Chapter 31
“Beatrice, what happened?”
Beatrice had been enjoying the laughter of the children when she arrived at Emma’s house. She had been taken to the drawing room, and at once was overcome with a desire to sleep. There had been very little rest for her of late, and her friend’s home brought an immense sense of comfort.
“Everything happened,” she sighed. “All you need to know is that the Duke and I have gone our separate ways, and we will remain as such.”
“But that does not make any sense. I saw the two of you. There is a lot of affection between you.”
“You did not see things correctly, I can assure you. He has never felt any form of affection for me, and he never will. He told me as such last night.”
“That cannot be. You have always tended to see things that are not there Bea, but-”
“It is true! His sister died, and because of that he believes he can never love anyone, me included, and so that is how it is. I will not force his hand a second time.”
Her friend still seemed uncertain, but her husband entered at that moment, and she did not press any further.
“Ah, Beatrice!” he greeted. “What a pleasure to see you. Is His Grace with you?”
“No, he is with the other lady he wanted to marry,” she replied.
It was more biting, crueler, than she had wanted to say it.
The statement was unfair, too; she had never once expected Owen to do anything against her with Helena, not only because Helena was her friend but because Owen had always made his feelings about Helena known.
She was a friend; someone he wished to help.
Someone, she winced, that he thought of as a sister.
“Oh, Beatrice,” Emma sighed. “You must not do that. You know as well as I do that he likes you, and that is not even the extent of it.”
“It is, especially after last night.”
“Does he know where you are?” Levi asked.
“No, nobody does but the footman. I suppose, if he cared, he would ask him upon his return, but I doubt that. He will likely be pleased to have his home to himself once more, for I am no longer in charge of it.”
“And why did you not return there?” Emma asked. “You are more than welcome here, I have always told you that, but what made you come here instead of there?”
“Because you were closer,” she lied.
The truth was, she wanted to go to Emma because she wanted to be searched for.
If Owen truly did want her, he would have to show her by doing more than following her home.
He had to try, and to prove himself. She did not expect him to do so, not even for a minute, but it was what she wanted even if that was foolish of her.
“Have a room prepared for her,” Emma said to Levi, which made him leave the room again.
“Beatrice, I have known you for years. You cannot lie to me and have it go unnoticed. I know that you built a bond with your housekeeper, and that you would not leave her without saying goodbye. Something has brought you here.”
Beatrice looked away for a moment and then explained her true reasoning.
“I wished to see the children too, of course,” she continued. “You have such sweet ones, and I enjoy spending time with them.”
“And they love you. Very well, if this is what you want, I shall give their nanny a day off and you can care for them. Should you and your husband be going your separate ways, I can assume that there shall be no heir, and if I am to be a mother, you are to experience it yourself for the day.”
Beatrice laughed softly, thanking her friend profusely.
Within the hour, she was out walking in the village with the children in tow.
They were all good children, particularly the eldest. He held Beatrice’s hand dutifully, and though he was still young he could clearly sense that something was wrong.
“Why have you come to see us?” he asked. “Mama usually tells us if we are to have guests.”
“She does, but this time it was urgent. I had to come here for a short while, which means I will be taking care of you sometimes. Will that be all right?”
“I suppose, although I like Mrs. Wyndham. She gives us sweets.”
“I can do that. I like to make them myself.”
“What? But you are a lady. Ladies do not make sweets.”
“I do. It is an enjoyable thing to do. Your mother and I have a friend that likes plants, and another that likes to write. Ladies can enjoy doing all sorts of things!”
“I like to climb trees. Is that good?”
“It is indeed, though I cannot say your mother would be most pleased if I let you.”
The little boy’s shoulders slumped, clearly upset that his plan had not worked. Unfortunately, Beatrice knew that her friend had been gracious in making space for her. If it led to the injury of her son, she would have felt dreadful.
“Where is your husband?” he asked. “Mama told me not to ask, but I cannot help it. He was strange.”
“Strange?”
“He is really big, but he was scared of us. He hardly came near us when we came to visit you.”
“Oh! You see, he was not scared at all. He simply–”
He had a sister that died as a child, scarring him. Even the sight of children has proven too much for him to bear. It was not that Owen avoided children, but that their presence overwhelmed him, and reminded him of his helplessness.
Was she any different?
“He was afraid of hurting you, because he is so tall and strong.”
“Nothing can hurt me! I am a big boy now, and I will be the Duke of Lupton one day. I am going to be in charge of looking after everyone.”
In spite of everything, Beatrice could not help but smile.
She and her friends had faced so much difficulty as girls, but Emma was not allowing her own children to suffer in the same way.
Her children were always going to feel that they could do anything, and it showed in how they carried themselves.
“You certainly have ambition,” she smiled.
“Of course! Papa has not told me everything about being a duke yet, but I know enough, I think. I want to be the Duke, but not yet.”
“Because you are still too little?”
“I am seven! I am not little!”
“Ah, my apologies.”
“No, I do not want to be the Duke yet because it will mean that my papa has died. I do not want that to happen.”
Even though his smile remained bright, Beatrice saw it falter, and she heard a slight tremble in his voice.
The notion of titles being inherited was difficult for any child to comprehend, but he seemed to understand it well.
Even so, Beatrice did not want the child to think about his father dying, especially not when the other children were within ear shot.
“Of course not,” she chuckled, noting the river they had come to. “Do any of you swim?”
“No, but we like to throw stones in the water.”
Beatrice noted the other people around, watching, and decided that was not the best way to spend their time.
“How about,” she suggested instead, “you all have a stick race?”
She took them to a small bridge and had them all collect some sticks. Then, she showed them how to drop them over at the same time to see which one passed under the bridge first.
They played well together, squealing each time the sticks reappeared, and though there were disagreements about whose was whose, there were no arguments.
Slowly, Beatrice stepped away from them, her eye on them all the while, so that she could truly take it in.
It was what she had wanted for herself; a loving family that enjoyed spending time with one another, but that was not meant to be.
She had the Hunter children, and it would be enough, but she knew that she would always have that dream in her mind of having her own.
“Your Grace?” a voice came.
Beatrice turned to see Lord Stanton, Owen’s friend, looking at her with a confused expression.
“Good afternoon, My Lord,” she greeted. “What brings you here?”
“I could ask the same of you. I live here. You, on the other hand, are supposed to be in the north if I am not mistaken. Did you both come home early?”
“Yes,” she agreed, then realizing that the lie would not last. “Well, no. His Grace and I had a dispute, and I cannot look at him the same anymore. I will not say too much, for you are his friend and I do not want you to see him differently.”
He paused for a moment, as if wondering whether he could say what he wanted to or not.
“He has told you about Lydia, then.”
“Did you know?”
“I did, though only because I have known him for a very long time. I am the only person other than his staff who knows the truth. Even Owen himself does not seem to know the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he blames himself entirely, even though it was not his fault at all. There was nothing that he could have done.”
“He said that he was the one who killed her.”
Lord Stanton frowned, watching the children just as she was.
“He took Lydia’s death very badly. She had an argument with their father and went for a ride in the woods, the ones behind the household. It was raining, and she went too close to the river. She was thrown in by her horse when she tried to jump across.”
Beatrice prickled, thinking of how hard Owen had tried to keep her from the forest. She remembered looking at the water, and how quickly it moved, and felt a knot in her stomach.
“He was the one who found her,” Lord Stanton continued.
“I can only imagine what she looked like, for he had never told me. All that I know is it changed him irreparably. He blames himself, because he thought that he could have made her stay. She had refused to let him join her, and he relented in the end, and that is why he feels guilty.”
“But her accident was not his fault.”
“I know, as does your housekeeper, but he does not believe it. He thinks that we are trying to make him feel better, and his guilt refuses to subside. I was skeptical when I met Lady Helena, for the resemblance was uncanny, but I thought it might help him if he was able to save a lady.”
Beatrice’s heart ached for her husband. She was furious with him, but she loved him too, and she wished she could have been the one to prove his innocence to him.
“It is an awful story,” she sighed. “But if he does not want to tell me all of this himself, and to try to mend things with me, then my mind is unchanged. What else could I possibly do?”
“I understand, even if I wish you could stay a while longer. You are a good match for him, you know. You force him to be happy, because one cannot be sad near you.”
It was an odd compliment to receive, Beatrice thought, but a nice one. She had never been complimented on her beauty or her intelligence, but being told that she made people feel happy seemed to outweigh either of those.
“You are most kind, but I do not think that I made him that happy. If I did, he would have trusted me more.”
“I believe that is precisely why he could not tell you. Owen has been sullen for a long time, not knowing what to do with himself, and when you came into his life you changed that. I suspect that he was afraid of being honest with you and ruining it.”
“But that was all I wanted from him.”
“And he was honest with you, and what happened?”
“I… I left.”
The children looked over at that moment, running to them.
Their hands were all empty, showing her that they had finished their game.
Beatrice thought that was the perfect time for them to return to the household, for she was having to confront terrible things by speaking with Lord Stanton, and she did not like how it made her feel.
“I ought to return them to their mother,” she explained quickly.
“Where are you staying?”
“With the Duke and Duchess of Lupton. For now, at least.”
Lord Stanton nodded and said his goodbyes to her and all the children.
“Who was he?” the oldest asked as they made their way home.
“One of my husband’s friends.”
“But not yours?”
“Well, I suppose he is. He is a kind man, in any case.”
“Good. I like you, and I think you should have friends who are kind.”
Beatrice smiled, and when they returned home the little boy hugged her legs tightly before running off to join the others.
“He is quite taken with you,” Emma noted, standing in a doorway. “If I am not careful, he may try to hide in your bag when you leave.”
“Which will be soon, I can assure you. I do not mean to intrude for long.”
“You are welcome to stay as long as you need. It would seem the children would like you to remain here for a while.”
Beatrice considered it. It was a beautiful home and the children were sweeter than sugar. If Emma wanted her to stay, she could accept the invitation without any issues. Almost… for Owen was not there which meant that they could not settle their differences.
“Would you call me a fool if I said I want to mend my marriage?”
“No, I would say that you are finally thinking properly.”
“But what if it is the wrong thing to do?”
“Beatrice, let me ask you something. Do you need me to be a Dorothy to you, or a Cecilia?”
Beatrice laughed softly. Dorothy was always gentle and optimistic, whereas Cecilia was rough and insistent. She wanted the former, but she knew she needed the latter.
“A Cecilia.”
“Very well,” she replied, clearing her throat.
“Do you think that you are the only lady who has ever struggled? Cecilia’s husband was outright accused of killing his brother, and he did not know how to navigate that until Cecilia showed him.
No, your husband is not perfect, but nobody ever is.
You have a good man, and if you continue to be stubborn because he is not always easy to love, you will be lonely all your life. ”
It was the firmest that her friend had ever been with her, and it was exactly what she needed to hear.
“Then I shall wait for word that he has returned, and I will go to him.”
Even as she said it, she was shaking.