‘I promise. I am frightened. Because I don’t know...’ She searched for the right word. But there really was only one. ‘Anything.’
He chuckled. ‘You need not concern yourself with anything.’
‘Why aren’t you angry with me?’
Of all the things, that made the least sense. Why he was not filled with rage. For she had forced his hand into something that he gave no indication he wanted.
‘Because it makes no difference to me, Beatrice. I have the resources to care for you.’
‘But if you wished to marry...’
‘I did not,’ he said, clipped. ‘As it has been previously stated, I have my heir. There is no reason for me to ever marry again, and I had no intention of doing so. However, you shall be as my ward.’
‘Your... Your ward?’
‘Yes. As I said, your brother has explained everything to me.’
‘I’m not free.’
This was the second time in the space of very few hours that he’d looked at her as though she was an object of pity. ‘Darling girl, there was never a question of you being free. You would belong either to your brother or to your husband. That is the way of things.’
And then he turned and left her standing there, feeling as if he had poured cold water over her head. Because he was right. She had been seeking freedom... But she could not own anything. She could not make her own way. She had been seeking freedom by means of tying herself to another and...
And that meant there would never truly be freedom.
That was how she found herself running blindly through the estate, making her way to James.
* * *
When she arrived at the house, her hands were muddy, and she was in a state. But she did not care. His housekeeper admitted her quickly and ushered her into the sitting room to await him. She had been Beatrice’s accomplice from the beginning. Supporting and encouraging their friendship, though she was not sure why.
It was only moments later that James came into the room.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m engaged. Which at the moment feels tantamount to the same thing.’
‘Dammit, Beatrice...’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve made a mess of this for everyone.’
‘Don’t be foolish, you daft girl. I don’t care about myself. I care about you. I’m not being forced into marriage. And I never was. It was an opportunity to help you and to deal with my father, but it was never a necessity. Not in the way it was for you.’
‘I feel so terrible...’
‘Beatrice,’ he said. ‘Sit down with me.’
‘I will.’ She sat. But then she immediately wanted to stand back up. So she did. ‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘I have too much energy.’
‘All right. Then we will both stand. Beatrice, my problem is not that... I can trust you. Yes?’
‘Of course you can. I was going to marry you.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know. And I should have told you this before you were committed to that. But I did not want you to change your mind. I did not wish to lose your friendship.’
‘You cannot lose my friendship.’
‘I might yet. But I will... Beatrice, I do not wish to have a true marriage with any woman. Because I do not have... I do not have the ability to love a woman.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because I wish... When I think of my life. When I imagine who I might find happiness with... It could only ever be a man, Beatrice.’
She felt... She did not know what to think of that. She did not know what to make of it at all.
‘Oh. But you cannot do that,’ she said.
‘No. It is against the laws of the King. And I could be imprisoned for it. Or killed.’
‘Oh.’ Yet again she felt as if there was something she was missing. What did anyone care who James wished to give his heart to? Why should there be laws? It made absolutely no sense. ‘I do not see why it should matter. Should we not all be able to find our own happiness? Why can we not? Briggs told me today that I would never find freedom. And he was not being cruel. He was correct. I cannot find freedom because as a woman I can never own anything. All money that is given to me is charity. The houses I live in belong only to men. And when I marry Briggs... He said I will be his ward. Not his wife. And that is his determination to make because... He is a man. But you’re a man also,’ she said. ‘You cannot be free either, can you?’
‘Beatrice...’
‘Why is it that only certain people are allowed to have happiness?’
‘Beatrice, I cannot begin to understand why the world works in this way. What I do know is, as long as people like you, and people like me, are determined to be happy, we will find ways. We do not need the permission of others. I’m thankful that you are my friend. That you look at me, and you feel no judgement. But you were willing to be my wife as you were.’
‘I wish I still could be,’ she said.
‘You care for Briggs,’ James said. ‘I think perhaps more than you know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You watch him. Whenever he’s in any room, and it cannot be held against you, mind, as he is a handsome bastard.’ James smiled, and his cheeks turned slightly pink. ‘But it’s more than that. You like him a great deal.’
‘Of course I do. He’s always been kind to me.’
‘I think you are drawn to him.’
‘I don’t understand.’
His smile was full of sympathy and she hated it. She was extremely tired of being surrounded by men who understood more of her own future than she did. ‘You will. When you go to live with him. I think it is possible that with Briggs you will find more than you could have with me.’
‘I cannot. For he’s set on honouring my brother’s wishes.’
‘That is if he does not find it difficult.’
‘I am very tired of not understanding what it is people are saying. Or not saying. Or trying to say.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Please stay my friend. I think I’m going to go away to London. Without you here... There is little reason to stay.’
‘James...’
‘I love you, Beatrice.’ He smiled again. ‘Not as a husband.’
‘I love you a great deal as well,’ she said. She nearly said not as a wife, but then, she still did not know exactly what that meant. And yet somehow... She knew she didn’t.
‘I will be there for you. As a friend.’
‘Thank you,’ she said.
And whatever else might happen, she knew that she had him. And that mattered. But she was left to turn over what he had said about Briggs. About her feelings for him.
And there was no satisfactory answer anywhere inside her.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was the eve before his wedding and Briggs found that he could not sleep. Not that a wedding was overly consequential to him.
Particularly not one to Beatrice.
Beatrice...
She was sweet. But what an insipid word it was for her.
An image of her face, her expression fiery, filled his mind. And it was more than just the image of her. It was the feel of her.
When she had thrown herself into his arms as a woman flinging herself off a cliffside. Heedless, determined.
Fearless.
Soft...round in all the places a woman should be.
He tightened his jaw, his hand clenched into a fist.
She was not sweet. Look what she had done in the name of gaining her freedom.
Poor girl.
She had got herself tied to him, and while he saw no purpose in altering the course of his life over her misstep...
Her life would change.
Or perhaps it wouldn’t. Perhaps it would be much the same. Bu
t her dreams might be just slightly crushed.
For she had sought a life she would not find with him.
He stood from the chair he was seated in and walked over to the window, looking out over the estate. It was dark, the tops of the trees rustling. And in the shadows, he could see a flash of movement.
Something white fluttering in the wind.
He watched the strange, haunting movement for a moment.
Then, found himself walking out of the bedchamber, and down the stairs. He did his best to minimise the echo of his footsteps on the hard floor. He walked out through the front door, and turned to the right, following the walls of the great estate home, out towards where he had been facing. It was a clear night, and the air had a bite to it. And he did not know why he was compelled to chase ghosts outside his bedchamber window.
Perhaps he preferred them to the company of the ghosts that he found inside it.
He stopped there, at the edge of a grove of trees, and he could still see the fluttering white. Moving forward and backwards. Closer and further away. He took a step forward, then another. And suddenly realised.
‘You could catch your death out here,’ he said.
‘Briggs?’
He had been right. It was Beatrice. He could not mistake her bright, starlit voice. It was like silver.
As he got closer, he understood what he’d seen from the window. She was suspended on a swing that hung in the centre of the grove of trees.
‘Lucky for you. Not a highwayman. Or anything else intent on stealing whatever fortune you have on your person or your virtue.’
Her virtue.
He should not think of her virtue.
And yet, it was difficult to avoid thinking of it altogether. Her brother had concerns about her bearing a child, but there were many ways to find pleasure...
It was far too easy in that moment to imagine her as the virgin sacrifice in her white nightgown. Far too easy to imagine her sinking to her knees before him...
You will not be teaching her the ways you find pleasure.
She would be disgusted. Likely go screaming right back to her brother, who would ensure Briggs lived out the rest of his days as a eunuch.
‘What are you doing out here?’
‘I thought I saw an apparition outside my window.’
‘I am not an apparition,’ she said. ‘I am just Beatrice.’
‘A relief.’
Her hair was loose; he had never seen it so. Falling over her shoulders in thick, heavy curls. She was pale and wide-eyed in the moonlight. Like a virgin sacrifice to be taken by the gods.
But not by him.
‘I am... I am considering my life in your servitude, Your Grace.’
‘Servitude?’
‘I’m not free. Was that not the discussion we had mere days ago?’
‘You will be freer with me than you ever have been before,’ he said, and at the same time he wondered if that were strictly true. ‘You will have the protection of being a married lady. Scandal will not be able to touch you quite so easily.’
Though because of her health... She would not have all the freedoms that she might’ve had otherwise. But he would not say something. Not now. Not when he was trying to comfort her. A task he was unequal to. For he was not one to offer comfort to anyone.
‘And what sort of freedoms will I have?’
‘What do you wish, Beatrice?’
She closed her eyes. ‘I wish to see things. More than this place. I did not ask for this,’ she said. ‘I did not ask to be ill. To be fragile. It is an insult, I feel, that my spirit does not match my body. For I have always felt that I...’ She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, a shaft of moonlight illuminating her skin. And he could see that her nightgown was...
Transparent.
Even in the dimness of the moonlight he could see the shadow of her nipples, the faint impression of dark curls between her thighs.
She was like a goddess. Beautiful. Untouchable.
Absolutely untouchable, no matter that he was to be her husband.
He had married a woman so like her. Serena had been fragile. Beautiful. Virginal. And utterly unprepared for him. Their life together had not been happy. In fact, he felt, unavoidably, that he was part of her being driven to such despair that she could no longer live.
The one person on earth he had attempted to connect with. The one person he had attempted to find a real relationship with and it had...
He had not loved her. But he had thought that he might one day. He had been ready to fight for that. To make it his aim.
But in the end, he had disgusted her. He had told her he would change. That he did not need to indulge himself.
She’d said now that she knew, she could not see him the same again.
She’d barely tolerated intimacy as it was.
‘When I read stories, I imagine myself as the heroine. I can see myself slaying dragons and defeating armies, riding a horse through the fields as fast as possible, and... Falling in love. But then to be told that my body cannot do those things... How is that fair? Why could I have not been given a sweet, retiring nature? There are many women who are happy to be home. Who are happy...’ She shook her head. ‘Of course, I don’t suppose any woman wishes to be told she cannot have children.’
‘Some might see it as a path of ultimate freedom, in many ways,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
The sadness of Beatrice, the thwarting of her plans, the realisation that he was...
That he was the master in her life now, that all compelled him to offer her something. To speak, even when it hit against sharp places in his soul.
‘When you have a child, your cares will be with them always. Your life will never fully be your own. To have another person placed in your care like that is to never truly have your heart beat for itself ever again.’ He swallowed. ‘At least that is my experience of it.’ He did not speak much of fatherhood. But for him it was... A painful reminder of his childhood, and he could not escape the feeling of shortcoming that he had now either. He did not know sometimes how to reach his son.
‘It must be wonderful to love like that,’ she said.
‘I don’t know that wonderful is the word I would use.’
‘Well, I will never have the chance, will I? Except... I will care for your child, Briggs. I will. I promise. I will be his mother, if... I’m sorry, I do not wish to bring up memories of your late wife. And I do not wish to cause any hurt. But...’
‘I do not hold in my heart a deep grief for Serena. Do not concern yourself with my feelings.’
‘I just should not wish to erase her memory.’
‘If William cannot remember her then it is her own fault.’
He could see that she was confused by that, but she did not ask, and he did not offer explanation. Of course, the fact that the late Duchess had taken her own life was something that was rumoured among the ton, and it did not surprise him that it had not trickled down to Beatrice.
She had cut her wrists in the bath. Her maid had found her, the screams alerting the entire house to the tragedy.
He remembered lifting her from the water still...being covered in water and in her blood.
And the sorrow.
The sorrow of having failed someone so very deeply.
Serena, but also William.
Her family had gone to great lengths to pay to have her buried in the church graveyard. He could admit he would not have done so. His grief had been nearly as intense as his anger, and his concern had not been in where she might be laid to rest, but on what he might tell his son.
Her family had worried only about the disgrace.
They had paid handsomely for her death to be called a drowning. An accident.
Though there were enough rumours in the ton about
the truth of it. They only wished to whisper behind their hands and fans, about the Duchess burning in hell.
They did not behave in a way so bold as to speak of it openly.
It was the cowardice in that which bothered him most of all. That those people had no such principles as to allow themselves to expose their meanness so boldly and loudly.
It was, he thought, the greatest tragedy of their society.
The way certain things were hidden. It did not make them less prolific for all their concealing of such vices. All manner of bad behaviour flourished in the world. It was only those who should be protected from it who were left ignorant of its existence, and therefore susceptible to brutality.
‘Then I shall do my best for him,’ Beatrice said, determined.
‘He is a... He is a wilful boy,’ Briggs said. ‘He is not terribly affectionate. You may find him difficult.’
He felt disloyal saying such a thing, but it was true. If she was expecting an easy path to dealing with the void she felt over not being able to have children of her own, she was likely not going to find it filled in his house.
‘I do not have a perfect idea in my head of what it means to have a child,’ she said. ‘I was warned against fantasising about such things, and so I didn’t. I will not find it difficult to love who he is. There is no idea of him built up in my head as to what I feel he should be.’
Her words, just then, were a revelation. For wasn’t that the true enemy of happiness? Expectation that could not be met.
He was well familiar with it. Far too familiar.
He moved closer to her, and then behind, grabbing hold of the swing and pulling it back. His knuckles brushed her hair, soft and silken. And he could smell her skin. Rose water and something delicately feminine that he could not place.
Perhaps it was simply Beatrice.
He released the swing, and she floated gently forward, her hair streaming behind her. And when she came back, he caught her, holding her steady, lowering his head and whispering in her ear, ‘I think we will find a way, don’t you?’
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