by Abigail Agar
She was not going to be able to recover from the trauma as soon as she might have them believe. Nevertheless, she was strong. She was brave. And she had fought to overcome the difficult circumstance that she had faced.
“I am sorry that you did not get to enjoy the rest of the ball,” Peter said.
“Oh, that is nothing. Yes, it would have been nice, but I am perfectly all right. Besides, who knows? Perhaps I shall be invited to another. Someday,” she said.
“You shall. Many balls. As often as I am able to host them you shall be in attendance, I assure you of that,” Peter said.
“Truly? You would host more and allow me to come?” Miss Cloud asked, hinting that she would like that very much.
Peter leaned toward her, looking her intently in the eye.
“I promise you. Whenever you wish, I shall have it be so. You will indulge and enjoy every excitement, every happiness that is promised at such events,” he said.
“In that case, I look forward to the next one. If Lord Seton had changed so much as you have all said, I trust that he would even approve of my being in attendance,” she said.
“He would. Most assuredly,” Lady Seton said. “Well…all right, perhaps he has not said as much, but I do trust that he would allow it. I know that my father can be…difficult. But I also saw a real change in him last evening. And while I should not be so quick to hope that it is a drastic one, I am sure that it was something new; something special and unique.”
Peter nodded.
“I would be inclined to agree,” he said.
“I am glad for it,” she said, locking onto his eyes once more and creating a thread between them that Peter could not ignore.
Peter had so many feelings welling up from within his chest. He had never expected that he would fall in love with a governess. But, he had never met a governess before. Not really. For all his life, he had seen men and women separate themselves from those of a lower class.
But, now he knew a woman who had a different social standing from himself. And she was the loveliest woman that he had ever met.
Nothing was going to stop him now. Nothing would keep them apart.
He looked up at Andrew and gave a nod. He did not need to say anything more. Andrew understood completely.
“If you would excuse us, I do believe that Lady Seton and myself must go and check to see if breakfast is nearly ready,” Andrew said.
“Oh? Will the maid not come to tell us?” Miss Cloud asked, looking at Lady Seton with pleading eyes, as though she was anxious not to be left alone with Peter.
At first, he wondered what it was that had her in that state, but he quickly understood. She did not wish to be viewed as improper. Aware that it was not the thing normally done, she did not think that she could be on her own with a man. Not without a chaperone, at least.
“Um…well…it is best if we go and check,” Andrew said, rushing Lady Seton before him.
With that, Andrew and Lady Seton left the room. Peter and Miss Cloud were on their own.
He looked at her for a long moment before giving her any hint as to what was on his mind. He could see in her eyes that there was hope metered by concern.
“Miss Cloud, you must forgive that charade. Clearly, you can see that it was done for my benefit,” Peter said.
“I suspected as much,” she replied, waiting patiently for him to tell her what he was thinking.
“Lord Beckridge knows me well and he understood that I have something very important to discuss with you. An urgent matter,” Peter said.
“You may tell me anything. You may discuss anything with me,” she said.
“I trust that I may. And that is why I have chosen to come to you now with what is on my heart,” Peter said.
“Yes? What is it?” she asked, sounding desperate and sweet and everything lovely.
Peter took a deep breath. This was the moment. This was the day that he would finally say all of the words that were in his heart.
Until now, he had never believed he would have this opportunity. He thought that he was going to marry a woman because it was the thing to do. Because it was something that had been arranged by her father.
But this was of his own choosing. And if she agreed to it, it was of her choosing as well.
“Miss Cloud, you are a unique woman. I have never met anyone quite like you. The first evening that we spoke, when I believed that you were the woman to whom I had become betrothed, I cannot express the joy that I felt,” he said.
She smiled, but remained quiet.
“I could hardly believe my fortune that I was being arranged to marry a woman who I actually liked. I recall when you told me about the gentlemen that your mother had arranged for you to meet and see if a match could be made. You were so distraught,” he reminded her.
“That is how I felt when I learned that you were not the woman to whom I was going to be married. You see, after meeting you, I found that I had a very definite expectation and desire in what I wanted for a wife. Until that moment I had not minded so much, perfectly content with whomever was seen as the best option,” Peter continued.
“It was not that I did not have hopes for love, but I had a very realistic understanding of marriage in Britain. I knew that I should marry whomever it made sense to marry,” he said.
Peter paused, looking at her with sincerity.
“You, Miss Cloud, do not make sense,” he said.
Her smile faltered, but he allowed his to remain as a comfort to her. She was not giving up hope entirely.
“I do not?” she asked him, softly.
“No, you do not. You are not the wife that anyone would have chosen for me. You are only the wife that I would have chosen for myself,” Peter said.
She could not hide her grin or the tears that sprang to her lovely, dreamy eyes. Those heavy lids threatened to close in wonder, taking in his words.
“Please, tell me that you understand what I am saying. Tell me that you know what I am going to ask you,” Peter said.
“I will not,” she said.
Peter stopped, not having expected that she would refuse.
“You will not?” he asked.
“No. Never. I will not say that I know what it is that you want,” she said.
“And why is that?” Peter asked, realising that this was a game.
Miss Cloud grinned and looked at him, her smile bright and shining like none other that he had ever seen.
“Because if I tell you that, I will not get to hear you say it. And I so dearly wish to hear you say it,” she told him.
“Miss Cloud,” Peter said, taking her hands in his own, “I have something to ask you.”
She closed her eyes once more, listening to his words. Peter wanted her to hear them as clearly as he had heard the sound of the music that she played, the melody of it to move her as deeply as she had moved him.
“Ask it,” she said.
“Will you, Miss Beatrice Cloud, be my wife?” he asked.
Her eyes opened and face lit up with joy. For a moment, Peter wondered if she had not even suspected this. Had she truly thought that he was going to cave to the expectations of society?
Had she believed that he would refrain from the thing he desired most, simply because that was what England told him he was meant to do?
He would never compromise. He would never allow himself to be stopped from loving the woman who meant so much to him.
Now, even if it was strange or different, he was pressing forward. He would not be moved from the love that he had finally discovered.
“Will you?” he asked.
“My Lord, nothing would make me happier than being your wife. You may ask me again and again and again, on any day in this life, and my answer shall always be yes. My answer shall always be a devout, resounding, certain yes,” she said, her breath catching as she did.
With that, Peter brought her hand to his lips and he kissed it softly, holding onto his strength and promising himself that he wo
uld do nothing more. He would not embrace her and he would not kiss her lips, no matter how he desired it.
Because they had the rest of their lives together and he would be able to do just that when the time came for it. Until then, he needed only to show her how deeply he respected her. Until that day, Peter wished to live in the peace and joy of loving this woman.
Miss Cloud was going to be his wife. Now, the only question was how soon he could make that happen.
Epilogue
Beatrice looked out of the window and saw the rain that was drizzling and threatening to burst into a full-blown storm.
Of course.
There were those who said that it was good luck for it to rain on the day of the wedding, but Beatrice had never fallen for such superstitions. She wanted sunlight. She wanted to be outside.
Then again, all she really cared about was being married to the man that she loved.
They had been planning the wedding for over a month now, and the day had arrived.
Although there were many in London who had anticipated invitations, Peter had appreciated the idea of a small wedding. One in which they were unbothered by the many, many people who were attending simply for the sake of gossip and show.
Beatrice was certain that there were many who wanted to attend the wedding simply for the sake of seeing her. After all, what sort of governess could convince a duke to marry her?
She understood their curiosity. She understood why they would be so determined and motivated to be a part of this day that had nothing to do with them.
Overall, however, she had appreciated how many people had been kind to her. After all, it was an unusual thing to have a woman from her station come and interact with nobility the way that she had.
And even in the previous week, when her mother, father, sisters, and niece and brother-in-law had come for the sake of the wedding, they had all been widely accepted by the friends and family of her future husband.
Beatrice had been terribly anxious to meet Peter’s mother. After all, how was she meant to impress such a grand woman? What if the dowager duchess refused to allow the marriage?
But, in the end, none of that was a concern.
Indeed, his mother was shocked at first. And, as far as Beatrice could tell, she had not entirely approved of the match.
All of that changed, however, one afternoon.
Lord Seton had held a wonderful luncheon to celebrate his daughter’s new engagement. At the affair, Beatrice had met Peter’s mother as his intended for the first time. And, thanks to the kind ravings of her former employer, the dowager duchess approved of her almost instantly.
“Beatrice?” came the soft call from the other side of the door.
“Come in,” she said.
Isla entered the room, her face lit with excitement.
“You look incredible. Oh! The gown. We must get you dressed quickly,” Isla said.
“Yes, I know. And I wanted to do my hair, but I find it a dreadful task. I do not have the skill with hair that you have,” Beatrice said.
“You worry too much, that is why. It only takes a little bit of effort,” Isla said.
“Oh? Then you must show me, because I fear that it takes a significant amount of effort any time I wish to do anything with it,” Beatrice said.
“Here, let me try,” Isla said, taking the brush in her hand and getting to work.
As Isla helped Beatrice with her hair, Beatrice continued to let her mind wander, thinking about the great change that had come over Lord Seton.
What had happened the night she vanished was only the beginning.
Once he came to realise how much Lord Beckridge belonged with his daughter, he had changed quite significantly. In fact, there was even a new sense of humility about him. Perhaps because he came to see that he was not always right.
But the thing that had impacted Beatrice the most was the day that he came to her, shortly after she was engaged, and he offered to give her in marriage if her father could not attend the wedding.
His support of her had transitioned greatly. No longer did he see her as a simple governess to be used and manipulated, but he saw her as a human being.
In fact, he had come to treat his entire staff with a far greater dignity than he previously had.
In the end, Beatrice‘s father had promised to make it to the wedding. Thus, she decided that she would have both men give her to Peter in marriage.
“Do you know if your father is nearly ready?” Beatrice asked.
“I believe so. But your father? My goodness, he could not be any prouder of you. I have scarcely seen any man so happy about his daughter’s wedding. You should have seen him at breakfast,” Isla said.
“Oh?” Beatrice asked.
“Now that I mention it, where were you at breakfast? You did not come,” Isla said.
“No, I did not. I was too excited. I still am. I cannot eat when I am this excited,” Beatrice said.
“Oh, dear. You are going to pass out at your own wedding if you do not have something small,” Isla said.
“No, I shall be fine. You needn’t worry. Anyway, you were saying something about my father?” Beatrice asked.
“Yes! Yes, I was. Just to tell you that he was cheering and preparing himself for every eventuality as we sat at the breakfast table. I do think that he has an insatiable joy when it comes to your life and your marriage,” Isla said.
“Perhaps. He has always been very supportive of me,” Beatrice said.
“Well, he and my father must settle themselves, because they are both so eager to see you married to Lord Hawthorn and I think even my own father is now glad that I have found someone else, someone far more suited to me,” Isla said.
“You believe so? That is fortuitous, indeed,” Beatrice said.
“It is. Anyway, you need to finish getting ready. The time is coming upon us, you know. Soon, you will be making your way to the church for the most important day of your life,” Isla said.
“It really is the most important day of my life, isn’t it? More grand that my birth, more joyous than my death shall be. And no day in between has been such a lovely covenant as this,” she said.
Beatrice was surprised that she was actually not looking forward to the wedding so much. Surely, it would be nice. She would enjoy looking lovely and making her commitments in the church, before God and man.
But that was not the thing that excited her the most. What she truly cared about was marrying Peter, the man of her dreams.
It was horrible, having to wait until she was ready. She just wanted to go. She wanted to get the ceremony over with so that she could begin her marriage.
But Beatrice also wanted to look as beautiful as she could before taking off and making her way to the church for the wedding. This was only another step in the process, another moment in which she would have to get herself together and show that she was capable of being like any other bride in England.