympathize, but not right now. Thoughts spinning, he fell in with
Carstairs’s request to accompany him into the village. The bank note for
the dogs and the coins in his pocket would give Miss C a little cash to
tide her over for a while.
    Lord Hugo Carstairs, baron, looked amazingly like an
older, more cynical version of jolly Dav. He lifted a pointed dark
eyebrow at his introduction to Mac and didn’t immediately reach for the
bank note his younger brother requested.
    “You sold him Miss Cavendish’s hounds?” he