Chapter 9 #2
Maybe not forever… A voice in her head whispered. You know his name. You could try to find him.
But that would be dangerous. Both for her reputation and for her heart.
On the carriage ride, she and Vivienne caught up more, and Vivienne told her more about the London Seasons.
“There are all sorts of balls and parties,” Vivienne said, “and they are wonderfully entertaining. Of course, the marriage mart is always in the back of one’s mind, but you can enjoy the Season even without trying to find an eligible husband at every turn.”
Beatrice tilted her head to one side, a thought occurring to her. “How is it that you have not married in all the years I have been away?” she asked. “You are beautiful and wealthy. I would have thought that surely, you would be married by now.”
Vivienne shrugged, but her eyes did not fully meet Beatrice’s.
“I have not had the inclination,” she said.
“And, as you say, I am wealthy. I do not need to rush into matrimony. I would prefer to take my time and marry only when I am certain of a man’s character and regard.
And since my brother does not seem to care what I do, I have been enjoying my life, rather than trying to find a husband. ”
Beatrice could not help but feel a flare of envy at her friend’s words. She wished that she could also take her time in finding a match, but Theodore was not nearly as understanding and flexible as Vivienne’s brother.
“We shall have to go to the modiste in the next few days and pick out ball gowns,” Vivienne said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “There are the most wonderful modistes in London, and you will have to have new gowns in all the latest fashions!”
“I have been wearing dresses in the French styles,” Beatrice said, and Vivienne waved a hand.
“You will need new ones, then,” she insisted. “The French styles are overly flashy, and in London, modesty and subtlety are preferred. Do not worry. We shall get you all the latest gowns, and then you will be the belle of all the balls!”
“I do not know what it will matter, if Theodore has already picked out my husband,” Beatrice said dubiously, but then she forced herself to smile and squeeze her friend’s hand in return. “But you are right. We shall have a marvelous time picking out dresses together. It shall be like old times.”
“I have missed that dearly,” Vivienne said, her voice slightly husky. She cleared her throat quickly. “It has been ever so lonely without you,” she added. “I am very glad you have returned.”
Beatrice was glad to have returned as well, but as the carriage pulled into Mayfair and they made their way along the clean, cobblestone street to her brother’s townhouse, dread built in her stomach. She was about to learn what fate awaited her, and she was not sure she cared to know.
At last, they pulled to a stop in front of the townhouse. It was tall and stately, with red brick making up the fa?ade, white picture windows with gauzy curtains hanging in the windows, and ivy crawling down the front over the door.
A wrought iron gate stood out front, and as Beatrice descended the carriage, the footman hurried forward and opened it for her.
“Welcome home, Miss Ashford,” he said.
Inside, Beatrice found Theodore already in the entrance hall, waiting for her.
“Beatrice!” He cried, the moment she walked through the front door.
She barely had a moment to look around at the familiar hall, with its parquet floors, the walls covered in floral wallpaper, the portraits of her parents hanging right above the marble staircase, and the crystal chandelier suspended from the vaulted ceiling, before her brother had come forward and pulled her into a tight hug.
It had been two years since she had seen him, and at once, his familiar scent, of sandalwood and tobacco, overwhelmed her senses, and she felt tears spring to her eyes. All her anger at him melted away, and she hugged him back as tightly as she could.
“Theodore,” she whispered. “It has been so long.”
“You are finally back,” he said, releasing her and gripping both her arms. He beamed down at her. “I was worried when you did not arrive yesterday, I must admit. But you are here now, and that is what matters.”
“We were delayed,” Mrs. Hughes’ voice came from behind them, and slowly, Beatrice turned. She watched her guardian warily as Mrs. Hughes shrugged off her pelisse and bonnet and handed it to a footman. Was Mrs. Hughes going to tell Theodore about her adventure?
“The carriage wheel broke,” Mrs. Hughes explained after a moment. “And then we went by Pendleton Manor to see Miss Carlton.”
Vivienne had followed Mrs. Hughes into the hall, and she curtsied to Theodore.
“Viscount Ashford,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. Her voice sounded surprisingly breathy. “It is good to see you again.”
“You as well, Miss Carlton,” Theodore said, and Beatrice thought she saw her brother stand a little straighter. His voice also sounded slightly deeper. Surely she was imagining it?
“I am just glad you are home in one piece,” Theodore said, turning back to Beatrice. “I almost did not recognize you when you came in! You have changed considerably in the last two years.”
“I am twenty now,” Beatrice said with a grin. “A grown woman.”
“Indeed,” Theodore said, offering her his arm. “Which is why we must discuss your marriage prospects.”
“Already?” Beatrice asked, her heart sinking. “I only just arrived, Theodore.”
“I know, forgive me,” he said, as he led her out of the hall and down the corridor.
“But it is of the utmost importance. I am hoping to make an arrangement with Lord Pembroke this year, Beatrice.” Her brother’s eyes gleamed.
“He is wealthy and well-connected, and I believe that he would make you an excellent match.”
Beatrice did not answer until they had entered the parlor and sat down on the sofa.
“Lord Pembroke…” She shifted uneasily. “But I do not know him at all, Theodore.”
“I know, but hopefully you can make his acquaintance this season,” her brother insisted. “I am not commanding you to marry him, dear Beatrice, only suggesting that you get to know him. See if you like him. I believe that you will find him to be entirely suitable as a husband.”
Beatrice nodded, but once more, her mouth was very dry, and this time, she knew it was dread that was making her body feel sapped of all its moisture.
She was sure her brother meant well, but it was as she feared: he was already making arrangements for her.
And while he said he was not compelling her to marry, she did not exactly feel supported to find her own match.
She wondered again, as her brother called for tea, what had happened to Mr. Grenville. Now that she was back in Mayfair, it seemed even more unlikely that she would ever see him again. And the thought filled her with as much dread as the idea of marrying Lord Pembroke did.