He glanced to where the ladies were gathered in a knot by one of the settees. Beatrice stood by the others, smiling at something Lady Munroe had said. She wore a pale rose frock tonight, and her hair glowed golden in the candlelight. The Blanchard sapphires sparkled at her neck, but even they were dull next to the bright beauty of her face. Had they been alone, he would’ve strode over and picked her up, carrying her to his bed so that he might demonstrate again how deep his devotion was. He had a feeling that the urgency of the need to convince her of his love would never pass. He inhaled deeply. But they had guests now, and he wouldn’t have Beatrice to himself for several hours yet.
Reynaud glanced to Emeline, sitting in the middle of the settee, as round as an orange. He’d noticed that Hartley cast frequent glances her way, and he had to approve of such uxorious concern for his sister. Lady Munroe—Helen—stood just a little apart, though all the ladies included her in the conversation, and Tante Cristelle sat enthroned in a gilt chair. Lady Vale sat beside Emeline on the settee, ramrod straight, a faint smile about her thin lips.
Feminine laughter drew his eyes to another settee, where Miss Rebecca Hartley sat. Standing stiffly next to her was a young man in simple black clothes, his dark hair clubbed back.
“I think I’ll have a new brother-in-law in the coming year,” Hartley murmured next to Reynaud.
Reynaud grunted. “Emeline says he was a footman in her household.”
“Indeed.” Hartley glanced again at his wife. “But O’Hare has spent the last year learning my business in the Colonies. His head for figures is amazing. I’ve been thinking that should Emeline and I wish to spend a protracted length of time in England, I’d put him in charge of the Boston warehouses.”
Reynaud raised his eyebrows. “He looks young for the job.”
“He is,” Hartley replied. “But in another few years . . .” He shrugged. “Of course, it would help to keep the business in the family.”
Reynaud glanced again at the couple by the settee. Miss Hartley’s cheeks were a bright pink, and O’Hare hadn’t taken his eyes from her face since entering the room. “Then you approve of the match.”
“Yes, I do.” Hartley’s mouth quirked. “Not that my opinion matters. I trust Rebecca to make the right decision in choosing a husband.”
A sudden rise in the ladies’ chatter made Reynaud turn his head. Beatrice was leaning forward, placing a package on Emeline’s lap.
“What are they up to now?” Hartley wondered next to him.
Reynaud shook his head, feeling that smile returning at Beatrice’s excited look. “I haven’t the faintest.”
“THE GENTLEMEN, THEY are talking about that so ’orrible traitor again,” Tante Cristelle commented to no one in particular.
Beatrice glanced over. The gentlemen were all huddled in a corner, and Lord Hasselthorpe was a frequent topic of discussion, but Reynaud looked almost lighthearted tonight. He caught her watching him and gave her a slow wink that made the heat rush into her cheeks. Goodness! Now was not the time to be remembering what he’d done just this morning to her.
Hurriedly she turned to Emeline. “Open it, please.”
“There’s no need for gifts,” Emeline said, but she looked quite pleased nonetheless.
Beatrice had learned in the last month that her sister-in-law was rather nice underneath her formidable exterior. “Actually, it’s for Lady Vale and Lady Munroe and me as well. But you’ll see. Oh, do open it.”
Emeline lifted the box lid. Inside were four bound books, each a different color. One was blue, one yellow, one lavender, and one scarlet.
Emeline glanced up at Beatrice. “What are they?”
Beatrice shook her head. “Look inside one.”
Emeline chose the blue and opened it. And then she gasped. “Oh. Oh, my goodness. I’d almost forgotten.”
She looked from Melisande to Helen to Beatrice. “How…?”
Tante Cristelle leaned forward. “What is this?”
“It’s the fairy-tale book that my nanny used to read to Reynaud and me when we were children. Forgive me.” Emeline dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “I gave the original book to Melisande to translate.”
“And I did,” Melisande said in her steady voice. “And when I was done, I gave the translation to Helen to transcribe. She has such an elegant hand.”