Page 68 of A Widow for the Earl
Cyrus nodded. “Or, as she said, she could petition for it. But her case for that would be easier if Vincent agreed to it and petitioned with her. It would bear more weight.”
“Yes, well, unless someone saw a pig flying on their way here, I doubt I would ever convince him,” Beatrice replied, mustering a laugh. “He and I parted ways in much the same way as we were thrown together: with curt words and one of us not being able to get away from the other fast enough. Although, at least he left through the door this time, instead of sneaking through the window.”
Her friends and acquaintances chuckled, all but Valeria and Duncan, who no doubt heard the truth in her little joke. And Frederick, too, seemed to realize that there was something amiss in her words. She should have known she would not be able to fool any of those three; she had known them all for far too long to be able to hoodwink them into believing she was fine.
“Bea, could you join me for a moment?” Valeria asked, her voice thick with a sadness that Beatrice hoped the others did not hear. “I have a surprise for you in the kitchens, and I want you to see it before everyone else.”
Beatrice frowned, not fooled either. “Is it Lord Mancefield’s stallion? Apple slices carved to resemble rabbits? Oh, is it those strawberry tarts I love so much? Some French cognac, perhaps?”
“Cognac would be marvelous!” Anthony cried, setting another round of chuckles loose among the guests.
Valeria tilted her head toward the drawing room door. “It would not be a surprise if I revealed it.”
“If you would all excuse me a moment,” Beatrice said, putting on another smile that she did not feel. “I have the mostcertainfeeling that it is Lord Mancefield’s stallion. So, if I should return leading a horse, do not be alarmed. With any luck, it shall have Lord Mancefield himself strapped to it, so I may have some revenge after all. Everyone delivering a lash to his buttocks with a whip, followed by him journeying home in the bumpiest of carriages ought to suffice.”
Easy laughter rippled through her friends, those who remained raising a glass to her and cheering her name as she ventured out with Valeria.
“Is there really a surprise?” Beatrice asked as she walked the tapestried halls with Valeria, watched by the painted eyes of Duncan’s long-dead ancestors, trapped in their portrait frames.
Valeria cleared her throat. “There is.”
“But that is not the only reason you wanted me alone?”
Valeria shook her head. “I thought you might need a moment to gather yourself.” She paused. “If I had known everything, I would not have insisted on having this party for you. I cannot bear to watch you sit there, pretending everything is perfectly fine, when I know it is not. Do you want me to send everyone away? I can feign a sickness, or I can send Charlotte in to distract everyone.”
“I would not have you wake your daughter for my sake,” Beatrice replied with a more genuine smile. “And no, I do not need you to send everyone away. This is good for me. It is good to be away from Wycliffe for an evening, surrounded by people I adore.”
Valeria sighed, stopping in the hallway. “But is it not too soon? You have not had time to rampage through every emotion you deserve to feel. Once you are past the anger part, I suspect you will be ready for parties.”
“That is the funniest thing, Valery: I am not angry,” Beatrice insisted, her heart aching in her chest. “I am… crushed. There is nothing left in here,” she tapped her chest, “to allow for anger. It is just pieces of sadness and confusion and embarrassment and love that have nowhere to go. If anything, I am angry with myself for believing thatIcouldbe loved.”
“Youareloved,” Valeria urged, her voice cracking.
Beatrice smiled sadly. “You know the love I mean.”
Valeria nodded. “I do.” A great sigh escaped her chest. “So, youdidlove him then?”
“I did and I do and will for the foreseeable,” Beatrice replied, leaning up against a tapestry of a unicorn battling a lion, as her knees began to feel weak. “I cannot help it. If Icouldbe angry, it would help me to forget him, but all there is is his kiss and his embrace and the silly arguments and the moment he began to soften toward me. It was after the Huxtable ball, on the stairs, when he stood so close and told me I looked beautiful, and his eyes… shone with this warmth I had not seen before.”
Valeria grabbed Beatrice, pulling her into a fierce hug. “Oh, Cousin… I am so sorry.” Her voice hitched. “If it is of any consolation, I think he is the greatest gooseberry to ever wander this earth.”
“It helps a little,” Beatrice lied, smiling against her cousin’s shoulder.
Valeria squeezed her tighter. “What could have made him leave like that? Why would he be so… lovely, then take it all away?”
“If you discover the answer, I should like to know,” Beatrice said, pulling back. “Would you like to know the worst part?”
“There is worse than what has already happened?” Valeria gasped, stricken.
A soft chuckle escaped Beatrice’s lips. “No, the worst part is that I began to think that I would quite like to marry him.” Tears stung her eyes, one leaking onto her cheek. “If he had proposed, I would not have hesitated.”
“But, you said?—”
“He changed my mind,” Beatrice murmured, hurrying to brush the tear from her cheek. “Still, the outcome is the same. I will not marry again now.”
Valeria pulled her close again, holding her so tightly that Beatrice could not breathe, and did not want to. Instead, she held her cousin back in kind, and let the tears fall.
Never had anything felt less like a victory.
