Chapter 3
Beatrice had left right before dawn. Had slipped out of the inn without a word to anyone.
She could have left at midnight, traveled through the night to reach Vivienne’s, but then that would mean arriving at Pendleton in the middle of the night, when no one was awake to receive her.
They may even have thought she was some kind of thief if she showed up at three in the morning banging on the front door.
So she had risen with the dawn, sleeping restlessly in order to make sure that she heard the first crowing of the rooster.
In almost total darkness, she had dressed in a simple riding habit and boots, taken only a few essentials for her saddle bag, and then slipped out of the room she was sharing with Mrs. Hughes.
Fortunately, she knew Mrs. Hughes was a heavy sleeper. Two years of living together in France had taught her that.
Down in the stables, she’d found one of her horses from the carriage. Her favorite, Stormy, was already awake, and he had looked at her with large brown eyes as she crept into the stables.
“Are you ready for an adventure?” she’d whispered, as she slipped the saddle over him and the bit between his teeth. “We are going to go visit an old friend.”
He had given a small, gentle whinny, and it had felt like encouragement. And after feeding him some oats and apples, they embarked on their grand adventure together.
These memories swirled through Beatrice’s mind as she fought her way through the darkness. What had happened after that? She had found a river. She had thought it would be a good idea to cool herself by going for a swim?
Was that correct?
She couldn’t remember. Memories were moving like flashes through her eyes.
She kept seeing the road unfurling in front of her from the back of Stormy, intermingled with terrifying images of water all around her, choking her, making it impossible to see.
Water pulling her down into its depths. Water blurring her vision.
Water with its icy fingers, drowning her, taking her low into the blackness from which she could never escape…
But no.
There were other memories emerging now.
The note that she had sent ahead with the mail coach last night, just before supper: a note to Vivienne telling her that she was coming to stay.
The note would have arrived late at night, but it was unlikely that the butler would have woken Vivienne to tell her of its arrival.
She would receive it this morning, probably reading it over breakfast. She would then happily await the arrival of her friend.
Hopefully, then, she would grow concerned when Beatrice did not arrive.
But why will I not arrive? Am I not still on horseback, making my way to Pendleton Manor after a quick dip in the river?
Her face felt heavy, her eyes blank. They were closed, she realized. She tried to open them, but she could not. A fog was filling her brain.
Do not try to wake… A voice whispered in her head. Whose voice was it? It sounded like her mother’s.
Her mother… Lady Ashford… Who had been dead these past four years.
A memory bloomed in front of Beatrice’s mind’s eyes. Vivienne entering Beatrice’s bedchamber, dressed all in black, her face very pale and her light blue eyes full of sadness as she stretched out a hand and touched Beatrice’s cheek.
“My dearest,” Vivienne whispered. Her dark hair was pinned up into a simple coiffure, her clothes dark, and her expression somber. Her face looked pale, as if she were dreading the wake as much as Beatrice was. “How are you holding up?”
“I am…” Beatrice did not know how to answer that.
She had been lying in bed for the last hour, unable to move.
Several servants had come in to try and rouse her.
Her brother had also come by, and from the doorway he had told her in a black, affectless voice that she was being very rude to their guests.
“They are not our guests,” Beatrice had said, turning away so that she was facing the wall. She spoke so quietly she was not even sure he could hear her. “They are mourners.”
“We are still hosting them,” Theodore had said. “And we must do our part to represent our family.”
“What family?” Beatrice had whispered. “There is none of us left.”
Theodore had said nothing. He might have offered some comfort, might have told her that there was still the two of them, that they had to stick together, that their love was strong enough to keep their family together and maintain the memories of their parents.
But his grief had turned into silence, and he had built a wall around himself that she could no longer see over. It was no surprise that he did not respond, that he simply turned from the room and left.
He was not all indifferent, however.
Much later, when she was living in France, Beatrice would learn, in a letter from Vivienne, that it was Theodore that had sent her upstairs that afternoon to check on her. That he had been worried and scared, even if he did not know how to express it.
“I know this is very hard,” Vivienne murmured, her own eyes full of pain as she gazed down at her friend. “Perhaps it will be the hardest thing you ever do in your life. But you will regret it if you do not honor your parents’ memory by attending the wake.”
Beatrice tried to lick her lips. She had been crying so much that there seemed to be no more liquid inside her body.
“No one wants me there,” she muttered. “I will just be sad, and it will only make them more sad.”
“They are already sad,” her friend had said. “We all miss your parents. And commiserating with others who feel the same way is how we will feel perhaps just a little bit better.”
Beatrice stared up blankly. “But I do not want to feel better,” she whispered. “It would be an insult to their memories.”
Vivienne had let out a long sigh and lowered her eyes. “I do understand that,” she had said at last. “Maybe, at the very least, I could stay with you? I do not want you to be alone right now.”
Which is how the two girls had ended up lying side-by-side in the bed for another hour, staring up at the canopy.
Eventually, at Vivienne’s prompting, Beatrice had begun to tell stories about her parents, reminiscing about the good times that she remembered.
These stories began to grow more animated, until all of a sudden, Beatrice found herself laughing.
It was the first time she had laughed since her parents’ deaths.
And it had given her the strength to go downstairs and join her brother and the rest of her family’s friends and acquaintances at the wake.
Ladies were not allowed to attend funerals, but at least a wake would allow Beatrice and other ladies to mourn Lord and Lady Ashford.
And of course, Theodore and Vivienne had been right: it was better to honor her parents, to commiserate with those who also missed them, to shed tears with those who had loved them.
Beatrice would never stop being grateful to Vivienne for helping get her out of bed and downstairs.
But it was also the last time she had seen her friend.
After that, Vivienne had gone to London for the Seasons, while Beatrice, who was still only sixteen, stayed at home.
Although her friend wrote often, they had not been able to find the time to see one another.
Which was why she had run away at dawn to see her.
Some friendships were worth getting in trouble for. And Beatrice was not the same person she had been at sixteen. She had lived abroad, she was accomplished in poetry and painting, and she was no longer stunted by grief. She wanted to see Vivienne and begin new memories with her.
Except there was the river.
She remembered now.
The river that she had stepped into, thinking it was calm, only to find herself dragged into the current that she had not seen from above the glassy surface.
The river that had pulled her under, and which she was fighting against when she heard hoofbeats and saw, from between the crush of the waves, a white knight riding toward her.
She could not see well. Her head was bobbing in and out of the water. She could barely breathe and she had water in her lungs.
And yet… she was sure of what she saw. A white knight in shining armor racing toward her on horseback. Him leaping from the saddle while the horse was still moving, stumbling for a moment before pulling himself up and dashing into the water, swimming toward her.
The most handsome man she had ever seen in all her life, with dark hair and deep brown eyes, eyes that were wild with fear as he battled the strong current.
And then she felt an arm snaking around her.
She was being pulled toward the man, and then against his chest, which was strong and wide.
She felt herself weightless as the man began to swim back toward shore with his arms still wrapped around her.
She dug her fingers into his back, to hold on, but darkness was beginning to consume her.
There was still so much water in her lungs.
She was going to faint. Or die. She did not know which.
But oddly, she was not afraid. Not when her knight in shining armor was holding her.
She felt herself hoisted into his arms. And then, after what felt like an eternity, her body was lowered onto the ground. The cold, wet, but solid ground. The earth was soft beneath her. She looked up into the dark brown eyes of her rescuer, her knight, her savior…
And then blackness enveloped her.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time her eyes blinked open.
For a moment, everything was blurry. She blinked, trying to bring the world back into focus.
Slowly, very slowly, a shape began to define itself in front of her.
It was a head. A head with dark hair atop of it, which was wet and plastered to his face.
A head followed by a face. She recognized this face. It was the knight from the river.
Except this man was no knight. He was not wearing armor. He was dressed in a black jacket and brocade waistcoat that were both dripping wet. He had dark eyes that seemed to her like the night sky, deep and full of strange illuminations.
She would not have been surprised to look deeper and see stars twinkling back at her. The man was also very handsome, elegant and ravishing. His jaw was strong, and he had high cheekbones and an aquiline nose.
And he was gazing down at her with rapt concern.
“My lady,” he murmured, as she blinked again. “Can you hear me?”
She tried to speak. It was raspy and quiet at first, but sound did come out. “Y-yes. I can hear you.”
Relief spread across the man’s face, and the smallest hint of a smile touched his lips.
“I am glad to hear that. Do you remember what happened?”
“I--I almost drowned.”
He nodded. “That is right. I was able to jump in after you and pull you out. But you swallowed a good deal of water.”
Her lungs were burning, and as if on cue, she coughed.
“But I am alive?” she whispered. It was a stupid thing to ask. Of course she was alive.
The man’s smile twitched again. “You are alive. You vomited up the water while you were unconscious.”
Shame burned her cheeks, and she looked away. She could not believe that this devastatingly handsome man had seen her like that. Never in her life had she allowed any man to see her so vulnerable.
In fact…
Now that her senses were returning to her, it suddenly struck how terribly vulnerable and inappropriate this situation was.
She was alone with a man she did not know, in an entirely defenceless situation.
If anyone were to see them together, or to find out that he had hauled her through the water, his hands wrapped around her waist, she would be ruined.
Her reputation would be destroyed forever.
Her brother would probably never speak to her again…
And perhaps I would get out of marrying whatever gentleman he has picked out for me.
But she knew it would be foolish to believe any good could come from a ruined reputation. Yes, she might not have to marry whomever her brother wished her to, but then she would not be able to marry anyone.
It was imperative that she get herself out of this situation as soon as possible. And, more importantly, that no one knew it had happened.
The man’s smile faded, and he was once more looking at her with deep concern.
“Unfortunately, your horse has run off,” he said, “and I was not able to capture it in my haste to get you out of the water. Do you live in the area? I can escort you home if you desire.”
Beatrice’s mind was working fast. She did not particularly like the idea of being seen with this man in public, but if Stormy really had run off, she would need help getting to Pendleton, otherwise she would have to walk.
And in the state she was in, her lungs burning and her clothes soaked, it did not seem wise to try and walk all the way there.
She could turn back, of course, and return to Mrs. Hughes.
But that was nearly as far, and anyway, her chaperone would be even more livid if she were to return in this state.
It was better that she continued on to Pendleton.
Vivienne would not be angry with her, and she would be able to provide her with a new horse to return to Mrs. Hughes in a few days.
Not to mention fresh clothes.
The important thing was to keep her identity a secret from this gentleman. Because once he knew who she was, then word was bound to get out.
“I am a governess in these parts,” she heard herself say, the lie slipping easily off her tongue.
The man frowned. “A governess? I thought… well, your clothes are very fine indeed.”
“My late mistress gave them to me,” she said quickly. “She was very generous.” He looked as if he might say more, so she added quickly, “I was on my way to meet my new employer. I require assistance only so far as the nearest town, where I might find a new horse and dry my clothes.”
The man nodded. “Of course. I can help you.” He reached out a hand. “What is your name?”
Beatrice hesitated only a moment before taking his hand. “My name is Ellie.”