Page 21 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

“Poor fashion sense does not make one untrustworthy.” Stephen’s twin enjoyed wearing breeches. “However, being an untrustworthy turncoat certainly makes one suspect.”

Calhoun nudged Stephen’s shoulder and inclined his chin to the opposite corner. “I believe your grandmother’s friend arrived earlier this afternoon.”

Stephen followed Calhoun’s gaze. The blimey Beaumonts stared at him. “What are they doing here?”

“Apparently Sylvia Beaumont is one of Lady’s Saxton’s dearest friends,” Calhoun said.

Stephen’s grandmother considered Sylvia her “dearest girlhood friend.” How anyone could stand to be in Sylvia’s company was a mystery to Stephen. The Viscountess Beaumont stirred up drama like it was her sole purpose in life and she had decided Stephen’s marrying into her family was an extension of this mission.

She grasped her oldest daughter’s hand, and they charged toward him.

“Save me,” he whispered to his companions.

Sylvia and Arabella converged on him before he had a defensive strategy in place.

“Captain Eaton, I dare say, I had no idea you would be here,” Lady Beaumont said. “Did we, Arabella?”

Sylvia Beaumont may be one deuce of a gossip monger; however, she was a terrible liar.

Arabella fluttered her lashes. The chit was lovely, but Stephen would not marry her if she were the last woman in England. Moreover, a few months prior she had been “in love” with his older brother.

“Sir Saxton insisted Lord Beaumont be in attendance for the week,” prattled Sylvia Beaumont. “He believes my husband has quite the head for business. No one would want to undertake an important endeavor without his support. Saxton’s Shipping International is exciting, is it not?”

On and on, the woman chattered, as if an overactive sprite possessed her tongue. She eventually ceased boasting to greet Blythe and Calhoun, reminding them of the Christmas dinner they’d attended with Stephen’s family at Trent Castle.

“’Twas a festive time, indeed,” said the always charming Blythe.

“Quite enjoyable.” Calhoun’s gaze raked over Arabella and his pupils clouded over.

Miss Beaumont’s limbs were long and graceful, her smile lovely, and her hair golden, but Stephen would remind his second lieutenant of her less attractive attributes, which included pouting, tantrums, and a mean disposition.

The viscount and his youngest daughter approached. Lord Beaumont greeted everyone with the enthusiasm of a dead slug.

“Good eve, Miss Rose,” Stephen said. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The young girl was the one bright spot in the unlikable family.

Her cheeks flamed crimson as she studied her slippers. “St. Alban is lovely, Captain Eaton.”

Lady Beaumont’s eyes lit up and she smirked. Tapping Stephen on the forearm with her fan, she leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you heard about last night’s scandal?”

Surely, she could not be referring to his transgression with a married woman.

“Please excuse me. I am quite parched and would like a drink.” Preparing for a hasty retreat, Stephen bowed.

“Sir Saxton’s widowed niece from the Americas was discovered in quite a compromising situation,” Lady Beaumont said so quickly her words ran together.

What? Stephen halted mid-step and faced the viscountess. “Mrs. Spencer is a widow?”

Sylvia moved her jaw from side to side. “Yes. Her husband was one of the wealthiest men in America. She married him for his fortune, then had him murdered.”

Although Sylvia Beaumont was not a reliable source of information, Stephen swallowed bile.

“Lady Beaumont, I beg your pardon,” Blythe said. “But her husband passed away in his sleep. After almost nine decades, his heart gave out.”

How did everyone else know of Madalene Spencer’s affairs?

Never mind all that. She was widowed. There was no husband. Hallelujah to the heavens.