Page 29 of The Unwilling Bride
Beatrice stared sullenly at the path. “I fear he simply hasn’t found anybody he believes has the right qualifications—lots of money and a powerful family.”
“Many noblemen seek such husbands for their daughters,” Constance soothed, hoping she was right and that her uncle had Beatrice’s best interests at heart. “He’d be remiss if he didn’t.”
Frowning, Beatrice looked at her. “But what about my happiness? Surely that should be important, too.”
“I’m sure it is,” Constance replied, “or he would have betrothed you long ago.”
As he did me.
Beatrice’s eyes filled with remorse. “Oh, Constance, I’m so sorry. I never thought…it never occurred to me that you might resent…”
Constance hurried to assuage her fears. “It’s all right, Beatrice. He’s not my father, after all. I can’t expect him to care for me as he does for you.”
Beatrice shifted, and her expression grew even more worried. “Constance, since you are betrothed, I’ve been wondering…do you…do you think Lord Merrick will make you happy?”
“I believe he could,” she answered, uncertain if this was a lie to assuage Beatrice’s fears, or the truth.
“Is he different when he’s alone with you? Does he talk more, or less?”
That was an odd question. It would have been difficult for Merrick to talk any less than he did when he was in company. “Yes, he talks more.”
“I’m so relieved! I’d hate to think he was cold and aloof when you were alone.”
“No, he’s not cold then,” Constance confirmed, thinking Merrick was anything but cold when they were alone.
“How can I be sure about the man I’m to marry?” Beatrice asked piteously. “How will I know that he won’t make me miserable?”
“How can any bride be sure?” Constance mused aloud. “We must all hope for the best, I suppose.”
She thought of Beatrice being forced into an unhappy marriage. Given her uncle’s disregard for his niece’s feelings, it was possible. Although she hoped she was wrong, she decided to offer a suggestion to her cousin, in case that came to pass. “If I was convinced my husband would make my life a misery, I’d find a way to break the contract or, if there was no other way, I’d flee.”
“By yourself?” Beatrice asked, her eyes wide with wonder.
“Only as a last resort,” Constance clarified, hoping Beatrice appreciated that she would be truly desperate to do that. “You have friends who would gladly offer you sanctuary, and there is always the church.”
“I could come to you here, couldn’t I?”
“Of course.” If she was still there.
Beatrice regarded Constance with unexpected and fervent intensity. “Constance, do you think I could stay here for a little while after your wedding and not go home with Father?”
Before Constance could answer, Beatrice hurried on. “I have no one to keep me company there except Maloren, and she chatters on so, she’s like to drive me to lunacy.”
Maloren had looked after Beatrice since she was an infant, and while Beatrice was talkative, Maloren was ten times worse. Yet although she could sympathize with Beatrice’s complaint, Constance wasn’t sure what answer to give her cousin. “I thought you liked Maloren.”
“Oh, I love her dearly!” Beatrice cried. “But I wantto learn how to be a good chatelaine like you, for when I’m married. Would you mind?”
“It wouldn’t be up to me, I’m afraid,” Constance said slowly. “It would be up to Merrick.”
Beatrice clasped her hands together. “Will you ask him? Please? For me? If you ask him, I’m sure he’ll say yes!”
She was so keenly hopeful, Constance couldn’t bear to say no. “I’ll ask.”
“Oh, thank you!” Beatrice cried, sighing rapturously.
Then she gave Constance a sheepish smile. “I have to confess that before Merrick came, I thought that you might…that you and Sir Jowan’s son…I thought you might run away with Kiernan.”
“I’ve never cared for Kiernan that way,” Constance answered honestly. “He’s like a brother to me.”
