Chapter 11
Afew days later, when Aunt Nellie came to check in on things, they invited her to stay for tea in the drawing room.
Reese asked Beatrice, “How did you keep from going mad while you were trapped?”
The other women paused their conversations and turned their attention to Beatrice, who looked remarkably better than she had even days ago.
Color had returned to her cheeks, and she sat with confidence, no longer gripping the portrait frame in fear.
Across from her, Evangeline set down her cup and folded her hands quietly in her lap.
“It was not as though I was always aware,” Beatrice said. “Much of the time, I wandered as though in a dream. On occasion, I lost myself entirely.”
Reese shivered and clenched her hands. “What do you mean?”
“I know not how to explain except that I would sometimes become aware of surroundings only to realize quite a lot of time must have passed. The fashions had changed, you see. People who visited Twickenham regularly had grown older.” Beatrice’s eyes grew distant and haunted.
“It was as though I had not existed for a time.”
Without a word, Evangeline reached across and covered her sister’s hand with her own. Beatrice stilled, then turned her palm upward and held on.
“It was not until George... Mr. Addington returned to Twickenham a little more than twelvemonth past that it ceased to happen.” Her cheeks turned pink, and she ducked her head to give her attention to her cup.
His return to the past had been enough to keep her present, even in that in-between state? Reese had to bite back a smile. George’s interest obviously wasn’t one-sided.
“Did you see him during his first visit?” Ellen asked gently.
Beatrice’s flush deepened as she nodded, which meant she had witnessed him fall in love with his first wife.
“I also recall you and your friends during your first visit,” Beatrice continued, her voice growing stronger now. “I could see more easily when you were around. Your husband’s antics to gain your attention then were quite entertaining.”
“Do tell.” Reese leaned forward. She and Jem had been at odds then, and she had tried to stay clear of him by visiting Ellen here at Kellworth, while he’d had to remain behind at Twickenham.
“Perhaps you should ask him,” Beatrice suggested, her voice sly but her eyes teasing. “I must say he was quite creative in his efforts.”
“I think I will.” Reese had gotten him to admit to a few of the things he’d done to win her, but she was sure he hadn’t told her everything.
“Would you mind telling us more about what you experienced?” Ellen asked in her gentle way. “But only if you wish to.”
Beatrice set down her teacup and glanced around the room at the women. Her gaze lingered on Reese.
“While I wandered the house in my in-between state, I observed George court his lady,” Beatrice began, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It was lovely to see. Mary was frightened, and he was so kind to her. When I was young, I dreamed I would have a happier marriage than my parents did. Father had cared only about Mother’s dowry, but I wanted a man to see me as more.
I wished for a husband who would be a friend and a sweetheart, a man who would cherish me as George did Mary. ”
Noise from the doorway made them all turn, and Beatrice’s cheeks went a flaming red.
George stood there, with Jem and the other men behind him, the quiet ache on his face intense.
“Please continue,” George said.
Beatrice clutched her hands in her lap and stared at them.
“When I heard you lost her, I ached for you. Especially when I saw the consequences of hatred in the pain you inflicted inadvertently on your grandson and my great-niece.” She looked up and met George’s gaze.
“But then you came to this time determined to make amends.
Sometimes you would pause in front of my portrait, and it seemed you were truly seeing me.
“In the beginning, I was sure it was wishful thinking on my part, that I was allowing my imagination to take over. I feared I might finally be losing my mind. I would call out to you as though you could hear me.” She gave a bitter laugh.
“So many times over the years I had tried that but to no avail. I knew it was foolish to even try.”
“No, it wasn’t. I felt something I couldn’t understand,” George said, crossing to her side and taking her hand with surprising gentleness. He kissed it lightly, and her pale cheeks colored again.
Jem had come to stand beside Reese, and she rested her head against his arm.
“It’s like one of those romance novels you love so much,” he murmured so only she could hear. “Fiction come to life.”
“You said you ached for me,” George said, his voice rough.
“I had... have such loathing for what I attempted to do that night. But when I looked at your painting, I felt hope that I could one day be forgiven. Not that I didn’t understand why, but you drew me to it. So, I don’t think it was silly at all.”
“Knowing what finally happened, I agree it wasn’t.
” Beatrice smiled, and her voice grew stronger still.
“Because something shifted. One time when I called, you turned as though you had heard me. You blinked and stared at me with such intensity that I wept for hours afterward. I prayed I wasn’t losing my mind.
But then it happened again. And yet again.
“You, George, were the first crack in the door to my prison.” Beatrice’s gaze swept the room until it landed on Reese. “Then you came again, dear Clarisse.”
Reese was wiping the corner of her eyes and straightened.
“I already admired your strength of character, but then you bullied everyone to help with the tenant village.
While I could not see you there, your reputation traveled back to Twickenham with every servant who returned after laboring at Kellworth.
I knew what you had done long before I could hear you clearly.
“Over and over again, I watched you choose. You chose love without losing yourself. I confess I believe the magic knew not what to do with you.”
Jem chuckled, and Reese sent him a mock glare before saying dryly, “I totally fought against it tooth and nail.”
“And yet look at you now. You appear to have made peace with it because you have returned to your friends in this time more than once.” Beatrice’s eyes took on a twinkle.
“It was during your second visit that your presence made the wall of my prison shimmer.
It gave me hope, but then you were gone again.
“When Aunt Nellie put my portrait in a bedroom, I despaired that I would never see George again, either. But then you and your love arrived.” She leaned forward. “And the fog lifted. For the first time, I could hear you clearly.”
Reese shivered, and she had to blink back more tears. “I had no idea. But I’m honored to have helped, even though I had no idea I was doing it. I’m so happy you broke free.” She sniffed, and Jem handed her a handkerchief.
Aunt Nellie sat quietly, the corners of her mouth curving up, her eyes gleaming with what might be new understanding.
Catherine must have been watching the Fae woman too because she asked, “Have you figured something out, Aunt Nellie?”
“Perhaps in part, though we may never fully understand what happened,” Nellie said. “As with the rare set of circumstances that trapped Lady Beatrice in the first place, it must have been another combination that released her. Though you must remember, I have never experienced this before.”
She rose and came to stand near Beatrice’s chair.
“I have spent most of my very long life studying the manor’s magic.
I work within the power as it ebbs and flows between the full moons, painting portraits so unsuspecting travelers can return to their own time if they choose.
I have seen the magic’s intent, as when I was prompted to paint your portrait and forty years later when it nudged me to place it in the room assigned to Clarisse and Jamison. ”
A soft light settled in Nellie’s eyes, making Reese think it was less from surprise than watching something long hoped for finally come about.
“However,” Nellie said, “what I believe truly brought this about, my dear, was you.”
Beatrice blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you. And what you carry within you.” Nellie tilted her head.
“Consider how long you were trapped and yet did not succumb to despair or madness.
And in Reese, you found inspiration in another woman who was trapped by circumstance, yet who fought her situation by working diligently to make things better for the people she met. You, Lady Beatrice, chose hope.
“Now you must understand the magic is not a sentient being. However, it does respond to intent,” Nellie cautioned.
“You admired George’s love for his wife, and you were moved by it.
But with Reese, you found a kindred spirit, a woman who would defy the expected shape of things.
I believe you were drawn to the spark in her that you have in yourself, though you may not have yet recognized it.
How else could you have survived all those years, trapped as you were? ”
Ellen sighed, sending her great-aunt an admiring look. “And when you were finally able, you escaped.”
“Exactly,” Reese agreed, wiping the corners of her eyes.
Nellie nodded with satisfaction. “And that, my dear, is a kind of miracle that even magic must respect.”
A comfortable quiet settled over the room. George still held Beatrice’s hand, and she seemed in no hurry to reclaim it.
“Catherine, have you sent out the invitations we made for the dinner party?” Ellen asked.
“Yes.” Catherine leaned back in her chair. “Since this will be Beatrice’s introduction to society again, everyone must be clear on her story.”
Reese pointed to the empty portrait. “What will the guests think of that?”
Beatrice paled but slowly rose from her chair, finally pulling her hand from George’s, who looked like he might grab her at any moment.
She took a step away from the painting. Everyone held their breath, but nothing happened.
“I have been practicing in my room,” Beatrice explained a little breathlessly. She took another step away from the portrait, and then another. Still, nothing happened.
“Are you free then from it?” Evangeline exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
“I believe so.” With a determined set to her jaw, Beatrice strode to the door.
George was at her side in an instant, Evangeline close behind. Everyone else hurried to the doorway.
Reese said a silent prayer as Beatrice walked down the hallway, first five steps, ten, then fifteen, each putting more distance between herself and the portrait that had held the door open for forty years, waiting for this moment. She turned back to them, her face radiant.
Beatrice was truly free.
“Ugh. I’m going to cry. Again!” Reese waved her hands before her face, her voice coming out rough. The other ladies sniffled beside her, and Ellen handed Reese a handkerchief.
George looked as if he wanted to sweep Beatrice into his arms but seemed to restrain himself. Good for him to recognize the importance of her savoring this victory on her own terms.
“Well,” Catherine said, dabbing at her eyes. “That’s settled.”
They lingered in the doorway for Beatrice to return to them, her steps confident and unhurried now.
“Did anyone tell you the story we concocted for your absence?” Reese asked, glancing at the others.
“Grandmama explained it, did she not?” Ellen asked her great-aunt.
“Yes, Evangeline told me.” Beatrice pinched her lips, though she looked amused. “People certainly will not believe what really happened, so an enchanting fairytale of how I fell in love with a prince and eloped with him should work well enough.”
They returned to the drawing room, Beatrice pointedly not glancing at the empty portrait, though she did lift her chin as she walked past it. They reviewed the specifics again of Beatrice’s fictional life abroad.
“It will be a few short weeks before we make the trip to London for the Season,” Catherine noted. “This will give us time to memorize the details.”
“I hope it will suffice.” Evangeline smoothed her skirts. “I fear whispers may still arise.”
“They always did,” Beatrice said, her voice dry. “You and I both know I was never particularly good at being invisible.” She glanced at her sister, kindly and a little wistfully. “Though you always were far better at pretending not to notice.”
Evangeline let out a soft, surprised laugh, the kind that came from somewhere old and shared. “Someone had to be.”
“Haters gonna hate,” Reese said.
“Sadly true,” Catherine agreed. “Memories of scandals never seem to die among the Ton. There will be plenty of people who remember her disappearance all those years ago, and they will talk, regardless of what we say.”
“Well, I, for one, am happy to be with my family again.” Beatrice gave a happy sigh. “Their vicious tongues cannot take that away from me.”
“Good answer.” Reese glanced at the empty portrait, then at Nellie, who observed them all placidly. “What will you do with the painting? Will you take it back to Twickenham?”
Nellie tilted her head, considering. “I could. But...” She shifted her gaze to Beatrice, looking thoughtful. “I could paint you a new one, my dear. A fresh portrait, should you ever wish to travel.”
The room went still.
Beatrice’s hand found George’s again, gripping tightly. “Travel?”
“To George’s time, perhaps,” Nellie said gently. “If you ever wish to. A portrait simply allows you to travel to any time in which your painting exists. It would give you a choice, one you may decline.”
George’s expression was carefully neutral, but Reese saw the hope flicker in his eyes before he tamped it down.
Beatrice shook her head slowly, not so much in refusal as in wonder. “But why would I ever risk it?”
“Because the magic should be a gift and not a prison,” Nellie said. “Unfortunate accidents do happen, as we discovered with George’s Mary. And now you. I simply wish you to know that you have a choice about traveling.”
“Your portrait would also be a kind of protection, wouldn’t it?” Reese asked. “I mean, you could just stay away from Twickenham, especially on a full moon, but it would let you control any return if you were ever snatched again.” She shifted to Nellie. “Wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said simply.
Beatrice’s eyes had widened. She met George’s gaze and slowly nodded. “Though I doubt I would ever be brave enough to travel on purpose.”
“Then I shall paint you,” Nellie said.
Watching Beatrice reclaim not just her freedom but her agency... Reese blinked hard. Some battles were won quietly, over time, with patience and hope.
This felt like one of them.