Chapter 25
After the excitement and wildness of the night before, Vivienne had decided to spend the night as well, and Beatrice was grateful to see her the next morning at breakfast.
The two of them ate quickly, then went for a walk out in the gardens.
The day was fine and warm, and Beatrice wore only a thin pelisse over a simple white muslin gown.
Vivienne looked very refreshed and well-rested, and she kept smiling to herself as the two women walked arm-in-arm past the hedges and toward the bench under the apple tree.
“You are in a good mood this morning,” Beatrice observed, sliding her eyes sideways at her friend in time to catch her cheeks flush.
“I am,” Vivienne said softly, “and you are the reason why.”
“Me?” Beatrice asked, surprised.
They reached the bench, but instead of sitting, Vivienne turned toward her, taking both her hands and looking deep into her eyes.
“Yes, Bea, you,” Vivienne said earnestly. “Last night, while you and the duke were speaking in the library, your brother took me aside and told me what you said to him about not taking out his anger on me.”
“He did?” Beatrice could not hide her astonishment. She had thought it would take longer for her words to sink in. “I am very pleased! If a little surprised.”
Vivienne laughed, a sparkling sound in the dewy morning air.
“I know that he is not always the most forthcoming,” she murmured, “but it seemed as if something had come over him, Beatrice. He kept speaking about the assassination attempt, how it has gotten him thinking about how short life is, how we must fight for what we want the way the duke is fighting for your reputation and honor.”
Beatrice blinked rapidly. He thinks the duke is fighting for me?
However, she barely had a moment to think about it, because the look on Vivienne’s face was becoming more radiant by the moment.
She suddenly knew, with an instinct she could not explain, that Vivienne was about to say something very important to her, that she had been sitting on big news all morning and was finally ready to share it.
“Beatrice…” Vivienne beamed at her. “He told me he loves me, Beatrice. Told me that he has for years, that he has been trying to work up the nerve to tell me, that he wanted to be respectful and proper, but that he believes now he was hiding behind those things, when really, he was simply afraid I would not return his feelings. But he said that thanks to you, to your encouragement and your bravery in the face of so much recently, that he finally had to tell me how he feels.”
Beatrice’s mouth had fallen open, eyes beginning to fill with tears.
“He wants to marry me!” Vivienne gushed. “And it is all thanks to you!”
“Oh, Vivienne!” Beatrice could do nothing but pull her friend into a tight hug.
For a long time, the two of them held each other, then Beatrice released her friend and held her at arm’s length.
“Of course he does!” she cried. “I have suspected it for some time, I was just waiting for him to find the courage to tell you!”
“Well, he has found it, and it is all thanks to you.”
“It is not all thanks to me,” Beatrice said, and then she laughed.
“Although I do not hate taking the credit. Especially since it means that my brother might actually admire me and think me brave. Most of the time I feel that he finds me too wild and stubborn, that he deeply dislikes those parts of me.”
“I think…” Vivienne hesitated. “I think it just scares him, if I am being honest.”
That was news to Beatrice, and she stared at her friend. “Scares him? In what way?”
“Well… you have never been afraid to be your own person,” Vivienne said.
“And Theodore, well… he is not like you. When he was at Eton, he felt different, and he was bullied by those older boys for it. I think he sees you being so wild and independent, and part of him wishes he could be like that, but another part of him is simply scared for you. He does not want you to be ostracized and gossiped about the way he was when he was at school.”
Beatrice took this in, letting her body absorb the words. Suddenly so many things made sense. Her brother’s insistence that she marry respectably the moment she got home. His horror at her attempts at independence. Even his resentment toward the duke.
If the wounds of what had happened to him at Eton had extended all the way into adulthood, into the way he treated her, then it made sense why he could not seem to let go of his resentment.
Beatrice squeezed Vivienne’s hand again. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Vivienne laughed. “For what?”
“For helping me understand my brother. I really needed that.”
“You are more than welcome,” Vivienne said. “After all, you have done me a much bigger favor.”
Beatrice laughed. “I did not just do it for you. We will be sisters now, and nothing could bring me more pleasure.” She pulled Vivienne in for another hug, and then the two of them made their way back toward the house, laughing the whole time about the plans they would make for the wedding.
When they arrived back at the house, Beatrice was in high spirits.
Everything was working out between Theodore and Vivienne, and she was overjoyed for them.
Best of all, she felt like she was finally beginning to see why her brother had behaved in such unfeeling ways toward her, and it was helping her to not only empathize with him, but forgive him.
Perhaps relations would finally improve between them again. Perhaps they would, for the first time since their parents died, feel like a family again.
After dropping her pelisse with the butler, she made her way upstairs to check in on the dowager duchess. When she knocked on the door of the guest room where she had been lodged for the night, the dowager’s voice rang out.
“Come in!”
Beatrice found the dowager sitting on the sofa in the bedchamber’s salon, reading the paper while drinking a cup of tea. She smiled when Beatrice entered and patted the seat next to her.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Beatrice asked as she sat down next to her. “Are you much recovered from the shock of yesterday?”
“A little,” the dowager said, setting down the newspaper and frowning. “But I am still worried. It truly does seem that someone is after my son, and I cannot think whom it might be. His father was ever beloved, and I have no idea why anyone would try to take Rupert’s life or his title.”
Beatrice nodded, then, after a small hesitation, took the dowager’s hand.
“I am worried as well,” she admitted. “I do not know what I would do if his life were to be taken. I am not sure I would…” she stopped, her throat suddenly too constricted to go on.
She tried clearing it, then looked down.
“I have already lost so many people that I…”
Love.
But she should not bring herself to say the word.
Nonetheless, the dowager understood.
“I have as well,” she said softly, and Beatrice looked back up at her.
To her surprise, the dowager’s eyes were wet, even as she smiled.
“And I am deeply sorry for the loss of your parents, my dear. My own husband’s loss was one of the most acute pains I have ever experienced, but it was also not entirely unexpected.
He had lived a long time and had a very happy life.
I have no regrets about that. For you, however, to lose your parents at such a young age…
I can only imagine how much that must have disoriented you. ”
“It must still have disoriented you to lose your husband,” Beatrice said. “Even if he had lived a long time. Perhaps especially because he had lived so long! You had spent so much of your life with him. It must be very difficult to be without him.”
The dowager swallowed and looked away. “Yes, it is very difficult,” she murmured.
“Fortunately, Reginald has been very helpful. He stepped in and took care of everything while my husband was ill. Rupert was away at the time, as you know. He hurried home, and fortunately he made it in time to say goodbye, but I will forever be grateful to Reginald for how he handled all the matters of the estate for us during the illness. He is very capable, and it made it much easier for both my husband and I to focus on spending quality time together before he…”
She trailed off, and Beatrice looked away, giving her a moment to compose herself.
At last, the dowager turned back to her and smiled, her eyes dry now.
“I am very lucky, and I do not ever let myself forget that,” she said.
“I had a great love that I got to spend many years with. I could never regret that, even if it ended in tragedy. All life ends in tragedy, after all. We all die. That we cannot change. All we can do is try to live the best and happiest life in the meantime with those that we love.” She reached out and took Beatrice’s hand.
“That is why I am so happy right now, even in my fear for my son. Because when I see the two of you together, when I see the way you look at one another, I know that you have found the kind of love that the late duke and I had. And I am reassured that no matter what happens next, you will be happy, because you will have one another.”
Beatrice looked deep into the dowager’s eyes, her throat so tight with guilt she could not have spoken even if she had known what to say.
She didn’t want to give the dowager hope and happiness for her son’s marriage, then take it all away.
Part of her wanted to confess that she and the duke were planning to break their engagement in a few months, that they were not actually in love, that it was only a ruse to ward off rumor or scandal.
Except that no longer felt like the truth. It was the lie.
The truth was that she was irrevocably and forever in love with the duke.
Because Beatrice knew now, without a doubt, that it was the truth.
She was in love with the duke, and she had been from almost the first moment that she had seen him, swimming to her aid, like a prince out of a story.
That love, however, had been childish, a fairytale.
The love she felt now was so much deeper, so much greater.
He was not just someone who rescued her once in a moment of chivalry; he was the man who protected her again and again. Who sacrificed for her. Who did everything in his power to take care of her, even when that meant letting her be free.
And when she was with him, she felt more herself than she had felt around anyone else. He was her best friend, her confidant, and in his presence, she felt not only completely safe and at ease, but something else, something deep and wild and ancestral, something she could barely understand.
It was the feeling of being alive.
So she did not look away as she gazed into the dowager duchess’s eyes, and she did not lie.
She simply nodded. Because the dowager was right. She did love the duke. And she could not let him go.
It sank in as she descended the stairs several minutes later, still reeling from the conversation: she had no intention of breaking the engagement.
It did not matter if he lost his title, she was going to marry him anyway.
And with each step, the certainty and joy of it filled every inch of her.
She was going to marry the duke! Even if he did not realize it yet, she was going to.
She was smiling secretively when she walked into the drawing room, where she saw, to her delight, the duke sitting on the sofa, reading a book. He looked up as she came in, his face splitting into a wide, easy smile.
“I see you are doing better,” she said, perching on the edge of the sofa and gazing down at him. “You certainly do have good luck.”
“In some ways,” he said, winking at her and setting aside his book. Then his expression sobered. “In others, not so much. I spoke with Mr. Grenville last night after you left, and he made some serious accusations.”
“What did he say?” she asked, her heart beginning to thump wildly.
“He told me that Miss Isabella Thornton is the person who has been spreading the rumors about us.”
Beatrice stood up slowly, then sat down again on the sofa opposite him, thinking hard.
“I am not entirely surprised,” she said after a moment. “She does seem to think she has some sort of right over you. I could see her trying to sabotage your reputation if you did not want to marry her.”
“I could see it as well,” the duke said sadly. “As much as I would not wish it to be so. And then there was the strange fact that she knew so much about the shooting on the road…” He frowned. “But how could she know about that unless…?”
He looked up at the exact same moment that Beatrice’s mouth fell open. “No…” she whispered. “You do not think she was involved in trying to kill you, was she?”
“I… I do not know.” He looked very uncertain. “But now that I think about it, I also find it strange that my uncle knew the number of shots that the men on the road fired.”
Beatrice felt her stomach fall out from under her. “I noticed that as well,” she whispered. “But I thought you must have told him.”
“No,” he said slowly. “I did not.”
Beatrice licked her lips. She did not know how to say this, but she knew she had to. “I saw Miss Thornton and your uncle talking last night, after you arrived bloodied and bruised. I thought it was very strange. They seemed to be deep in conversation, and Miss Thorton looked very upset.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, then the duke jerked his head violently, as if trying to snap himself out of something. His face was very ashen. “I cannot entertain this thought,” he whispered. “My uncle, my father’s brother…”
“I know,” she said, touching her stomach as sickness jolted through her. “It is beyond belief. But it is also very strange, these coincidences…”
“They are…” The duke swallowed, his eyes wild. “But… But he is my…”
At that very moment, the door flew open, and Reginald himself walked into the room.
“Nephew!” He cried, holding out his hands. “You are doing well, I see! That is wonderful. I came to call upon you and your mother. Would you mind taking me to her?”
The duke glanced at Beatrice, who had set her face into a calm, polite smile.
“Of course, Uncle,” he said. He bowed to Beatrice, then led his uncle out of the room. Beatrice watched them go, her stomach churning.
What had it been like, she wondered, for Reginald to go from running the St. James dukedom during the illness of his brother, to being pushed aside in favor of his nephew?
How much had he resented the change?
And was he willing to kill for it?