Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Two Days Later
“Go away, please, Mira,” Beatrice called as she heard the gentle knocking at her door. “I told you, I am too ill to eat at present.”
Beatrice pulled her covers back up over her head and nestled under them.
She let out an exhausted sigh and shut her aching eyes again.
After two days of nearly crying nonstop, the tears had finally dried up.
However now, her eyes felt itchy and puffy as did the rest of her face.
She did not want to risk being out from under her blankets too long, fearing she’d catch her reflection.
She did not have to see that she looked awful.
She felt it. From the very tips of her toes to the very ends of each individual strand of hair on her head. Everything ached.
“I am not here to bring you food, Lady Beatrice,” Mira called through the door. “It is Lord Henry Fitzroy. He is here to see you.”
Beatrice’s eyes snapped open again as her stomach tightened. She supposed his visit was inevitable. Algernon had said he had agreed to marry her after all.
From under the covers, she heard her door open, and Mira’s dainty footsteps coming into her room.
“I know you have been feeling ill as of late, Lady Beatrice,” Mira said in a gentle tone as she drew close to Beatrice’s bed, “however Lord Henry seems most insistent to speak with you despite you feeling so poorly. I do not believe he is going to leave unless he sees you.”
Beatrice let out a pained sigh. She supposed she could not hide under her blankets forever. Slowly, she dragged the covers away from her head and looked toward Mira. Her lady’s maid paled and gasped as she saw her.
“Lady Beatrice, what is wrong?” Mira asked, rushing to her side as Beatrice forced herself up into a sitting position.
Beatrice let out a weak laugh.
“Do I look so horrible?” she asked.
Mira didn’t have to answer. Her expression spoke volumes.
Yes. I truly must.
“You should allow Mrs. Sheer to come see you. Or a physician,” Mira insisted.
“No,” Beatrice answered quickly. Neither would be able to help her with her particular ailment. No one could.
“I am…” She was about to say fine but stopped herself. She was not fine. In fact, she was the direct opposite.
“It is nothing that requires such assistance,” she finished after a while. “Tell the Lord I shall be down as soon as possible. And perhaps you could go to the kitchens and see if Alice has some spare ice?”
She’d helped Elspeth and Verity many a times after they’d had one too many cups the night before. They’d wake up with swollen faces and had used ice to relieve the redness and puffiness. Though her condition was not from too much drink, Beatrice hoped such a trick would help her.
“Right away,” Mira replied.
She threw another worried glance toward Beatrice as she reached the door then left.
Alone again, Beatrice pulled herself from her bed and slowly made her way to her wardrobe. Her muscles were stiff from being curled into herself for so long, and she needed to shake it off before Mira returned. The maid’s eyes were full of questions already, and she did not want to add any more.
From her wardrobe, she pulled out a clean shift, corset, and a dress and began to ready herself.
By the time she was finished, Mira returned with a small towel full of ice, and while Mira went to work untangling Beatrice’s long locks and brushing them into submission, Beatrice held the ice to her eyes, once again trying to avoid her mirror.
“Finished, Lady Beatrice,” Mira said a few moments later.
Beatrice did not remove the towel of ice from her eyes until after she stood and turned away from the mirror.
“Thank you, Mira,” Beatrice said softly, handing the ice back to her.
Mira tentatively took it.
“Would you like to see the result?” Mira asked.
Beatrice shook her head, too afraid of what else she might see in her reflection.
“I trust you,” she replied, her tone weary. “Thank you, Mira.”
Mira curtseyed but remained quiet, as if she knew anything she had to say in that moment would not help.
Downstairs, Henry’s brow creased with worry as Beatrice walked into the parlor where he waited. He stood up from his chair the moment he saw her and hurried toward her.
“Beatrice, how are you?” he asked, his worry clear in his voice. “I heard you were feeling poorly.”
“I am fine.”
This time she forced the lie, and even accomplished a smile in the process, albeit a small one.
Henry’s sage green eyes continued to study her closely for a long moment.
“This is my fault.”
His answer surprised her. “I beg your pardon?” Beatrice asked, and Henry woefully shook his head.
“Your apparent heartache. I know it. I have felt it. It is because I broke my promise and abandoned you at the ball, is it not?” he asked worriedly.
A breath of shock punched out of Beatrice’s lungs that he had jumped to such a conclusion. Then she realized, why would he not? After all, her feelings toward Algernon had been a secret, and no one knew of the disastrous argument they had two nights ago.
“I knew it,” Henry groaned, going down to one knee as he reached for Beatrice’s hand.
“Algernon just spent the last hour berating me for breaking such a promise. I thought he was being brutish with me, but now that I see you, I understand why. Oh, Beatrice, do forgive me. It will not happen again in our future. I swear to it.”
Beatrice’s thoughts swirled chaotically as she stared down at Henry, caught somewhere between using the opportune excuse he provided and telling him the truth to ease his guilt.
Not that she had not been hurt that he’d abandoned her at the moment he had done so.
She had been. What was wrong with her now, though, had nothing to do with his broken promise.
“I forgive you… but do we have a future, Henry?” she chose to ask.
Henry’s worried expression softened a little.
“That was what I was hoping to discuss with you today,” he answered, rising up to his feet.
“I was planning on asking you to promenade with me, but if you do not wish to do so, we can speak another time.”
Beatrice shook her head. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she had to move forward from the sad place she’d burrowed herself for the last two days. She could not remain in bed forever. Especially in Algernon’s house.
“We should speak today,” she replied. “However I would prefer that we just take a walk through our…” Her breath hitched as she heard herself say the wrong word.
Not ours. His.
“… your brother’s garden again,” she finished.
Henry nodded his head in understanding and offered her his arm. After a moment of reluctance, she took it and allowed him to lead her outside. Mrs. Sheer met them at the door, holding out a parasol for Beatrice.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sheer,” Beatrice said dully as she accepted the covering.
As they stepped out of the shaded area of the patio, Beatrice was immediately thankful for Mrs. Sheer’s intervention. The sun was far too bright and warm for Beatrice’s cold and dark heart, and she all but hid as the rays so very briefly touched her face before she had her parasol up.
“Are you sure you are still not cross with me?” Henry asked, pausing a moment on the steps that led to the garden. “If you need more time. To forgive me, I mean—”
“Please do cease your worrying,” Beatrice gently insisted, daring a glance up at him. “I told you I forgive you, and I meant it.”
Henry gave her a reluctant look then with the nod of his head, he once more began to lead her on a walk.
“I swear to you it will not happen again,” Henry repeated.
“I do believe you,” Beatrice answered. She could not help but be kind to Henry. He had broken his promise, yes, but that transgression felt so very small compared to Algernon’s.
“Now you said you wished to speak to me?” she asked, hoping to urge the conversation along.
“I do,” Henry replied then drew in a breath as if suddenly nervous.
Beatrice did not push. She knew where the conversation was going, and she already had her answer.
“I had—have been having a wonderful time with you, Beatrice,” he went on. “You truly are the sweetest, kindest lady I have ever met, and I felt that way even before you graciously gave me your forgiveness. I am—well, my brother—he told me that you were aware that he was attempting to arrange us.”
He glanced toward her, as if he needed the confirmation.
“Yes,” Beatrice confessed. “I knew from the beginning that was his hope.”
“And you?” Henry asked. “What is your hope? Do you wish for marriage?”
Fresh pain oozed from Beatrice’s heart at the question.
Yes. But not to you.
“It is a logical step in the next part of my life,” Beatrice answered instead, her tone aloof.
“And you?” she asked, daring another look at him, “Do you wish for marriage.”
Henry gave her a sheepish smile.
“For the longest time no, I must confess,” he replied. “The life I prefer to live provides no reason for it. Now that I have matured some, though, I do see the use for it. Especially if such a union was with a young lady like yourself.”
Beatrice attempted a smile. It was clear that Henry was trying to flatter her. She just wished she could feel a genuine response to it and not the aching numbness that had been plaguing her.
“What else has my brother told you?” Henry asked, his tone becoming almost careful as he added, “About me, I mean.”
Beatrice shook her head.
“He wanted me to get to know you myself,” she replied. “He would not tell much other than that. Though I do suspect that you are harboring a secret of sorts, he would never explain what that could be.”
Henry let out a dry chuckle.
“Ever the protector,” he murmured as he shook his head.
Beatrice moved her gaze toward the gardens they were walking through, suddenly overcome with another bout of heartache.
“Forgive me, Beatrice, I have never had such a conversation with someone else before, and I suppose I find myself quite nervous about it,” Henry implored.