“My cousin,” Beatrix breathed, smiling at Peter. “And… my mother! I have a mother at last!” She laughed through her tears of joy when Peter swept her in his arms and held her tightly.
Such was their celebration that for a moment, Callum was forgotten. Only when Cooke returned with a physician and Pencot ushered them in did Beatrix turn to look at his smiling face.
“I’ve never seen one so close to death appear to be so happy,” she said, taking his hand and holding it for a moment.
“I am happy,” he replied, his voice still unsteady. “You have your true identity returned to you…”
“Well, not that it matters much to me. I’m still Lady Beatrix, daughter of the notorious Prince Aaron!” she said, smiling over at her father who stood conversing with Peter.
“No, you are more than that,” Lord Bellton said, even as the physician waved to an assistant who carried in a stretcher. Cooke and Pencot assisted the men in placing the Marquess on the carrier, and together they lifted him to go out. Lord Bellton held up his hand to stop them and reached for Beatrix’s hand once more. “You are the daughter of the Earl of Saltwood, and a noblewoman… one I wish to marry.”
Beatrix froze, and the men continued on their way out the door. Callum never took his eyes off hers, raising his hand to wave as they carried him out the door.
“For the last time, daughter, I shall disown you if you break one more dish!” Prince Aaron called out from where he sat by the fire. He looked at her over the top of his book, catching her eye and smiling happily.
“I’m sorry, Father, I’m so clumsy. My mind is elsewhere, I’m afraid,” Beatrix replied.
She’d spent her first few days at home organizing the mess her father had created in his feverishly addled state. Then it was on to harvesting the herbs from outside and preparing them for use in the winter. Thanks to a generous gift of several volumes of books on plants from her new cousin, she had much to do before the autumn came.
Those plans would have to wait, though. More than three weeks had passed, restless weeks filled with fearful anticipation, as Beatrix prepared to meet Lady Miriam.
“Would it have something to do with your outing tomorrow?” he asked kindly, still favoring his good leg a little as he got up and came to sit near Beatrix.
“Perhaps that’s it,” she answered without meeting his eye. “I’m terribly nervous about meeting my mother. What if she finds me a horrible disappointment?”
“How could she? You’re brilliant and kind and beautiful. She will adore you as much as I do,” Aaron said, smiling in a loving way.
“You have to say that, you’re my father,” Beatrix answered, rolling her eyes slightly.
“And she’s your mother, she has to think those things as well!” he teased. Then he turned very serious and added, “But promise that you will not be hurt if you don’t find her to be overly warm and happy to see you. You must remember that she never once had the joy of holding you in her arms. Before she awoke from the pain of childbirth, I had… I had taken you. She was told only that you’d died, and for her to find out now that you’ve been here all these years, it might be hard to see you as a daughter. Give her room to breathe and let her see you first as a wonderful person whom she would like to know better.”
“That’s very wise, Father.” Beatrix wiped her hands on her apron and sat down at the table across from him. “But what of you? What will become of you now?”
Prince Aaron shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose. My life has not changed, not really. It’s you I am concerned about.”
“Why would you worry for my sake? Truly, other than the chance to meet some relatives, nothing has changed for me either,” Beatrix answered, watching her father’s face in confusion. “I have no intention of departing my only home and leaving you or the others to fend for themselves.”
“Daughter… you know what I meant.” He waited for her to understand his meaning, but she only looked away. “We all heard Lord Bellton, child. We were surprised, but not hard of hearing!”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Beatrix answered. “I have to see to the beehives. I’m sure they’re in a state of mess now.”
“It’s just as well, I have some business to see to. I’ll return home by supper time!” he called after her.
Beatrix headed outdoors and followed a somewhat overgrown path to the edge of the property. Beyond the cottage, a small brook ran through the culvert. Nearby, weeping willows overhung the water’s edge, running the edges of their boughs along with the gentle current. In the shade of the willows, several bee boxes waited in rows.
She set about tending to the weeds that encroached on the boxes, pulling them as ferociously as if they were choking out their vegetable plots. The yellow and black creatures flitted around her undisturbed, almost grateful in their dance as she cleared the way for more fragrant flowers to grow.
“What does he think he’s playing at?” Beatrix fumed silently as she ripped the offending plants from the ground. “I know what he’s after, and if I wanted to converse about it, I should think my father would be the last person I might choose!”
She had to admit there was a small part of her mind that sought to keep her distance from her father. After all, he was not actually the man she’d thought him to be all these years. While she still loved him dearly and forgave him for his part in her childhood, he was no longer entitled to know everything about her.
Though he had certainly tried. The first day they were home, Prince Aaron had been cautious, as one might treat a wild animal that had suddenly found its way inside. He’d waited for her to cry out, to scold him, to tell him she wished to never see him again, but that had not come.
My poor father must have thought I’d only returned to our cottage to fetch my things! Her harsh mood softened a bit as she remembered his fearful reaction.
Then, in the days that followed, he began to question her about her time away. Where had they taken her, and why? Had they been kind to her? Had the man—whose sock to the jaw was still well-deserved and insufficient punishment in Prince Aaron’s estimation—harmed her in any way?
Try though she might to explain, Beatrix never fully understood it herself. But since returning home, she’d been plagued by a new worry: that of Callum’s parting words.
“That man’s moods shift as often as the weather in summer!” she thought angrily, remembering the haughty way he’d dismissed her at his home, only to turn fairly adoring when he saw her again in Chelmsford. “Perhaps it is some sort of illness in the brain that makes him flit from one to the other!”
At Callum’s parting words, Beatrix had turned and walked away. She had already had her heart gravely wounded by the Marquess, and she’d had no intention of doing so again. She’d stared after him as he was carried out for only a moment, then followed her father silently from the meeting house.
Only after the long journey home did she realize she still wore the satchel. She’d thought to return it to him when its purpose was no longer imminent, and had been so perplexed that she’d not thought of it again. The idea had plagued her briefly, but she soothed her mind with the memory of her new cousin, Peter Grain. Surely he could return it to Callum on her behalf when she visited with her mother, then she would never have to think of him again.
Chapter 30
“What’s all this?” Beatrix asked as her father came home that evening, his arms laden with parcels. Cooke followed in behind him as heavily burdened with packages, smiling as always.
“Only some things I thought you might have need of,” Prince Aaron explained, suddenly shy. “You cannot go off and meet yer mother looking like you were raised by… well, a criminal.”
“Father, don’t be ridiculous!” Beatrix protested, her heart sinking at the size and number of the packages. “One person cannot possibly need all of this! Besides, my belongings are perfectly fine and if she does not agree, well then she can just go—”
“And that’s another thing,” Prince A
aron said, cutting her off with a grin. “You cannot carry yerself the way you’ve done all these years. She’ll expect you to have certain manners about you.”
“Again, Father, if she does not accept me as I am, then I have no use for her,” Beatrix explained slowly. “I mean that sincerely. Nothing about me has changed. I am your daughter, through whatever means the fates decided. Yes, I am curious to meet her, but not at the expense of losing you… or losing myself, for that matter.”
“That’s my girl,” her father said, beaming proudly. “But surely a new frock won’t make you a changed person! Come now, have a look.”
Cooke left them after carrying inside a new travel trunk for the items, leaving Prince Aaron to open each parcel proudly and hold it out to Beatrix. “See here? There are some new dresses—”
“My dress is perfectly fine, Father,” she protested.
Ignoring her, he held out another item, “And I’m not sure what this is for, but the seamstress said you must wear it under your dress.”
Beatrix snatched it away, her cheeks burning that her father held up a new chemise in front of her. There were shawls and gloves, gowns and stockings, and even a few pairs of delicate looking shoes.
“But Father, this is too much!” Beatrix protested again. “I cannot possibly need so much for just a short visit.”
Prince Aaron put down the package he was unwrapping and looked at his daughter, his expression changing from excitement to wistful sadness.
“You will be there for some time, and may have need of these things. But… should you be welcomed and decide to stay, I want you to have these things to see you through.” He cleared his throat and returned to opening a package, but his daughter’s arms went around him.
“Father, I’ve told you countless times. This is my home!”
“As it always will be, child. But that was your rightful home first, before I took all that away from you. I simply don’t want to send you off unprepared should you decide to extend your visit. That’s all! Now let me do this for you!”
Beatrix picked up a gown of fine linen and asked, “But this must have cost a small fortune.”
“Aye, actually it did,” Prince Aaron said, grinning wickedly. “But ‘twas my fortune, and I choose how I spend it! I’ve decided to bestow it upon you. Would have gone to you anyway once I’m dead, you might as well enjoy it while I’m alive to be pleased by it.”
In the morning, a carriage was sent for Beatrix. She deposited her traveling bag and the leather satchel beside the door and turned to face Prince Aaron. Her father seemed older than ever before, and her heart skipped at the thought of leaving him for so long.
“I’m to leave then,” she said softly. Her father came to her and held her close for a moment.
“I’m awfully proud of you,” he said, “and you turned out well for one who had only me to raise ya.”
“You did a fine job, if I say so myself!” Beatrix replied, trying to remain cheerful.
“Promise me one thing,” Prince Aaron began, but Beatrix shook her head.
“I’ve said it already, I have no wish to stay there. I’ll be back before you notice I’ve left!”
“That’s not what I mean, girl. Promise me this, you’ll give them a chance. You’ll give him a chance.” He stopped when he saw the frown on her face. “Don’t look at me that way, I mean it. Something tells me he’s not through looking for ya, so just… hear him. All right?”
Beatrix looked thoughtful, then shrugged her shoulders. “I make no promises to that! But I did hear you.”
They spoke their goodbyes and Beatrix left in the carriage. She turned back to wave at her father and saw him still standing in the front garden, watching her go. She smiled for his sake, but knew she could never keep good on her promise to him.
“I’m finished with Callum, no matter what Father may think,” she thought, falling back against the seat and readying herself for the long journey.
“My Lord, perhaps if you could hold still a moment longer,” Barclay implored, trying not to sound as though he was losing his patience. Callum continued to frown into the mirror.
“Enough, Barclay. There’s no hiding the bandages, I’m afraid. It was a valiant effort on your part, but I’m destined to be hideously disfigured,” Callum said, sighing at his reflection.
“Far be it from me to contradict you, My Lord, but that is an exaggeration. If anyone did not know the circumstance, they would only assume your coat wasn’t fitted properly,” the valet answered. “You only need remind yourself that is a miracle you are even alive, let alone able to venture out.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Barclay. It does me good to hear it once in a while, I suppose,” Callum answered, still frowning at his reflection. “Still, I don’t think I’ll win any hearts or favors looking this way.”
“If I may, My Lord, what favors might you be trying to win? I should think you only need announce that you threw your physical form in front of a bullet to save a man’s life, and all hearts would turn your way!” Barclay laughed lightly as he continued on to Callum’s cravat.
Callum didn’t answer, instead burning with an inward shame at the memory of the way he’d spoken to Beatrix. Nay, that would be Miss Risewell. He had lost all privilege in even speaking her name after the way he’d let her leave his house. Then, seeing her in Chelmsford, all he seemed to care about was what he himself had wanted.
Without a care or question for her own feelings…
“Ah, I believe the carriage has arrived, My Lord,” Barclay said, coming away from the window and looking over Callum once more. “Fear not, as I’ve said, I can hardly tell there’s a bandage beneath your shirt. And I should know, as I’ve been your valet for nearly ten years.”
“Thank you, Barclay. I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Callum stood up slowly and got his feet planted beneath him, then made his way to the door and down the stairs.
Outside, Peter greeted him warmly, but the sentiment quickly turned to jest when he asked, “Good heavens, could you perhaps walk slower? I was almost afraid we’d arrive at my aunt’s house today.”
“You know, since the accident my memory sometimes fails me. Tell me, were you always this ugly to look at?” Callum returned as he tried to climb into the carriage.
“Me? You should have a look at yourself!” Peter teased. Callum froze, certain he would remark on the way his coat sat awkwardly over his chest, but he was relieved when his dearest friend retorted, “That mop of hair you’re so proud of looks like a pirate that’s been in the brig for a week.”
“It’s good to see you too, Peter,” Callum said genuinely as he settled against the seat. “Though I fear this trip will be a waste of time.”
“Nonsense,” Peter answered, waving to the driver to hurry on. “When my cousin—gads, how I adore saying ‘my cousin!’—sees you at Lady Miriam’s home, she will remember all over again that your personality is what matters, not your lack of good looks.”
Callum laughed in spite of his low spirits. He had not been prepared for the dark sentiments that would invade his mind over the course of the past week. He’d nearly died, not only once but more than that, and now found that he’d let slip the one best thing he’d ever encountered.
He would do anything to win her back, any objections be damned.
“Miss? We’ve arrived,” the carriage driver said gently. He actually turned to look over his shoulder at Beatrix this time, since there had been no response or movement either of the first two times.
Instead, Beatrix sat looking up at the house, envisioning which of the gleaming windows had been her room. After all, surely her mother had decorated a nursery for her in preparation for her tiny arrival. Perhaps a nurse had already been hired to tend to her while her mother recovered. No doubt some funds had been put to use creating a layette for her, one that she never wore.
Where was it now? Where was the cradle that she had barely lain in, the clothes that she’d surely never worn? Had someone dispo
sed of the things quietly in an effort to soothe her mother’s broken heart?
“Yes, I see,” Beatrix finally whispered, though she still failed to move.
“Shall I carry your things?” he hinted kindly. “Or I can go and ring for the footman?”
“Of course,” she answered, still making no move to climb down.
The driver gave her an odd sort of look, then climbed down and began the long walk up the wide stone steps. Beatrix still looked down at her hands, struck by a sudden bout of nervousness.
She who was always so confident, who’d had no problem hurling accusations and even insults at a Marquess the day she met him, was now terribly fearful of disappointing a woman who’d already suffered a great deal.
“It’s as Peter—I mean, the Viscount of Dewham—has said,” she remembered, smiling as she thought back to the day he’d attempted to outline her noble lineage. “The loss of her only child was pain enough for any woman to bear, but to now know that her brother had a nefarious hand in it has destroyed her.”
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