Free With This Ring by Amanda Quick Page B

you, sir."
    Beatrice put aside the scissors and reached for the brandy decanter.
    Leo looked grimly amused. "Do you need to fortify yourself for the task, Mrs. Poole?"
    "I do not intend to drink the stuff, sir. Brace yourself." She poured the spirits into the open wound before he guessed her intention.
    Leo sucked in his breath. "Damnation. Waste of good brandy."
    "My mother believes very strongly in the value of cleansing wounds with stout spirits." Beatrice set the bottle aside. "She got the idea from one of the books in my father's library.'
    "Where do your parents live?"
    "They have retired to a pleasant little cottage in Hampshire. Papa has his books and his rose garden. Mama has organized a school for the local village children. She is a great believer in the value of an education."
    "Tell me, Mrs. Poole, are your parents aware that you interest yourself in such pastimes as investigating murders and searching for dangerous antiquities?"
    "I have not as yet had an opportunity to write to them about my current project." Beatrice trimmed the linen bandage. "But I shall get around to it after I have resolved the matter."
    "I see." He watched morosely as she tied the ends of the linen. "Will they be surprised to learn of your activities?" "I'm sure they will understand that under the circum-
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    stances I had no choice but to search out Uncle Reggie's murderer and recover Arabella's inheritance."
    "Naturally. All in a day's work for a reader of horrid novels, eh, Mrs. Poole?"
    "One does what one must."
    Leo grunted and took a mouthful of brandy. "How long have you been a widow, Mrs. Poole?"
    She was startled by the question. Then she realized that Leo was no doubt attempting to focus his attention on something other than the pain of his wound.
    "I was married for three years, sir. I have been widowed for five."
    "At what age were you wed?" "One-and-twenty." "So you are now twenty-nine?"
    "Yes." She wondered where this was all going. "Damn near thirty."
    "Indeed, sir." She tugged very firmly on the bandage. He gritted his teeth and took another swallow of brandy. "Any desire to remarry?"
    "None." Beatrice smiled coolly. "Once a woman has known the metaphysical perfection of the most harmonious kunion possible between a man and a woman, once she has
    tasted the ambrosia of physical, spiritual, and intellectual communication with her true soul mate, she can never be content with anything less."
    "That good, was it?'
    "It was perfection, my lord."
    "Until your husband died," he pointed out.
    "Perfection can never last. But one goes on with life knowing that one has been privileged to love, as few people ever are." She paused briefly in the process of adjusting the bandage. "I feel certain that you understand. I have heard that your own marriage was also quite extraordinary."
    "She was a paragon of grace and beauty," he said very
     
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    steadily. "She was faithful, gentle, and a loving mother to my sons. No man could ask for more from any woman. She had the face and temperament of an angel."
    For some reason, Beatrice's heart plummeted at that news. She managed a polite smile. "You were fortunate, sir." He hoisted the brandy glass in a small salute. "Just as
    you were, Mrs. Poole. As you said, so few ever know true love, even for a short while. 1, too, have no wish to dim the bright flames of memory by contracting a second marriage that could never equal the first."
    "Indeed." Beatrice did not like the brooding quality that had crept into his tone. She struggled to find something bracing to say. "Perhaps it is for the best. As we have both learned from our own tragedies, a great love may command a great price."
    "You know, Mrs. Poole, you sound exactly like a character in one of those horrid novels we discussed yesterday."
    "Then we are even, sir." She picked up the scissors and clipped the end of the bandage. "You bear a striking resemblance to a character in one of those novels