by Abigail Agar
Beatrice looked off at the large crowd of people that had formed in the room. Isla was still talking to Lord Hawthorn and she appeared to be enjoying every moment of it. It was a relief to see that Isla had found someone who was making her happy. Lord Seton must have done a very good job in arranging the union.
“See something interesting?” the nobleman asked her.
“Oh, forgive me, I was just noticing that my dear friend appears to have found her match,” Beatrice said.
“You mean that young lady there? Yes, she is with my closest friend. Honestly, I am surprised to see him looking so contented as well. It looks as though they truly are a good match,” he said.
“You know him? Is he a good man?” Beatrice asked.
“The best of men. Honestly, your friend is in good hands with him. He is the most loyal and trustworthy person I know. Never have I questioned his intentions,” the man said.
“I am glad to hear it. She is such a lovely, kind woman. She does not care about someone’s status or their place in society. She just wants to do good unto others,” Beatrice said.
“In that case, I do think it would be good for the pair to continue talking. I know that he has been hoping for just such a woman,” the man said.
“And a loyal man is perfect for her. And it is no wonder that her father would want her to be with someone who is loyal,” Beatrice said.
The man looked at her inquisitively, but he brushed the question away before it reached his lips.
“Anyway, I—”
He was interrupted by the clinking of a glass. Everyone quieted and turned to where Lord Seton stood.
“Good evening, friends and guests. I am so glad to see you all here. I do hope that you are enjoying yourselves. And I hope that there is not too much brandy flowing…Lord Vermore, I am looking at you,” Lord Seton said, teasing his friend who laughed.
“But, truly, I am delighted that you all made it a priority to come here this evening for our little party. I know that many of you have had to travel to get here. The Marquess of Walford and his lovely wife came all the way from Greemton. It means a great deal that you should all be here,” he said.
“Now, as you all know, my family is entering into a rather exciting season. As it happens, my very own daughter is soon to be married! Without further ado, I would like to call my darling Isla and also my good friend, Lord Peter Hawthorn, the Earl of Willoughby,” he said.
Beatrice started to clap, excited for Isla. But when her new nobleman friend stood, she was curious.
The man started to walk, but then turned to wait for Beatrice. She stayed seated, looking at him questioningly. His own brows drew together as he waited.
It took a long, painful moment of eyeing one another before it slowly began to dawn on Beatrice. She realised, with horror, that Lord Peter Hawthorn, Earl of Willoughby, was having the same understanding.
“Isla and Lord Hawthorn?” Lord Seton said again, eyes scanning the crowd.
Beatrice didn’t want to take her eyes off this man before her, but she had to find Isla. When her eyes landed upon her dear friend, it was clear that Beatrice and Lord Hawthorn were not the only ones who had made a grievous error in assumption.
Isla was looking at the man she had been speaking with and was clearly in distress of her own.
But with one final glance at Beatrice Lord Hawthorn tore himself away, clearing his throat, and made his way to the front, reaching Lord Seton at the same moment as Isla did.
“Ah, there you are. Now, we have the joy of presenting the two of you to all of our friends. Have you had a chance to speak at all this evening?” Lord Seton asked, evidently unaware of everything that had just taken place.
“N-no, Lord Seton, we have not,” Lord Hawthorn said.
“Well, here you are! An introduction to be seen by everyone. Lord Hawthorn, this is my lovely daughter, Lady Isla Seton,” he said.
Isla curtseyed and Lord Hawthorn bowed in kind.
Beatrice was miserable. She could not have fathomed it turning out this way. Had he really thought that she was Isla all along? They did both have brown hair, although Isla’s hair was much lighter. And she had been instructing a maid when he came over to her. Was that enough to have made him believe her identity?
Why had she not introduced herself properly? It would have prevented this whole mess!
When she looked over at Lord Hawthorn’s friend, the one with whom Isla had been speaking, she saw how sad he was. Clearly, he had been hoping for a happier outcome as well.
But it was not difficult to see how the mistake had been made. Like Lord Hawthorn, this man had blonde hair. He was tall. He was certainly leaner, but that had never been a part of the description and there could be no way of knowing the difference between the two without having met them.
“Now, we must celebrate the fact that these two are going to be wed. How about a waltz, hmm? Just the two of you,” Lord Seton said, looking between Lord Hawthorn—whose eyes went wide with horror—and Isla, who was known for being an exceptional dancer.
“Oh…um…I do not think it would be interesting to your guests if only the two of us were to dance,” Lord Hawthorn said.
“Nonsense, anyone would be happy to see it. After all, these are my friends and they are happy about this union as well,” Lord Seton said. “Miss Cloud, please be a dear and strike up the keys.”
Beatrice was quite hidden behind a number of guests, but she could see through the heads that Lord Seton was looking for her. Rather than make her presence known, she shuffled the short distance to the pianoforte and simply began to play, hoping that no one had seen her at all.
It was better, sitting there and playing. She could barely sneak the slightest glimpse at Isla and Lord Hawthorn, even when she was tempted to. She could hardly see the stiffness that he had mentioned and she did not have to suffer to see Isla in his arms.
It was awful. She had spent the whole evening with hope and excitement in her heart, only to be relegated to hiding behind the guests. She loved the pianoforte, but that hardly made up for the disappointment of the evening or the fact that this was not exactly what she had expected of her night.
As the waltz came to an end and she heard a light clapping, Beatrice slipped out of the hall and rushed to the stairs. She ascended them quickly and desperately, needing to get to her own room as quickly as possible.
Only once she was inside did she throw herself on the bed and close her eyes, begging for sleep to overcome her.
She had known better than to get her hopes up about finding a kind man. And certainly, she would never end up with a nobleman.
Still, was it so hard to believe that she could be happy? Was it so hard to believe that things could turn out right?
As it happened, yes. It was far too difficult to believe.
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