Page 58

Jo let out a chuckle. “I am an actress. Most of it is just an act.”

The lady snorted a laugh, then quickly covered her mouth with a handkerchief. “Apologies. Rather unladylike of me.”

Jo shrugged. “Well, then you’re in luck. Because I am not a lady.” She bobbed a curtsy. “Josephine Claremont. But you can call me Jo.”

The lady giggled. “Oh, I know who you are. I haven’t been to any of your plays, but I’d have to be blind and deaf to not know you. I am Beatrice.”

Jo’s lips spread in a smile. She was certain the lady had a title. She seemed like a lady, or maybe part of the local gentry. But in either case, the fact that she introduced herself just with her Christian name was rather endearing.

“I usually make it my mission to learn everybody’s names at the party. But you arrived rather late…”

“Oh, yes,” Beatrice answered shyly. “We were quite late. Our carriage broke down on the way… It’s… rather old. I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to make it on time at all. Can’t imagine missing my own betrothal announcement.” She played with her skirt as she spoke, but at the last sentence, she looked up at Jo and giggled.

“You’re getting betrothed? Congratulations!” Jo smiled earnestly.

“Thank you! I am beside myself with glee. I have no dowry, you see. I was afraid my only prospect would be Lord Lansdowne, who has been pursuing me relentlessly.”

Jo grimaced. “That old lecherous frog?”

Beatrice clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted. “Oh, pardon me for being indelicate.”

Jo waved it away. “Please. I am the one being indelicate here. But truly, I think Lansdowne should resign himself to an heirless fate! He has been widowed twice, which is quite a shock because I think he is over one hundred years old.”

Beatrice chuckled. “Actually, he is almost seventy. And well, I am four and twenty. I might be too young for Lansdowne but too old for the marriage mart. Without a dowry, looks, or refinement, he is the only prospect I imagined—or rather feared. I could never have imagined snagging a viscount! A young and virile one to boot!”

A viscount? Jo’s heart started drumming loudly in her chest.

“Oh, look at me blabbing it all in the retiring room. You must think I have no manners at all. Which is one of the reasons I am still unmarried, I suppose. And I am taking your time…”

Jo licked her dry lips, ignoring the woman’s tirade. “A viscount?” she echoed faintly.

Beatrice nodded eagerly. “Yes. Viscount Gage. I am not looking for a love match. But at least with him, life won’t be so dreadful, will it?”

Jo blanched, a high-pitched noise piercing her ears. “Viscount Gage is your fiancé?”

Beatrice’s smile dimmed. “Yes. Are you feeling faint? You look… unwell.”

Jo tried for a smile. “No, I… just remembered something.” She turned away from Beatrice, her hands gripping the wash basin.

He is betrothed.

“I shall leave you to it then,” Beatrice’s voice sounded as if from far away. “Unless you want me to stay. Or should I call someone?”

Richard is betrothed.

“No. I’m well,” Jo answered under her breath although her vision was blurring and her knees had trouble holding her upright.

Richard was betrothed. And he had been betrothed this entire time.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her palms perspired, and her entire body felt clammy.

She did not know how long she stood in the retiring room, just breathing in and out, and trying to rein in her emotions. But when she entered the ballroom once more, Richard stood in the middle of it, Beatrice’s hand in his.

The Marquess of Vane announced something loudly, probably the betrothal, and the entire ballroom exploded into applause and delighted exclamations.

Jo watched Richard’s stony features, her breathing the only sound she could make out from the noise.

Then he turned toward her, and his features shattered. She was not certain if it was pain or remorse, but it didn’t matter.