Chapter 17
Beatrice could hardly sleep the night before her friends arrived. She worried that she had not done enough to prepare, grinned at the thought of seeing them, tossed and turned in anticipation, and then she saw the sky lightening and at last gave into her exhaustion.
She had worked tirelessly in the household and wished that Owen had been more receptive of it, but she understood. That was how his home had been since before he was born, and it was a lot of change very suddenly and she could not blame him for being shocked.
She dressed for breakfast and met him at the table. Her appetite was incredible, and she did not have much time to prepare any last-minute treats that she thought of, which meant that she had to eat quicker than was polite. She noticed, however, that her husband was doing the same.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” she asked.
“Do you?”
“The kitchens,” she replied sheepishly. “I did not have the time to make biscuits late last night, so I hoped to make some now.”
“That is such a coincidence, for I was going to do the same.”
He smiled at her, and there was that familiar sense of longing that she had continually pushed aside.
He was most confusing, for his words told her that he wanted a simple arrangement, but then he went and acted in a way that proved otherwise.
She wished that she knew what he wanted, but it was a lovely way to be treated all the same.
“Would you like to assist me, then?”
“I thought you might prefer to spend some time resting, though you are more than welcome to join me. You have not stopped of late, and with the next week filled with activities I would rather you were prepared for it.”
“Oh. I would have liked to bake. It does help me relax, after all.”
“What if you watch me?” he suggested. “It would help me to know that I have not made any mistakes. Or, if you know of anything else that might be of assistance to you, it is done.”
Beatrice considered her options. It was tempting to ask him to help her, but then she considered how thoughtful it was of him to offer his help too, and she did not want him to think that she was not grateful.
She thought of the book she had begun the day before, and how she would not have time to finish it once their guests arrived, and it was far too tempting to turn down.
“I suppose it would be nice to try something you made alone,” she agreed. “And I can wait here if you need me.”
“Wonderful,” he said finally, finishing his meal and rushing from the table, pausing at the door and turning back to her. “This week will be a triumph, Beatrice. You have not allowed it to go any other way.”
He was acting out of sorts, and it unsettled her slightly, but she knew how people could be under pressure.
Her mother had been known to rearrange her flowers thirteen times before when she had company, not because she did not like how they looked but simply because she liked the number, and so if he was going to be more spritely than usual and offer to bake, she would not think anything of it.
She left for the drawing room, marveling at her work, and took her seat with her story. She was not interrupted once, and though part of her had hoped that he would want some time alone with her, she was proud of him for making such improvements so quickly.
When he did appear, plate of biscuits in hand, she closed her book happily and took the one he had offered her.
It was perfect; buttery and soft, with a nice chew and a perfect balance of rosewater.
He was studying her as she ate, and when she finished the morsel he looked at her as though he had handed her his life’s work and she had told him it had changed her life.
“I cannot believe that you like them!” he cheered.
“It is as I told you; you have a natural talent for it. Am I to tell my friends that you made them?”
“Not immediately. I want them to think that you made them first, so that they are honest with you. I want them to like them because they are good, not because a duke made them.”
Beatrice thought of Cecilia, and how she would give her opinion honestly regardless of who had made them.
Emma and Dorothy, on the other hand, would be grateful no matter what, which always made for interesting responses.
She did not tell Owen that, however, for it would only make him believe he had not done well, which she had to admit as she took another one that he had.
The biscuits stowed away, they made the final arrangements for their guests before resting. Beatrice could feel herself falling asleep, her body demanding that she stop, but the time for them to arrive was quickly approaching and her excitement kept her awake.
Emma was the first to arrive, and Beatrice expected nothing less.
She ran to the door, embracing her friend tightly before greeting her husband, Levi.
She was surprised to see that they had brought their children with them after all, for Emma indicated in her last letter that might not be the case.
The Duke and Duchess liked to take their holidays alone, and Beatrice was pleased that they had made an exception for her.
“I do hope that your journey was uneventful,” Beatrice smiled, watching them all go to the drawing room for drinks.
“They are all so good when traveling; I cannot fault them,” Emma said warmly. “They we so quiet, except for when one of them asked about you. They are all so very excited to see you.”
“As am I. It has been too long since I last saw them.”
Emma smiled sadly at her, not pointing out how the separation had been Beatrice’s choice.
Nothing had happened to divide them, but Beatrice had felt too much shame to go to them. The pitying looks were too much, as were the assurances that she would find true love as they all had, and it was easier to step away altogether.
“I do hope that Cecilia is not late,” Emma continued as they made their way to the room. “I want to have the tour, and I do not want to wait too long for them simply because she could not find her favorite necklace.”
“Truly, she has changed. She was once the one forcing us to be in the right place and at the right time.”
“Motherhood has been a blessing. It has made her soften, but I am beginning to wonder if it has made her too soft. One is supposed to have a stronger sense of urgency when they have a child to care for, but she acts as though–”
“It is wrong to discuss people in their absence,” Cecilia chuckled, appearing in the doorway with her husband and their twins.
The three ladies laughed, greeting one another followed by the children.
Cecilia had been positive all her life that she did not want children at all, only for her to be blessed with two at once.
It had been a shock, for she had carried small, but all were healthy and she and Leonard were most fulfilled.
Their arms, Beatrice acknowledged, also were, for the children were walking and that meant having to chase after them wherever they went.
She looked over at Owen, who was looking at them precariously.
There were many breakable things in the house, and though Beatrice knew that her friends would be watching over them, it was no surprise to her that her husband was apprehensive.
“They will not break anything,” she said to him, and he fixed his expression.
“Oh, I do not mind if they do, so long as they are not hurt. Things can easily be replaced.”
Beatrice wondered, if that was the case, why he looked so concerned, but then she remembered the river in the forest. It was unlikely that they would send the children off to play alone together, but she would warn them all the same.
When Dorothy arrived with her hoard of sons and daughters, the children all ran off together and left the adults to take their tour.
Beatrice, having been beside herself to do it, suddenly felt a wave of apprehension wash over her.
When her friends had moved to their new homes, their changes took a long time.
She had done hers in a matter of days, and she could only hope that they were to standard.
They all loved it, of course. They congratulated the couple several times, both on their home and their match.
Even Cecilia, who had doubted it from the start, seemed pleased for her.
The gentlemen left for a drink, and the ladies played a game of Whist in the parlor room, the children joining them intermittently before going to play again.
“He seems very different to the wedding,” Dorothy said. “More at ease.”
“That is because he has realized that he has not married some wild lady,” Cecilia joked. “He must have thought he was tying himself to a madwoman, and instead he has soft and sweet Beatrice.”
“I am not entirely soft and sweet!” she protested, but her friends only laughed affectionately at her.
“It is a compliment,” Cecilia pressed. “He is a very lucky man, and I hope he knows that.”
“He does, or at least I believe he does. That reminds me, I have something for you.”
“I have been most looking forward to this!” Emma clapped. “I have so missed your treats.”
She placed Owen’s biscuits in front of them, and they ate them happily, only to look at her cautiously. She knew that they could tell a difference and wondered if they would say as much.
“They are good,” Dorothy said as she finished one, “but they are different to yours. You never used rosewater in yours. Is it something you wanted to try?”
Unable to keep a secret, she came clean, and her friends sighed wistfully at the confession.
“I have never known a man look like him and yet make something so delicate,” Emma chuckled, taking another. “Have you been teaching him?”
“Not exactly. We baked together once, and he asked to try alone. He will be as good as me one day, I think, and I do not know whether to be pleased about that or not.”
“You most certainly should be,” Cecilia nodded. “It means that you will be the one to receive cakes and biscuits, rather than making them. Not only that, but you have something to do together. What luck that you found someone willing to try things.”
“Indeed, I am very fortunate in that respect. He has been a very good husband so far, although…”
“Although?” Emma echoed.
“I cannot help but feel as though he is keeping something from me. I do not know what it is, but he has moments where he keeps entirely to himself, and when that happens there is no reasoning with him.”
“Men are like that,” Emma soothed. “He will open to you in time. You must remember that you have not known one another for long, and it will change before you know it. That is how it was for all three of us.”
Beatrice remembered how it had been for them, but she had always told herself that she would not go through it herself. She did not want to admit such thoughts to them, but it was what had happened, and now she was in that very position.
It was easy to ignore, however, when the good in him was as good as it was.
“Now,” Cecilia said brightly, sensing her discomfort, “you simply must tell us what you have planned for this week!”
Beatrice did not know where to start.