Chapter 19
Beatrice could scarcely breathe, let alone sleep, which led to a very difficult night.
As she ate her breakfast the next day, all that she could think of was the way her husband looked at her, and how he had told her exactly what she had always wanted to hear.
However, what kept her awake all night was the way he made her feel as he said it.
There was something stirring within her, and she did not know quite what it was, but she knew she had to find out.
Fortunately, she had her greatest friends visiting.
When she told them, however, they all looked at one another and smiled knowingly, and embarrassment washed over her as she wondered if she had said something completely ridiculous.
“We knew that it would happen eventually,” Emma chuckled. “Congratulations, Beatrice, you have fallen for your husband.”
“No, I– I most certainly have not. That is not the sort of marriage that we have. You know precisely what we have, and it will not change. It cannot.”
“Why not?” Dorothy asked. “It is not as though we entered our marriages expecting to be completely adored, and yet here we are. Why should you be any different?”
Because I do not deserve it, she thought.
“The three of you are exceptions. There are many more marriages in London that are miserable. Owen and I are friends, and I am grateful enough for that. I do not need to add feelings into it all and make a mess when we are perfectly fine as we are.”
“And yet, you want to,” Dorothy finished for her. “You cannot claim the contrary. We saw the way you followed him yesterday, and the way you looked for him when the gentlemen entered the room. There is nothing wrong with feeling that way about the man you will be spending your life with, you know.”
“Of course, but that is not what is happening.”
Except that it was. He had always intrigued her, for she knew nothing about him when he was poised to marry her friend, but that was precisely why they could never be anything more.
“I understand that you want me to happy,” she sighed, “but I already am. I like the way things are. It is simple, and it is far less complicated than it would be if we allowed feelings to meddle.”
With that, Cecilia gestured to Dorothy and Emma, and they left the room.
Beatrice felt her pulse quicken, for she and Cecilia had always had a greater understanding of one another.
Beatrice had been the first to suspect Cecilia of her writing, and now Cecilia was looking at her as if she knew a secret of her own.
“I am not going to pass judgment,” she said kindly, “but you must understand that you are being unfair to yourself. I have always thought that you needed to follow what you want more, and this is proof of it.”
“Cecilia, I am telling you, all of this is what I want.”
“But is it the truth? Tell me, why is it that you always encouraged the three of us to fall in love, and you could not be happier that your friend now is, but when it comes to your own match you will not even consider it?”
“Because I do not deserve it,” she confessed. “I knew precisely what sort of match I was to have, and my husband is the one that told me how it would be. If the Duke wishes to maintain our separate spaces, I must honor his wishes.”
“And that could change! You could–”
“Cecilia, please, I do not wish to discuss it. I know that you have all found great happiness, and I could not be happier for you, but my own match is fine enough as it is. I do not want it to be any other way.”
Even though Beatrice could not say the words aloud she acknowledged in her heart that she did indeed want more. She wanted romance and love, and that was something that she could not have given the circumstances of her match.
“Very well, I shall concede. When you feel like being honest with me, I would very much like to help you.”
“Well, there is something you might be able to help me with. Do you think there is something strange about him?”
“About your husband? He is quieter than other dukes, but he seems relatively normal, I would say.”
“But does he seem to be hiding something?”
Cecilia leaned forward, head tilted to one side. Beatrice had hoped that her most intuitive friend might have noticed what she had, but it appeared that there was nothing out of sorts to anyone but her.
“You know him more than I do,” Cecilia countered. “What have you noticed?”
“He seems to be hiding something from me, and I do not know what it is, but I do not like it. You say that I should have greater feelings for him, and you are right, but how can I do that when there is something so secretive about him?”
“I see. You are right; you cannot love someone who you believe to be untrustworthy, but do you have any inclination as to what he might be keeping from you? It might not even be anything at all.”
“Well, I found some writings about girls that passed away here. They were all nearly the same age, and even though their deaths happened in different ways, they were all tragic. I asked him about them… the girls…and their strange illnesses or accidents, and he brushed it off, but I noticed that the articles went missing after our conversation.”
Cecilia was breathing steadily, but her gaze was sharp. Beatrice knew then and there that she had a right to be concerned, for her friends had wanted her not to worry.
“That is certainly odd, but I would not think too much of it. It could have been anything. You know that some old houses in the country are rather treacherous.” Her cool gaze flitted around the newly redesigned room.
“Then why would he take the papers away and refuse to tell me anything more?”
“Because it is as you say. You have not known one another for very long, and just as you are unwilling to open yourself to him, he is not prepared to do the same for you. Had you been trying to build a bond, and he had been shirking it off, I would have thought there was something more sinister, but as it stands it seems to me that neither of you wish to trust one another. Not yet, at least.”
“I do want to trust him, but how can I when he is so secretive?”
“You ask him what is happening,” she said coolly. “One of you will have to start the more difficult conversations, and if it is not him, then it must be you. It is not that difficult, Bea.”
“But I have never been the one to speak out of turn. It is not in my nature to be loud and outspoken.”
“It was when you thought I had done something wrong.”
“In my defense, you had.”
Cecilia laughed, and Beatrice joined her. She remembered the conversation well, and how Cecilia had outright refused any responsibility for her articles, only to confess the truth afterward. Perhaps, Beatrice considered, she was more intuitive than she allowed herself to believe.
And, if that were true, she may well have realized something about her husband that nobody else had. It should have been comforting, proof that she knew him, but it only came with fear. Something was wrong, and she did not know anything further than that.
Regardless, she could not discuss the matter with her husband even if she wanted to, for they were to play Pall Mall that day, and as hosts they could not leave their guests unattended for what could easily become a dispute.
That was what Beatrice told herself, at least. It was an excuse, but a good one, all things considered.
When time came for them to go to the gardens, Beatrice cast a glance over the wooded area once again.
She remembered how she had felt when at risk of being caught there, and she bristled.
There had to be something wrong with the estate, and she thought of dozens of reasons before settling on the fact that there were issues in the building, places where a draft could come in and cause a cold and she had mended them.
If not that, then there had to be a curse of some kind.
She hated her imagination for even considering it, but it was what happened. All the tragic deaths, the forest area being forbidden, the secrets her husband kept from her, all of it made her feel as though it had to be something sinister.
She did not say a word of it to her friends, of course.
They already thought she was mad because of the way she had mentioned nearly kissing her husband, then denied having any real feelings for himi.
If she were to claim that something awful was happening in her home, they might have sent her to Bedlam altogether.
“Are you familiar with the game?” Owen asked her, handing her a mallet. “That is my lucky one, by the way. It ought to help you.”
“I am indeed. I played with Emma a few times, though I will not claim to be particularly skilled.”
They walked a while longer, and Beatrice knew she would not have a better way to ask him what she wanted to.
“Your lucky mallet?” she asked.
“Of course. It has always been my favorite. You may use it, if you like, but I must insist upon sharing it with you.”
“Do you believe in superstitions such as that? I had not thought that you would.”
“I do not,” he said bluntly. “I tend to see the world in a very simple way, though I do admire people who allow themselves to believe. I shall never be afraid of a black cat, if that is what you are wondering.”
“Perhaps we might have one, then?” she suggested. “I should like a companion.”
“Am I not companionable enough?” he joked, and before she could reply they had reached the game.
“The youngest has always been first in our household,” Emma explained. “What of yours?”
“What my wife means is that she always insists on it,” Levi replied, laughing.
“I like that rule,” Owen agreed. “That would be you, Beatrice, would it not?”
Beatrice nodded, but her throat was dry. She did not want to be first and have everyone watching her. She had played a few times, and it was not a particularly difficult game, but there was something about being watched that made her feel ill at ease.
She took her shot, and it went far better than expected. She was already near the first point, and the others applauding her gave her a sense of satisfaction that she was not used to.
The game continued and overtime the group split apart to move to their balls. Beatrice was with Levi and Leonard, who continued to be surprised by how well she was doing.
“I must say,” Levi said as they made their way around, “I did not expect this from you at all.”
“Did you practice as a girl?” Leonard asked.
“Heavens, no. My father never would have allowed that. I had to be a proper lady, which meant anything like this was out of the question. If he saw me right now, lifting my skirts to improve my stance, he would be positively apoplectic.”
“That is a shame. I was hoping that I was at least going to be beaten by a lady that had years of experience.”
“You may blame your wife,” she said to Levi. “She is the one who made me start playing with her in the first place.”
“I blame your husband,” he chuckled. “In all the years that I have known you, you have never been so eager to mingle. I would say that your match has been making you stronger, which is no doubt because of how much he likes you.”
He said it as she took her shot, and she was so thrown by his words that she missed her mark entirely..
The ball went straight into the woods.