The footsteps got louder and louder as Lady Heathers’s husband pounded his way to the library. He was a large, bullish man, and possessed much of the same temperament. She sighed as the footfalls stopped. When he worked himself into a frenzy he often needed a moment to breathe. A few seconds and more stomping later, Lord Josiah Heathers walked into the room. 

His first move was to knock her book out of her hand. It was a novel she had found quite diverting, but she leaned back into the armchair. There was no use in arguing with Josiah or trying to quall his rage. The man had made an art of having tantrums. 

“Yes, husband?” she asked. 

“How dare you?!” 

She questioned what she had dared to do. She did a great many things without her husband’s knowledge.

“I thought you to be a woman of good character. I thought you a woman of good sense,” he hissed. “Yet you go behind my back and threaten my woman!”

“Surely you’re not speaking of Miss Thompson?” Beatrice asked. “I did nothing of the sort.” 

She remembered the conversation clearly, and while Miss Thompson had been uncomfortable speaking to the wife of the man who sponsored her, Beatrice had not said one untoward word to the poor girl. 

“You threatened her and told her she could no longer see me,” he said. “Do not lie, woman.”

She paused. Was that why the young woman had been so pale? She had only said that Miss Thompson might reduce the frequency of her trysts with Josiah, as Josiah’s son seemed to disapprove of the open nature of their affair. She had suggested to the young girl that they might employ some discretion in their affair. 

“I suggested that she be more discreet,” Beatrice said. “I have no issue with the poor girl.”

If anything, I must be grateful for ridding me of you, she thought. There was no way the young Frances Thompson could be besotted with her ill-tempered, aging, increasingly corpulent husband. It was an exchange as old as time, affection for money. Miss Thompson was an excellent actress, both on the stage and off. 

Josiah harrumphed. It was obvious he didn’t believe her. While Beatrice did not particularly care for her husband’s good opinion, it was insulting that he trusted the word of a young girl he had met only two months before. 

“Perhaps you do not see much else when Miss Thompson is on your arm, but you are making a spectacle of yourself. Keep a mistress, I shall not refuse you that. But I must insist that you behave in a manner befitting your title. Befitting your age, sir.”

From his rapidly reddening cheeks, Beatrice knew Josiah was on the verge of another one of his own tantrums. He was a man frequently ill, incapable of most physical activity. However, he hated any reminders of his mortality, of the signs of aging that ravaged his body more and more each day. 

“You ungrateful wretch!” 

Beatrice knew her husband had expected her to love him unconditionally for saving her from a future of spinsterhood. He had expected that she would come to his house, meek and biddable, young and impressionable. He was nearly thirty years her elder, a widow twice over, and yet thought himself her savior. That in her eyes, he should be seen as an unimpeachable example of good character. 

“I spoke to her for the sake of your son,” she said at last. She had tried to hide the truth from him. Her step son was unlike his father. He was prone to easy embarrassment, vulnerable to hurt caused by the local gossip, and more importantly, a lone and steadfast admirer of his father. 

“Do not involve Samuel in your machinations!” 

She snapped her book closed. “I did not involve your son, Josiah. You did, when you paraded Miss Thompson all through town. Do you think you two make a handsome pair? Do you imagine you are the envy of every man in town, with a young wife at home and a younger mistress outside of it? I would bet good money you are older than Miss Thompson’s father. People are laughing at you, husband. At your folly. At your willingness to part with your money for your pride. And in turn, they are laughing at your son.” 

Beatrice liked Samuel. At times she suspected he was not actually Josiah’s son. He had inherited none of his father’s unsavory impulses or failings in character. He was a kind, charming, intelligent boy, and when she spoke to Miss Thompson, she was only thinking of his well being.

“I cannot speak to you when you are being so unreasonable,” Josiah fumed. He turned on his heel and started out the door.

“Are you going back to Miss Thompson’s house? If so, do tell her she misunderstood my intentions. And do tell her that if she ever tires of your company, she can come to me for employment should she need it.”

 He didn’t respond to her, and ignored her low chuckle as he stormed out the door. There was the smash of porcelain from outside the door. She hoped it wasn’t one the vases she liked, and walked out to help the maid clean up the mess. 

The blue and white shards were spread across the floor. The pool of water was spreading as well. The maid who had been unfortunate enough to be nearest was placing the fragments into her apron to discard outside, and Beatrice joined her. 

“Where is Samuel?” she asked.

“Master Samuel is not in the manor, my lady,” the maid answered, her head down and focused on the task. “I believe he has gone for a ride.”

“Good.” 

She headed down to the kitchen to inform the cook of the menu for dinner. It was a difficult day, and she listed off her favorite foods one by one. The cook nodded in understanding and began her work.

Beatrice waited in the music room. A plate of pastries and a pot of tea arrived five minutes later. There were unspoken messages between her and the staff. They showed her their own small acts of kindness and consideration. It was the effect of being an easy mistress. She did not oversee their work too closely and ignored the occasional mistake.

The pastries were delicious and warm, the tea steaming hot. She resumed her book, getting to the climax when the doors to the room burst open. 

“My lady!” the butler yelled. 

“Yes, Bertrand?” she asked. “What’s happened?” 

“His lordship,” the butler breathed. He took another few gulps of air. “His lordship’s carriage–”

“Oh.”