“Mother, if I may, I think I should need to… to step outside, I believe,” Beatrix said, standing and striding purposefully from the room.
Beatrix hurried to the front steps, thanking Peter silently for the clandestine word of warning. There, Callum’s carriage was already waiting, several trunks already loaded in place. The Marquess himself came from beside the house and approached the carriage, seemingly in a hurry.
“Lord Bellton, there you are,” Beatrix began breathlessly. “Where are you going?”
“I have obviously overstayed my welcome here, and I have been informed that my attempt at speaking with you is an intrusion on your time with Lady Miriam. I am returning home,” he answered gruffly.
“Would it matter at all if I did not wish for you to go?” she asked, trying to calm her racing heart.
“Why would you suddenly have such a distinct change of heart?” Callum asked without looking at her. “You were quite adamant only yesterday evening that I was not someone welcome in your company. Surely you have not become fickle, have not changed your mind as the wind does.”
Beatrix’s chest ached at the sound of her own words thrown back at her. Still, she had to press on or risk never knowing if he could have forgiven her.
“I have come outside to beg your forgiveness,” she began, but she stopped when Callum froze. His back still to her, she added, “I treated you very unfairly based on my own assumptions. Now that I am better informed, I find that I was terribly wrong and I am sorry.”
“What assumptions were those?” he asked, his back still to her.
“That your father had somehow persuaded you to cast aside any feelings you had for me, all because I was a commoner. I wrongly assumed you had chosen your privilege over me.” Beatrix’s face burned with the shame of this confession, and she was grateful that Lord Bellton still refused to look at her.
“Oh. Fine, I forgive you,” he said firmly before striding to the other side of the carriage and continuing his preparations.
“So that is all? You forgive me, and yet you’re still unmoved. You’re still leaving.” Her words were more of an accusation than a question.
“What would you have me do?” Lord Bellton asked, finally turning to look at her. “Allow my own heart to be broken when you later decide that I am unworthy of you because I come from a life of… what did you call it? Oh yes, privilege.”
“No, of course not. Because that would not happen.”
“How am I to know that?” he demanded, coming to stand in front of her. Beatrix instinctively took a step back. “In all those moments where I professed my truest feelings and intentions for you, do you realize you have never once said that you love me?”
Her mind reeled as she thought back to every interaction, every stolen glance or moment, even to the decadent kiss they had shared in the stable. She was horrified to discover that he was right.
“I have told you that I loved you in countless ways,” Callum continued, his voice thick with a cacophony of emotion. “From every action, every apology, every offer, and even the very words I spoke, I have told you as much. But you have never before returned such a sentiment. I can only believe that you don’t feel the same.”
“That’s not true,” Beatrix protested adamantly, ignoring the tears that now fell. “I do love you. As much as I may have pretended otherwise, or even seemed otherwise, I have loved you from the very first moment you began to see me as a person instead of a common thief. When you began to truly see me, to talk to me and try to understand who I was, that is when all of it changed. I love you very much!”
Callum watched her intently, his expression softening measure by measure as he looked in her eyes. For a terrifying moment, Beatrix was certain that it was too late, that the harm she had caused was beyond redemption. Instead, his smile grew as he closed the small space between them.
“That is all I needed to know.” He drew her to him tenderly and kissed her, without the crush of a hurried stolen moment of impulse, but rather as the longing of a man whose heart was finally redeemed.
When he finally moved away, his hand rested gently on her cheek so that he might wipe away her tears. Beatrix held her hand against his, keeping it against her cheek and not wishing to let the touch of him escape.
“I’m afraid we must make haste to go inside and share the good news. I assume we have good news to share, that is?” Callum asked.
“What would that news be?” Beatrix teased. “I, too, want to hear you say it.”
“The news of our pending marriage, of course,” he said. “I fear that if we do not inform the household, they will stop watching us through the windows and come outside, demanding to know.”
Beatrix whirled around in surprise, suddenly embarrassed when the flutter of several different curtains closing gave away their spies’ locations. Her cheeks flamed once more, but she smiled at Callum all the same.
“I suppose that could have gone better. Tell me that my mother was not one of the witnesses to my untoward behavior?” She cringed as she waited for him to answer.
“Oh, I’m not certain she could see all that well,” he said, the humor clear in his smile. “Isn’t she rather old and nearsighted?”
“I don’t know, I’ve only met her yesterday. Gah, now she must wonder what sort of morals and manners I was imparted with! I’ll be cast out before my trunk is unpacked.”
“Then I think we should hurry and redeem your reputation in her eyes, though something tells me she will be far more overjoyed than scandalized,” he explained.
“How can you know that?” Beatrix asked, looking up at him fretfully.
“Because here she comes. Hurry, get behind me and I will shield you from the worst of the embraces!” he said, turning Beatrix and all but shoving her into her mother’s waiting arms. “Too late!”
“My darling daughter! Are you so happily made up?” Lady Miriam cried before grabbing up Beatrix in a very similar manner as only the day before. The woman reached out an arm and took Callum into her embrace as well, nearly crushing them to her with a strength that belied her fragile appearance.
“Yes, Lady Miriam,” Callum tried to say as he fought to breathe and keep his balance. “We are to wed if you don’t cause us to suffocate.”
The woman stepped back immediately, though she continued beaming proudly as she clapped her hands.
“To think, I gain not only a daughter but now a son as well, and in only the space of a day!” She retrieved a handkerchief and dabbed delicately at her eyes, then hugged Beatrix to her once more. “And daughter, please say that I might plan a small party? For your dear mother’s sake?”
“I… that is, of course, Mother!” Beatrix replied, still reeling from the upheaval. She turned suddenly to Callum, unsure of how to manage these affairs. “That is all right, isn’t it?”
“Certainly, so long as it can be managed within three days’ time,” he answered, smiling broadly at Lady Miriam before turning to Beatrix. “I’ve already spent quite enough time without you by my side, and I don’t intend to prolong it.”
“We all have,” agreed the older woman. “There will not be enough time on Earth to make up for not having Beatrix with us!” She turned and hurried up the steps to begin at once.
“Agreed, my love,” he whispered softly, kissing Beatrix once again. “There will never be enough time to make up for it.”
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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Preview: Inconveniently Married to the Earl
Chapter 1
It was Friday evening, and business was booming at The Arc.
Conor Foster, Earl of Middleborough, looked around his establishment with satisfaction. Every table was full tonight. Gentlemen sipped from glasses of brandy and scotch as they examined the cards in their hands and placed their bets.
This is exactly what I dreamed it would be, Conor thought as he gazed around the club. Ever since the day it first occurred to me to open The Arc, this was the picture I had in my head. He couldn’t help feeling a surge of pride and satisfaction now that he had seen it come to life. It was, he imagined, what watching the birth of a child must be like.
“Thirsty?” came a voice from behind.
Conor turned to see the roguish smile of his good friend, Henry Wilson. Henry had a glass of scotch in each hand, and now he pushed one toward Conor.
Conor accepted the drink gratefully and took a sip. “Good scotch.”
“Isn’t it?” Henry asked, delight manifesting across his face. “I do love a good scotch.”
“We’re selling this tonight?”
Henry nodded. As Conor’s business partner, one of his responsibilities was sourcing the liquor they served. Henry’s stake in the club was small compared to Conor’s, but Conor had to admit he was very good at what he did.
He took another sip of the scotch and surveyed the room again. “The gentlemen seem to be enjoying themselves,” he remarked.
“Have you made the time to sit down with them?” Henry asked.
Conor shook his head. “You know perfectly well that I don’t do that.”
“And you know perfectly well that I think you should,” Henry persisted.
“Why?” Conor asked. “Why should I, when I have you to do it for me? You’re much more sociable than I am, Henry. You’re more than capable of checking in with our patrons and ensuring that they’re having a good time. You don’t need my help.”
“Not for the sake of the business,” Henry said. “For your own sake. People talk about you, Conor.”
“People talk far too much,” Conor said.
“Be that as it may. All it would take would be a few smiles, a ‘few how do you do’s, to show the clientele that you’re friendly and happy they’ve chosen The Arc.”
“Don’t ask it of me,” Conor said. He was happy to be the owner of this club, and he enjoyed spending time here, but surely a man should be permitted a business enterprise without having to put on a public face?
The worst thing about being an earl is being forced to smile and make nice with the public so often. At least here, in my own club, I should be permitted to relax and to be myself.
It wasn’t that Conor disliked the patrons of his club, or that he didn’t wish to spend time around people. But he was, by his nature, a quiet man, and it wasn’t his way to say much to others. Henry was far more skilled at socializing than Conor was.
And so, let it be Henry’s responsibility, Conor thought. He’ll do a better job of it anyway, and he’ll enjoy it besides.
He held up his glass, which he had emptied. “I’m going to go and get another drink,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”
“No,” Henry said. “I ought to go and make the rounds, if you’re not going to.”
“Good man,” Conor said.
Henry rolled his eyes, but he returned Conor’s smile and moved off toward a table full of regular patrons where the card game was usually quite high stakes.
Conor took his glass to the bar and leaned against it, patiently awaiting the attention of his bartender. When the man saw him standing there, he hurried over, dishrag in hand. “Lord Middleborough. My apologies. I didn’t notice you.”
Conor waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve told you, I’m sure, that serving our patrons is more important than rushing to tend to me.”
“Yes, My Lord, of course.”
Conor set his glass down. “I’d just like another scotch,” he said. “Whatever you’re serving today, it’s quite good. I hope you’re letting the patrons know that.”
“It’s the usual scotch, My Lord,” the bartender said.
“Is it?”
“Yes,” the bartender said. “Mr. Wilson has been using the same supplier for months now.”
I haven’t given Henry enough credit for everything he does around here, Conor thought as the bartender refilled his glass. Finding such high-quality scotch and keeping it regularly in stock, without my even having to be involved in the decision…perhaps I should increase his stake in the company.
It was something he had thought about every now and again. When The Arc had first been opened, Conor had put up the bulk of the startup capital. He had included Henry with only a very nominal buy-in because he knew his friend was more adept at managing a business than he was.
And because he has more time on his hands. The responsibilities of my title do not leave me free to spend much of my day at The Arc.
The agreement, when they had opened the business, was that Conor would own eighty percent of it, and that Henry would own twenty. They would split the proceeds accordingly. And so, they always had.
But Henry had been doing such a good job with his responsibilities that Conor felt inclined to revisit that old agreement. It wasn’t as though he needed the money, after all.
I will discuss it with my solicitor, he thought to himself. We’ll take a look at the books, at how much this club is actually earning from month to month, and make a decision about what is practical going forward. I would love to be able to offer something more to Henry than what he’s getting now.
He would be meeting with his solicitor next week. They could discuss it then.
The thought of a meeting with his solicitor gave Conor a pang of dread, though.
It wasn’t that he feared receiving bad news about the financial solvency of his business. The Arc was doing well, and Conor knew it. All the evidence he needed was right in front of him. The place was full of happy patrons having a good time, just as it was every night.
And it wasn’t even as though Conor depended on the club’s success for his own financial wellbeing. He was an earl in his own right, and his title and taxation responsibilities meant that his pockets were never empty. He had started the club not because he needed a business to keep him afloat but because he had thought it might be fun.
So, he didn’t fear what his solicitor might say to him about his books when they met tomorrow. It was the man himself that Conor didn’t like.
Tobias Dawson had rubbed Conor wrong from the moment the two had first met. He was an unpleasant, weaselly, sycophantic little man, and Conor had the feeling he enjoyed the fact that he was solicitor to an earl more than he cared about doing his job well.
He had thought, on more than one occasion, about firing the man and finding someone else. But a few things always stopped him.
For one thing, no matter how much Conor didn’t like him personally, Tobias Dawson was good at his job. He was clever and quick, and he offered good ideas. His suggestions had more than once helped to expand the business. Conor knew enough to know that it would be ill conceived to throw away good help just because the source was such an unpleasant person.
And then there was the fact that it simply wasn’t in his nature to terminate anyone’s employment. Conor hated confrontation, and the idea of taking Tobias aside and telling him their work together was at an end put a very sour taste in his mouth.
I have no idea how I’ve gotten a reputation for being cold and unforgiving, he thought, sipping his scotch. He knew that was the way the rest of the ton saw him. He had received plenty of intimidated looks in his time. And Henry had told him, too, what guests at the club tended to say about him behind his back.
You need to mingle with them, Henry urged. You need to let them see the real you.
But Conor always declined. Truth be told, he wasn’t overly bothered by his reputation. It
just didn’t make a lot of sense to him. When had he ever been cold to anybody? Was it really just because he didn’t go out of his way to socialize?
These people will find anything to gossip about, he thought. There was some disdain in that thought, he recognized, but really. They sat here in his club, drinking his scotch, confiding in his best friend that they found him standoffish. It was just plain rude, wasn’t it? And they said he was the socially inept one!
There were some who might think that being social, being friendly, was an inherent part of being an earl. After all, Conor’s presence was expected at parties and social events. He did have to mingle with other members of the ton on occasion.
But he also had to collect their taxes. It was incumbent upon him, as Earl of Middleborough, to collect money from people. And that sort of thing made it difficult to make friends, even if you were naturally inclined to be social.
It’s really for the best that I’m able to keep my emotions out of my interactions with others, Conor thought. The last thing anyone needs is a sentimental tax collector. I would fall apart the first time I had to take money from anyone, and that’s no way to run things.
In truth, he had been known to waive taxes for people on rare occasions. He had more than once deliberately skipped over a poor, unmarried young mother struggling to make ends meet or a family supporting an elderly parent.
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