Chapter 20 #2
“Oh, no, I did not mean that you had to come with me,” she said hurriedly as Algernon carried the cup to the back kitchen door. “You have enough to do, I am sure—”
“Beatrice,” he sighed, opening the door with his free hand. He nodded toward the patio with an expectant look. “I am precisely where I need to be. Now you wanted some air, did you not? Out you go.”
Again, Beatrice had to draw her bottom lip between her teeth to fight the giddy smile that was trying to take over her face.
She decided that she liked this version of Algernon, even if he still had a bit of a commanding air to him.
So, she walked to the open door as he held it for her, and she led him out to the patio where three small, round, wrought iron tables sat along with several chairs.
“I must admit, I have never been to this side of my house before,” Algernon confessed as he took in the walls of ivy, the ornate wrought-iron double gate, and the flagstones.
“This is where the deliveries come in,” Beatrice explained as she took the seat. “That way the servants do not have to traverse though half of the house to get the groceries to the kitchen.”
“It is quite private,” Algernon mused, taking the moonlit space in. “Almost like an entirely different part of the world. One would never know that the rest of London lied beyond those walls.”
This time, Beatrice did smile.
“I am glad you like it,” she said then drew in a deep breath of the warm, flower-scented air. “It is one of my favorite places on your property.”
Algernon brought his gaze back to her, a small smile twitching on his lips.
“I can understand why,” he replied then took the seat across from her and placed her teacup and saucer before her.
“Drink,” he encouraged, and without a thought, Beatrice obeyed, taking the warm cup in both hands to have a small sip.
“So, about this nightmare of yours,” Algernon went on as she placed her cup back onto the saucer, “was it about your family?”
Beatrice’s mirth slipped away suddenly.
“Yes,” she confessed, sliding her pointer finger around the rim of her teacup.
“Tell me about it,” Algernon urged.
She looked up at him, but as she saw the softness in his otherwise hard gaze, she realized that it was not an order but an invitation.
“I was born with blue eyes,” she said softly.
Algernon’s brows furrowed.
“Beatrice that is not a dream. That is a fact,” he said quickly, and Beatrice could not help the twitch of her lips.
“I am aware,” she countered dryly.
“However, it is their color that caused my father to treat me the way he does,” she explained.
The look of confusion on Algernon’s handsome face deepened, but this time, he did not interrupt.
“My mother’s eyes were a beautiful honey brown.
Almost golden—they were golden when she laughed,” Beatrice went on, a longing rising in her chest for the woman she missed so very much.
“And my father’s eyes, as you might have noticed, are a deep, murky brown.
Almost black in some lights. So, when my mother gave birth to a blue-eyed child, he became convinced that my mother had an affair. ”
“You are not serious?!” Algernon spoke up, looking alarmed.
“Oh, quite,” Beatrice replied with the nod of her head. “I do not remember the first few years of my life, but from what I had been told by the other servants when I was older, Simeon made it a point to try to force a confession out of my mother.
“The only issue was, there was no confession for her to make. My mother, for whatever reasons she had, had a love for Simeon, at least in the beginning, and swore to God that she’d never been with another.
She supposedly begged Simeon to be patient, to wait and see how my features developed, and he would see that I was as much a part of him as I was of her. ”
Beatrice sucked her teeth as she continued to fiddle with the rim of her teacup.
“I never did come into his features, though,” she went on. “Instead, I looked precisely like my mother. A miniature version of her, my nanny used to say, save for my blue eyes.
“As I grew older, my mother and I tried to gain Simeon’s affection together. She taught me how to read, write, and sing. Right before her death, she had started me on harp lessons. She was determined to show Simeon that I was truly a noble child, his child, and I would grow up to be a lovely lady.”
She paused, pressing her lips together as she shook her head.
“Nothing ever worked, though. No plan conspired would convince Simeon that I was indeed his child, and each would instead drive him further away.”
She paused again, the memories causing so great a pain in her heart that she had to take a rest and sip at her tea.
Beatrice tried to raise her eyes toward Algernon, to see what sort of expression he wore, but she could not bring herself to do so.
Such a confession was making her feel wildly embarrassed and inferior.
“You said your mother died,” Algernon said softly after a few moments of silence.
Beatrice nodded, feeling a fresh wave of pain in her heart.
“A month after my ninth birthday, she started to feel unwell,” Beatrice explained. She spoke in barely a whisper, as if to raise her voice any louder would make the heartache worse.
“It was just a stomachache at first, she swore.
Promised it would be gone within a day or two.
Yet the days stretched into weeks, and the weeks turned into two months.
It was during that time that I finally found the courage to go to Simeon alone.
I was terrified, but I had to ask him to send for the physician.
“I told him that Mother could not eat. Could barely drink. That she had gone small and pale and could not get out of bed, but it did not matter. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and shoved me out of his office, warning me to never bother him again.”
Beatrice paused as she drew her fingers up to the tiny scar under her chin.
“My first scar from him,” she murmured, lost in the memory. “His shove sent me to the floor, and I scraped my chin against the floor.”
The groan of metal jolted Beatrice from the memory, and she looked up to see that Algernon was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt flattered over his apparent rage.
“My mother died the next day,” she said, feeling strong enough now to finish the story.
“To Simeon’s credit he did allow her to have last rites and a proper funeral.
She was buried in a noble cemetery, and there was an announcement in all the papers.
I believe—at least since I was born—that it was the one act of kindness that Simeon bestowed upon her. ”
“Oh, Beatrice,” Algernon rasped from across from her.
She shook her head, and raised her eyes to the sky, not wanting to shed any more tears.
“Simeon made me a servant a week later. He brought home Elspeth and Verity, my stepmother and sister, and explained that they were now the ladies of the house and I was blessed to have the opportunity to serve them. I was to call him Simeon. Not Father anymore—Simeon. He said I should be grateful that I could call him by such and not have to constantly address him as Lord Farhampton.” She let out a bitter chuckle as she absentmindedly rubbed the tiny scar under her chin again.
Beatrice heard the scrape of Algernon’s chair against the flagstones, but before she could even look up, he was at her side, pulling her to her feet and gathering her into his arms. Warmth enveloped her as her cheek pressed against his naked chest, and she could not help the sigh of contentment that followed.
She was not sure what was allowed, what was proper in that moment, but she nuzzled deeper into his embrace, reveling in the comfort it provided.
“I am sorry, Beatrice,” Algernon rasped, slipping his fingers up the nape of her neck and into her loose hair. “I am so so sorry for what you were put through.”
Despite trying to keep them at bay, tears sprung from Beatrice’s eyes as she felt his lips caress a kiss atop her head.
“It is not your fault,” she said, her breath shaky and full of tears.
“Even so, you did not deserve what happened to you,” Algernon replied, his arm tightening around her waist.
She stayed there for a moment, sinking deeper into the comfort Algernon’s embrace provided.
She knew what he said was true; she had always felt so.
Yet it was affirming to hear someone like him state such a thing.
Then he pulled her away, keeping his hands on her elbows.
His eyes fell not her own but to her right upper arm.
With the softest touch that made her tremble, Algernon drew a knuckle gently down the five finger-sized bruises Simeon had left behind.
“These are not the first bruises that man has left you with then,” he murmured, his green eyes darkening.
“No,” she confessed, bringing her own hand up to them, “and they are certainly not the worse. Look, they are already starting to fade. I suspect they’ll even be gone by the morning.”
She looked up Algernon then, wanting to assure him that she was fine, but as she caught his heated gaze, her breath hitched, and she found herself speechless.