Chapter Four #3
He took his watch out of his waistcoat pocket.
‘I have arranged for a governess, Miss Linton, to come over before the modiste arrives. The sooner we get started on your teaching, the better. Martha will look after Thomas while you are having your lessons—her previous position was a nursery maid in another house—if that is all right with you?’
She looked up at him, as if surprised he was asking her, then gave a curt nod. ‘Martha has been very good with Thomas while I’ve been recuperating. Let us hope I don’t waste this governess’s time and disappoint you with the results.’
‘I am certain you will not, after all, I know from experience you are a fast learner.’ He winked.
‘Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and speak with my father.’ He had been dreading this moment, but he couldn’t keep putting it off any longer.
‘You had better finish that roll, Bea. You will be needing your strength—for all that lies ahead.’
Bea watched him stalk out of the room and she had the urge to throw the remains of the sweet bread roll at his disappearing head, but she couldn’t be sure how that would be received. Instead, she buried her face in her hands. Argh! He was infuriating.
She had not expected this. She had hoped he would step up and take Thomas—though she had never thought he would make her his wife, jeopardising his reputation. It was admirable. He was a better man than she’d thought, especially as he’d told her getting married was something he never wanted to do.
Until recently, anyway. Wasn’t that what he’d said? Had he been talking about the woman he had been on his way to see last night? Did he want to marry her instead?
Her heart felt heavy in her chest, as if it was crumbling under the weight of her guilt—because she knew he was marrying her out of obligation rather than affection. He was atoning for the ‘mistake’ he had made. His reluctance was just as devastating as his leaving without saying a word.
Surely he would end up resenting her for being forced into such a union, and for having to give up this other woman?
Yet, he was offering more than she could have dared hope for—how could she refuse?
She would get to stay with her precious son.
She would marry the only man she had ever desired.
The father of her child. They would be a family.
But it was not a situation without risk.
She would be utterly reliant on Edward and she had vowed to her mother she would never put her faith in a man.
Not after her own father had let them down, abandoning them.
She suddenly wished her mother was still around, so she could speak to her, to ask her what she should do—to explain to her that Edward didn’t seem to be like her father.
The day her mother had died, Bea had sat by her bedside, bringing her water, mopping her brow.
She had known the moment she’d passed, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it, so she’d continued to sit there throughout the night, keeping vigil, seeking her mother’s comfort, even though she was gone.
When morning came, she had forced herself to leave.
She had made her way to the parish workhouse, as her mother had told her to do, telling them where to find her mother’s body, and she had been put to work straight away.
Now she must do the same. She must work hard and not dwell on her concerns. If she didn’t have these lessons and learn how to be a woman Edward might want—if she wasn’t the perfect wife, she would lose him, and the chance to raise her boy in comfort.
Back then, she was forced to rely on the master and matron, now she would have to depend on Edward—and she was afraid to do so.
But also of what their marriage would entail, because given the way he made her feel, the way he caused her to behave—so recklessly—she feared she would not be able to deny him his rights of a husband.
But lying with him again, knowing he didn’t care, would only end in more heartache, and she rubbed at her hurting chest in sympathy.
A knock at the door broke through her troubled thoughts. Miss Linton, the governess who was to oversee her education, had arrived. Bea reluctantly got to her feet to greet the woman, and her first lesson in manners and poise began.
‘Stand up straight, with your shoulders back. Lift your chin a little. Never stand with your feet apart, but elegantly, with one in front of the other.’
Miss Linton had a no-nonsense attitude, but Bea didn’t mind that. She needed straight talking right now and tried to do exactly as the woman instructed. She found she wanted to do well. She wanted to please Edward, despite the doubts crowding her mind.
Did he really think she could be a future duchess? By marrying him, she would be thrust into a world she didn’t know, and it terrified her. He had made it as clear as his fancy crystal glasses that she would have to change herself to be accepted. To look the part and fit in.
‘That is right. Clasp your hands gently in front of you or let them hang loosely at your sides. Do not fidget. It is all about poise. You want to show off your figure. You must be graceful. You must remain composed and always behave with dignity.’
Composed. Bea guessed throwing a bread roll at Edward’s head, raising her voice and prodding him in the chest—kissing him—would be frowned upon then.
When she had stormed in here this morning, livid about him burning the only gown she owned, as he’d stood to greet her, he’d stolen her breath away, looking relaxed in just a white linen shirt, a navy waistcoat and biscuit-coloured breeches.
He was so handsome, his gaze so vivid and piercing, her rage had melted.
Was that why she had given in, so easily, when he’d announced the wedding arrangements had already been made; why she hadn’t fought him harder on it?
She knew there was a spark between them, an attraction that they hadn’t been able to deny back then.
But a spark wasn’t enough to hold a marriage together.
It could so easily go out. There had to be more to it—there had to be love and understanding, and most of all, trust. And how could she trust a man who had walked out on her before?
Who had never thought of her since, or returned to see her?
She feared being rejected, cast aside by him again.
But then, the worst had already happened, hadn’t it?
She had suffered poverty. She had become so desperate, she had nearly debased herself to the extreme—and she vowed Edward must never find out about that.
Some secrets were best kept buried—never to be shared.
But worst of all was she had almost given up her boy.
Nothing could ever be as bad as that. Not even this marriage.
It seemed this union was a sacrifice she and Edward were both prepared to make for their son. As he’d said, they would just have to endure it.
‘Now let us practice walking,’ Miss Linton said. ‘Take small, slow and smooth steps, as if you are gliding, like a swan. That is it. Glide with me, like a swan.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Bea muttered.
‘Keep your neck long and elegant. And when you sit, keep your back straight. Never slouch. Glide towards the chair now and take a seat. That is it. While we are sitting, let us take some tea.’
She rang the little bell to call for Mrs Potter and the woman made herself instantly available, bringing a fresh pot.
Bea looked around her at the table laden with treats, the fine china and the shiny silver cutlery, and the soft linen and plush chairs.
Just days before she had been wandering the streets not knowing where her next meal was coming from, or where she and Thomas would sleep.
Now she was here, being waited on, and it was hard to comprehend.
It didn’t seem right that Mrs Potter should be summoned in such a way, especially to serve her.
There was no difference between the two of them.
She determined never to use the bell herself.
If she needed anything, she would use the woman’s name.
‘Use your thumb and this finger to gently hold the handle. Keep your little finger relaxed,’ Miss Linton said. It was hard to put a number on the woman’s age, but she guessed she was a little older than Edward. Had they known each other long?
Bea raised the cup to her lips and blew on the hot liquid before taking a sip, slurping it up. She scrunched up her face. She had never liked the taste of tea very much.
Miss Linton stared at her, appalled. ‘You must sip quietly. Try it again.’
Bea sloshed a bit over her cup as she placed it down in the saucer. ‘Oh dear. I’m making a terrible muddle of it, aren’t I?’
‘A puddle, in fact!’
They both smiled.
‘Though your commencement is delayed, I have every confidence, Miss Beatrice, that if you are determined to better yourself, you will.’
Better herself. That was it. Edward needed a new and improved Beatrice, so she tried again.
She already felt like a different woman since getting some proper sleep.
Martha had looked after Thomas so she could rest in between his feeds, and Mrs Potter had prepared her a hearty stew.
It had felt glorious to scrub herself clean in the enormous bathtub, lathering herself in the heavenly lavender soap, although she missed her old gown, no matter how grubby it had been—this new one, while far more elegant, was restrictive and impractical. Like a straitjacket.
‘Do boys have these lessons too?’ Bea asked, steadily putting the cup down.
‘Yes. William and Edward both had lessons when they were younger.’
She couldn’t imagine Edward having training like this—being forced to behave a certain way. No wonder that night they’d spent together, dining on the rug, talking with her, had felt like freedom.