Chapter 11
Beatrice had worked tirelessly the day before they went to the village.
Mrs. Forsythe was wonderful, helping her to collect lavender flowers and take jars of honey from the beekeeper and arrange them neatly in baskets, but when it came to the treats, she was alone in the task.
Thankfully, with practice came speed, and so she had that on her side, but she also found herself slowed by memories of being in the kitchens with her husband.
For the first time, someone truly cared about her passions and wanted to share them with her, and she did not realize just how much that meant to her until it happened.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Ella asked, having joined her briefly as she baked the final few pieces the morning before she left.
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“You seem to be looking off, your mind elsewhere. I would not normally mention it, but when you are using sharp tools, I would rather be safe.”
“Oh! Yes, thank you. I am perfectly fine. I am simply nervous about today, I suppose. His Grace says that they are all fond of him, and while it means I have an advantage it also means that they will compare me to him, and that I have a high standard to achieve.”
“And you will. All that you must do is show kindness, and there is nothing that will win over the hearts and minds of the masses more than these beautiful pastries”
“Here, take one.” Beatrice smiled. “I have tried so many that I can no longer taste them. Is it good?”
“It is excellent,” she murmured through icing. “Believe me, you shall be completely and utterly adored.”
Beatrice was pleased about that, but there was sadness in her chest knowing that that same feeling was not given to her by her husband.
Of course, she hardly knew Owen. They had only met a few weeks prior, and she had only been living there for a short while, but that was precisely what pained her.
She had always expected to marry only when she found true love, and that was not what had happened.
It was possible that she could soon see him as a friend, and there was nothing objectively wrong with him, but she was not a fool.
She knew that he was keeping things from her, and regardless of the reason she did not like that,.
They departed soon after lunch, Beatrice having hardly eaten a thing.
She could not bring herself to, because she had already consumed too many biscuits in the kitchen earlier, but also because her thoughts were consumed by what was ahead of her.
She knew that Owen had noticed, for he had watched her during the meal.
He had not said anything about her quietude, which filled her with thankfulness.
“They will be kind,” he assured her as they traveled. “They are all looking forward to today. They knew that I had found a wife, and so this trip was only a matter of time.”
“And are they aware that I am your wife, rather than Helena?”
“They are no more aware of her than of you. All they knew was that I was to be married.”
That helped immensely for it meant that no comparison could be made.
There was no denying that, as far as Beatrice was concerned, Helena was the better option.
Aside from her predicament, she bested her in every way that mattered.
She was the prettier friend, more talented and with an elegance that Beatrice simply did not possess.
She had learned quickly, but there was still a doubt in her mind that she was not deserving of her title.
“Are you concerned?” Owen asked.
“Of course, I am. I know that you have faith in me, but I also understand how much the villagers value you and it frightens me that I will not live up to such high standards.”
“Well, such fears will not last long. Once you have met the people there, you will see that you have been concerned for no reason. You will be very well liked, Beatrice.”
They arrived, and in an instant, they were surrounded by pleased faces. All eyes were on her, and the introductions felt like they lasted for hours, but it was precisely as Owen had said. She had been proven wrong, and with each smiling townsperson she felt more and more certain of it.
“It is so nice to meet you,” one woman said, a small child beside her. “Rosie here has not stopped asking after you.”
Beatrice smiled, bending down to greet the little girl. Her hair was in two tight braids, and she was clearly wearing her best dress. She could not have been any older than five, but she curtseyed and handed her a flower.
“This is for you, Your Grace,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Thank you,” Beatrice replied kindly. “You seem rather shy.”
“She has always been this way,” her mother explained, “not that you would know it if you were me or her father. She will talk and talk until she leaves our home, and then she quietens.”
“I was the very same,” Beatrice nodded, her eyes not leaving the girl.
“Do not worry. I know it is daunting to speak, but there will be people who wish to listen. It also gives you the chance to make conversation, and then you can listen to them in return. I have found that is the best way to make friends.”
The little girl looked at her with wide eyes, clearly unable to comprehend why such an important lady was taking the time to speak with her, but also that someone so important had struggled like she was.
Beatrice rose to her feet again, and the mother mouthed her gratitude so that her daughter did not hear. It was only a small gesture, but Beatrice hoped that it would make a difference. She handed them a basket, and they went on their way.
“I hope that you see it for yourself, now,” Owen said beside her. “You know how to be, and so you have nothing to worry about.”
Beatrice watched as the mother and daughter disappeared, relieved that he had been right all along.
The afternoon continued, and once they handed out the gifts they began walking through the village.
It was warm, and the park there had a long river running through it, and so they decided to spend some time walking there.
Beatrice wanted to wander along the water’s edge, but Owen never suggested it. Instead, they kept to the path, which was a considerable distance away. They looked on as children played in the water, their mothers and fathers close by.
“It is most unnerving,” he said as they walked.
“The children playing? I think it rather lovely. I envy them, for the water must feel delightful.”
“But the danger it presents is incredible. What if they cannot swim?”
“One would assume that they can all swim, else they would not be in the water. Just as you told me not to worry, you must do the same. They’re all being taken care of, too, and so nothing bad will happen to them.”
“That is always the assumption, yes,” he said darkly. “And yet…”
It was an awful thought, but Beatrice tried not to pay it any mind.
Owen was a protective man, and he likely thought of all dangers.
If anything, she liked that he was so concerned about the safety of children, for he would be a father one day and she much preferred that he was overly afraid than one who did not care at all.
“Do you enjoy walking?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“I do. It helps me to think, and it gives me time alone.”
“Unless you are walking alongside your wife.”
“In which case, it gives me time to talk. Either way, it is pleasant.”
“And what about riding?” she asked, and he stiffened.
“I avoid it whenever I can. It is not something that I enjoy anymore.”
“Ah, because of the accidents?”
He looked at her sharply, and for the briefest of moments a fear washed over her. She could not help but feel as though she had said something very wrong.
“The ones that I read about,” she reminded him. “In those papers? The string of illnesses and accidents that took place here.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Well, that certainly does not help. Horses can be dangerous if you do not ride them correctly, and even if you do there is a chance that something will scare them, and then it does not matter how careful you are.”
“Do you always consider everything bad that might happen?” she asked. “I am surprised that you were not afraid of the ovens when we made those biscuits.”
“I like to be safe. I hardly go beyond the village for that reason. I do not like the dangers that lurk wherever you go, and the further from home you are, the worse off you are.”
“Is that why I never saw you in London before you turned up as Lady Helena’s bridegroom?”
They walked on in silence for a while, Beatrice wondering if she had asked too much again before he cleared his throat.
“I hate London most of all,” he said at last. “It is busy, which means it is more likely to cross someone with bad intentions.”
There was such paranoia in him that Beatrice wondered if he had always been that way, or if something truly awful had happened in front of him that had changed him completely. It was so intrinsic to everything he did, and she pitied him, for that was no way to live.
“It would seem we both have things to learn then,” she suggested. “We both seem to have rather a lot of fears to overcome.”
“I have no intention of changing,” he replied. “My concerns keep me safe, and I would not say that they are necessarily fears. They are facts that I have learned, and in some cases witnessed myself.”
“Even so, it is not a death sentence to swim–”
“Enough,” he said curtly, and Beatrice silenced herself.
“I am not in need of changing, Beatrice. When you have fears, it is because you are timid and scared of trying something new. When I experience them, it is because I know completely and utterly that all things do not end well. That is the difference and is precisely why I have no interest in trying any of the things I dislike.”
“All the same, you could at least admit that you are frightened of some things. It will not do to pretend that you are fearless, even if your qualms are justified.”
He did not say another word, and they carried on in silence.
Beatrice, not knowing the route, thought that they might walk in a circle and end up where they started, and she was right.
When she saw the river again, she tried to continue walking ahead.
She did not want to upset Owen further, not after he had been so understanding, but she could not see why he was being so cold toward her for simply stating the truth.
He was afraid of a great many things, and as far as she was concerned, he had no reason to hide that fact from her.
Not only that, but the temptation to go for a swim was irresistible. After their long, meandering walk, the sun was hot, and the water looked cold. The inclination to plunge into the depths of the river became too much to bear.
“I can prove you wrong,” she muttered, “and I will.”
Without warning, she broke free from his arm and sprinted to the water’s edge.
She heard him calling after her, but she ignored him.
She had a point to prove, and she knew that once he saw it was perfectly safe, he would have no choice but to change his mind about everything and accept that he too had changes to make.
When she reached the water, she hesitated for a moment. It was most improper, and on the first visit too, but she knew what had to be done. All the children had already vacated the area. The villagers had gone back to their homes. Nobody else was there, and nobody would notice her but her husband.
And so, holding her breath, she leaped into the stream.