Chapter 26
The next morning dawned pale and cold, the light dimmed by a thin veil of clouds. Beatrice had slept fitfully because there was so much to do.
Today’s hours would be filled with final lists, confirmations, and quiet reassurances—ribbons to check, linens to sort, breakfast to plan, carriages to prepare.
Amelia’s wedding and Pip’s christening would take place tomorrow. A joyful tangle of events, but a tangle nonetheless.
Beatrice rose earlier than usual and dressed in a modest dove-gray gown suited to work rather than display. Halfway down the stairs, she paused.
Edward stood at the bottom. He looked up when she reached the last steps.
He had clearly not expected her; his eyebrows rose in surprise. He wore a dark morning coat, his cravat tied with perfect precision, his hair slightly tousled as though he had run a hand through it too many times. A newspaper was tucked under his arm.
They both stopped. Both of them hesitated before arranging their expressions into something polite.
“Good morning,” Beatrice greeted, her tone crisp despite the unease beneath her skin.
“Good morning,” Edward returned in the same tone. “You’re up early.”
“As are you.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I thought I would look over the accounts before breakfast.”
“And I,” she replied lightly, “thought I should review the last of the christening arrangements. Tomorrow will arrive faster than anyone expects.”
He nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow. I have a few matters to settle as well. Simon sent a note—they’ll be here shortly to go through the schedule.”
“Good,” she uttered, relieved. “The smoother tomorrow goes, the better for all of them.”
He agreed with a quiet hum, shifting the paper under his arm. “And for Pip, especially.”
Beatrice smiled faintly. “Yes. She’ll grow up knowing the truth, surrounded by everyone who loves her.”
Edward looked thoughtful. “It is a relief the scandal won’t follow her. Or them. Pip’s parentage is settled. Amelia and Simon are finally doing what they should have done long ago.”
Beatrice nodded with a sigh. “They love her. That’s all that matters.”
“Yes,” Edward agreed. “The wedding and christening will make that plain to everyone.” Warmth flickered briefly across his face.
“It’s good,” Beatrice said softly. “Pip deserves all of it. And they deserve her.”
He nodded firmly. “They do.”
Silence stretched.
Beatrice stepped off the stairs. Edward moved to the side to give her space, the movement almost cautious.
She folded her hands. “Speaking of scandals…” she began quietly.
Edward raised an eyebrow. “Miss Verity?”
A small breath escaped her. “Yes. It still troubles me, not knowing who did it. Who took the name. Who took the words.” Her voice lowered. “It was such a good imitation. Whoever did it knows how she sounds. How I sound.”
Edward’s expression shifted—protective, controlled. “We will find out who it was. The article may be old now, but its consequences linger.”
The word we brushed against her like an unexpected touch.
“They do,” she murmured. “And I would like to know why someone would do such a thing.”
He cleared his throat. “But the article… It suggested that Miss Verity had insight into the matter. As though she was the one to uncover the truth.”
Beatrice stiffened. “That is not what Miss Verity was meant to be.”
“I know,” he said gently.
“Whoever stole her…” She swallowed hard. “Stole everything she stood for.”
Before Edward could respond, footsteps sounded in the entrance hall. Immediately, they straightened. The conversation about Miss Verity dropped cleanly between them.
The front door opened.
“Forgive the early hour,” Simon said as he and Amelia entered, her arm looped through his. “We hoped to see you before the day began.”
“You’re always welcome,” Beatrice said smoothly.
Amelia smiled at her, soft and bright. Her cheeks were pink from the morning chill, but Simon was looking at her as though she were the only person in the room.
Beatrice’s heart swelled at the sight.
“Good morning,” Amelia said warmly. “I hope we’re not intruding.”
“Not at all,” Beatrice assured, waving them forward with a small smile. “We were just… discussing matters.”
Simon looked between them. “Amelia and I… we are grateful. Truly. For everything you have done.”
Amelia nodded, her voice earnest. “Pip is safe. And she knows us. She knows us, Your Grace. She fell asleep on Simon’s shoulder last night.” Her eyes shone. “I never thought we would have that.”
Simon squeezed her hand with a tenderness that made something flutter in Beatrice’s chest—something that felt like longing, or envy, or admiration.
Amelia leaned closer to him. “We wanted to go over the plans for tomorrow,” she said eagerly. “The carriages, the ceremony—oh, and the flowers arrived early.”
Simon squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. “She barely slept from excitement.”
Amelia flushed. “Simon.”
He smiled down at her, then cleared his throat. “I love seeing you this excited, I won’t allow anything steal that away.”
Amelia’s cheeks turned pink and she smiled, “You were absolutely charming while speaking to my parents about the cancellation of my earlier scheduled wedding. I was terribly charmed.”
Simon chuckled lightly, pulling Amelia closer still, “I’d love you fiercely if that’s what you want, I’d also love you tenderly if that’s what you want.”
Beatrice clapped her hands to her chest, her heart filled with joy at the couple.
Simon looked at Beatrice and Edward. “Well, we thought we might take breakfast together. If you’re free.”
Edward gestured toward the breakfast room. “We were just heading in.”
Amelia beamed. “Perfect.”
As the four of them walked into the breakfast room, Simon leaned toward Amelia, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with a tenderness that made her blush.
Beatrice saw it and felt a gentle warmth bloom inside her—happiness for them both. After months of turmoil, they were finally settled, finally safe, finally choosing each other without hesitation.
It felt right. It felt earned. Seeing them like this eased something inside her.
The last notes of the recessional faded as Amelia and Simon stepped back into the aisle, hand in hand, their faces luminous with quiet joy.
The wedding had been sweet and simple. Just two people who had finally found their way back to each other.
Cecily sniffed loudly from the front pew. “Oh, they’re lovely,” she whispered.
Margaret nodded with such vigor that her bonnet trembled. Beatrice laughed under her breath. Sebastian gave Simon a proud nod.
Guests rose to their feet with warm applause and murmured congratulations. Pip, now cradled in Amelia’s arms, blinked curiously at the sound, her tiny mouth forming an O of surprise. She had been bundled into a small ivory gown for the wedding, and Amelia kept smoothing it with tender strokes.
When the applause died down, the vicar beckoned the small congregation to the baptismal font. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden ribbons across the stone floor and softening the solemnity of the moment.
Beatrice stepped forward, smoothing her gloves over and over. Edward came to stand beside her, his hands clasped behind him.
They exchanged a brief nod of acknowledgment, both of them taking their places as godparents. They both knew the importance of their role today, and both turned their attention to Amelia, who approached with Pip cradled close.
Mrs. Hart, standing proudly near the front, looked so close to tears.
Simon rested a steadying hand on Amelia’s back, his new ring catching the light. He glanced down at their daughter with a smile that held immense love. “She’s ready,” he announced.
The vicar welcomed them all with a warm expression.
“Today we christen this child, born into uncertainty but now embraced in truth, family, and love. What name do her parents give her?” His voice echoed gently beneath the high arches.
Amelia swallowed, her voice trembling with emotion. “Eliza. Eliza Beatrix Pembroke.”
A soft murmur of approval rippled through the guests.
Cecily whispered, “A pretty name,” while Mrs. Hart dabbed at her eyes.
Beatrice felt warmth bloom inside her. Eliza finally had her rightful name, spoken aloud with joy, not fear.
Beatrix…
The name carried a piece of her, a soft reflection tucked into Eliza’s. It was a gift, a link she would always share with the child, a promise of care, guidance, and steadfast presence.
She straightened slightly, brimming with tender pride at being entrusted with something so precious.
The vicar looked at the godparents. “His Grace, the Duke of Wrexford, and Her Grace, the Duchess of Wrexford, do you stand as godparents to Eliza, promising to guide her in faith and in life?”
Beatrice stepped forward, her voice steady. “I do. I promise to support her with kindness and truth, and to stand by her as she grows up.”
As soon as she stepped back, she felt Edward move beside her. His reply was calm and sure. “I do. I promise to protect her, offer her counsel when she seeks it, and uphold her place in this family with honor.”
His voice wavered a little at the end.
Beatrice refused to look at him for more than a fraction of a second. It was safer that way.
Eliza whimpered softly when the water touched her forehead, then settled again. Brave little thing. So small, and yet somehow the center of everything.
As the blessing concluded, the vicar placed her into Beatrice’s arms. Her heart swelled.
Eliza’s weight was light but grounding. Her tiny fingers curled into the hem of Beatrice’s sleeve.
“You’re all right,” Beatrice whispered, rocking her gently. “You’re safe.”
When the congregation murmured the final Amen, the chapel seemed to brighten. Eliza’s breath tickled her wrist.
Edward stood beside her, closer now, watching the child’s face with an expression Beatrice couldn’t quite decipher. Something soft, something steady. She didn’t look at him for long.