Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Beatrice?” Deborah breathed.
She’d heard the footsteps coming down the hall and had shoved her notes away just in time for the door of her room to be unlocked and swung open without so much as a knock.
She had been prepared to demand that Mrs. Kilborn give her more of a warning, but her reprimand had died on her lips as she saw the young woman standing meekly beside the matron.
Beatrice’s red-rimmed eyes grew wide with recognition, and she took a tentative step into the small room.
“Deborah? It is you?” Beatrice asked, her voice quaking.
“Oh, my days,” Deborah breathed, then let out a surprised laugh.
Not even a second passed before she was rushing past Mrs. Kilborn and into Deborah’s arms. Deborah embraced her friend at once, immediately feeling the waves of sadness rolling off her.
No, she thought sadly, not you too.
Mrs. Kilborn let out a rather unladylike grunt before she dryly asked, “I see you two know one another?”
“Oh, yes,” Deborah replied quickly. Gathering her composure, she turned to the matron with a confident look and gave her a nod. “Do not worry, Mrs. Kilborn. I shall keep her in line.”
Mrs. Kilborn looked them both over with obvious distaste.
“Be sure that you do,” Mrs. Kilborn replied grittily as she took a step back toward the door, “There is something a little uppity about this one.”
Deborah rolled her eyes as Mrs. Kilborn left them be.
“Pay her no mind; she said something similar about me when I first arrived,” she assured Beatrice, leading her to sit on her bed. She pulled away, and another pang in her heart as she saw the tears swimming in Beatrice’s eyes.
“Beatrice, the last I saw you were so very happy! What has happened?” She worriedly asked.
As if the question opened a floodgate, Beatrice burst into tears and leaned back into Deborah’s embrace.
Through her sobs, Beatrice told her tale.
She’d been purchased for a man’s brother to marry, the gentleman who had been dressed similarly, quite like siblings, it was not he that Beatrice had fallen in love with.
It was his brother, the very man , despite showing obvious affection for her, could not admit his feelings even to himself.
“Oh, sweet Beatrice, I am so very sorry,” Deborah offered, handing Beatrice a kerchief. “What an awful situation.”
“My heart,” Beatrice breathed, bringing the kerchief to her eyes, “It has never felt so much hurt. I think he loves me as well, but he is so…so worried about protecting his brother’s reputation that he ignores it.”
Deborah’s brows furrowed.
“What is so bothersome about his brother’s reputation?” She asked, and then her spine went stiff. “He is…he is not one of those men that goes to the auction for mistresses, is he?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Beatrice replied hurriedly.
Deborah relaxed upon hearing so, but only a little.
“Then what could be so awful about him?” Deborah asked.
Beatrice shook her head.
“Not a thing. Henry is a good man,” she insisted.
This only further perplexed Deborah. If he were such a good man, then why would he need a marriage to protect him? Still, despite her curiosity, Deborah did not push. Some secrets were allowed to be kept, and it seemed to her that Beatrice had good reason to keep that particular one.
“So,” Beatrice sniffled, seemingly a little calmer after baring her pain, “What on earth are you doing here? I thought all was well with you?”
Deborah let out a humorless laugh.
“It was for a while,” she confessed, “I believe that is how I ended up here. I allowed myself to become too comfortable. I forgot important things. Gravely important things and instead focused on too much joy and pleasure.”
She shook her head, willing the tears suddenly glistening in her eyes to go away, “But that is done now. I am back to my purpose, and I am formulating a plan.”
Beatrice gave her a confused look and then, to Deborah’s surprise, grinned.
“Could you be any more vague?” She asked, and both of them let out an exhausted laugh.
“I suppose since you told me your tale, I should tell you mine,” Deborah sighed, “But please keep it to yourself. The only other person who knows is my husband, and that did not end well.”
Pain lanced through her heart as she said the word. Husband. And it was not his fault that it did not end well. He was trying to help, but she had pushed him away for fear of her own distraction. It was not a man hurting a woman this time. It was she who had hurt him.
“Deborah, you cannot!” Beatrice whispered vehemently after Deborah told her everything, including the next step of her plan.
“You cannot go back there, Deborah; you do not know what they will do!” Beatrice insisted.
Deborah shook her head, her mind already decided on what she was about to do.
“I need to catch him. I need to make him pay for what he did to my sister,” Deborah replied, eerily calm despite everything, “And if that means going back to the auction and selling myself again, then so be it.”
Beatrice’s eyes shone with worry as she vehemently shook her head.
“He will recognize you. He will insist you are a threat to the business. He will not admit to anything, you know he will not!” Beatrice insisted, her voice rising to a shout.
“Easy, darling, easy,” Deborah soothed, reaching out to give Beatrice another quick hug. “Everything you said is true. Those are real possibilities. But they are the only possibilities I have left.”
Beatrice shook her head as she leaned out of Deborah’s embrace.
“There has to be another way,” Beatrice insisted. “Can you not ask your husband for more help? The way you described him, he seems very willing to do whatever he can to assist you.”
Another bout of pain, so ferocious that it nearly gagged her, hit Deborah square in the chest, causing her pent-up tears to break free.
“No,” she breathed, lowering her head. “No, I cannot rely on him anymore. I have to handle this myself.”