by Abigail Agar
Peter watched her for a moment, not sure what he should say. He didn’t want her to think about it like that. He wanted Miss Cloud to be free to say whatever she wished to say.
And yet she was a governess, he a duke. This was exactly how it was meant to be between them. Distant. Ashamed to speak of the personal. Far from one another and unwilling to bend the rules even just a little.
“Please, My Lord, I am not accustomed to hiding things from the family who employs me, but if I may make a request…” she said.
“Anything,” Peter replied.
“Please do not tell them that we spoke of this. It is both inappropriate for me to discuss the matter with you and it is also a jeopardy to my position should they know that I am considering marriage. I do not wish to be dismissed before I am ready and I will give them a fair and proper warning if the time comes that I wish to leave and move forward with matrimony,” she said.
Peter nodded, sincerely but solemnly. He would keep her secret, even if it hurt him to do so.
The silent conversation they had shared only moments before, the sentiments spoken with only their eyes; this was all over. They had returned to the realities of their situations and the fact that there could be nothing between them.
“You have my word, Miss Cloud. I will say nothing to Lord and Lady Seton or their daughters. So long as you promise to give them a fair warning—as you say—I cannot think it would do any of us any good,” Peter said.
“Thank you, My Lord,” she said, folding her hands in a proper way in front of her dress. “Now, I believe I am keeping you from your appointment with Lady Seton.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you,” Peter said, broken from his own spell. He did not wish to leave Miss Cloud there, to go and spend time with his betrothed.
But he had no other choice.
“Are you returning to the house?” he asked.
“Soon, My Lord,” she replied with a sad smile. “I wish to make myself more presentable than this. I can’t have them seeing me as a mess of tears now, can I?”
“I daresay you cannot. But you must give yourself time and room to be at peace, Miss Cloud. I should be sad to think that you are forcing yourself to move forward when you are not ready,” Peter said.
Miss Cloud looked at him with a question in her eyes and Peter realised that he had the very same question.
What was he speaking about? Was it the fact that she ought to take her time recovering from her emotions? Or was he talking to her about not rushing into a marriage in which she would be unhappy?
Peter decided—just as he hoped Miss Cloud had—that he was referring to both.
“Thank you, My Lord. That is wise advice,” she said. “Good day to you.”
With that, she began to walk further away and Peter watched her go.
As for himself, he made his way toward the estate, heart filled with wonder and hope and doubt and longing. But he did not have time for those emotions right now.
Peter reached the estate and knocked at the door. The housekeeper opened it and welcomed him inside, bidding him to wait for the family, to wait until the usual conversing might commence.
It did not take long. Lady Seton entered the parlour, her lovely brown hair cascading over her shoulder from a knot at the base of her neck.
Peter wished the he could love her. He wished that he could care about her enough to happily marry her and that Andrew did not feel that way.
But, regardless of his attempts to feel enough for marriage, he could not.
“Lady Seton, you are lovely as ever,” Peter said.
Her mother and father followed her into the room and he greeted each of them and he could feel the weight of Lord Seton’s eyes, urging him to be as affectionate as was deemed appropriate. Yes, Lord Seton had spoken with Peter, and now he was expecting him to act on that discussion, to ensure that Lady Seton knew he was not indifferent.
This presented a problem for Peter.
“Lord Hawthorn, I have discussed with my daughter about moving up the timeline of the wedding,” Lord Seton said.
Peter raised an eyebrow. He had not agreed to that and could not understand why Lord Seton would have mentioned it to Lady Seton without first hearing his decision.
When Peter looked to her he could see the stiffness in her face, the resigned understanding that she had no choice.
And with that, Peter recognised that she did not love him any more than he loved her. The marriage would be a farce for each of them. There was nothing of their union that would be honest or true and that certainly made him hesitant to consider moving forward at all.
He would not only be compromising his own choices, but he would be forcing her to compromise what she wanted as well. And there was nothing good about that; nothing that reasoned to be positive or hopeful for either of them.
“I see, Lord Seton. I do believe we ought to continue discussing that in private, first,” Peter said.
“I think we ought to take some time to consider it alone and, perhaps in a week’s time, we may share our thoughts,” Lord Seton said, making the decision for them all.
Peter paused before he nodded, choosing his words carefully.
“Yes, Lord Seton. If that is what you wish. But soon, we shall discuss the matter and come to a decision that is agreeable for everyone,” he said.
And for the first time, he started to truly believe that he would find a way out of the marriage altogether.
Chapter 27
Staring out of the window, Beatrice thought about the previous day when Lord Hawthorn had been around to see Isla. She thought about how handsome he had looked and how tender he had been with her.
It was not easy, holding herself back. Nor was it easy to tell him that she was being courted by other men. It was painful to allow him to know that she might soon be spoken for—should she find someone worth her interest.
But he had been soft and kind and he had spoken to her with such lovely tones in his voice, expressing a great deal of care and concern in a way that melted her heart right down into the pit of her belly.
Lord Hawthorn’s face was now a permanent portrait in the back of her mind and it made her ache to think that she would soon be gone from this house where she could see him, and that he would soon be gone and sharing a home with Isla.
They would likely nevermore see one another. Unless, of course, Isla proceeded to invite Beatrice around as she had promised to. And that only made Beatrice wonder all over—would it be worse? Would she rather never see him at all or see him married to another woman?
There was still the question as to whether or not Beatrice would end up visiting Isla or if she would, one day, be a governess for Isla’s daughters. If that were to be the future, it would mean that Beatrice had never found love after all.
That was a miserable notion and she did not wish to consider it, even if Isla would have been happy to have her continue working for the Seton family. She understood that Isla was simply trying to keep her friend close, but that did not change the fact that it bothered Beatrice that she would have to be working for her in order to be kept close.
Still, Beatrice had plenty of hopes and dreams for herself. If she did not get to marry, she would figure something out. Perhaps she might be a governess to another family, maybe even one that lived closer to her mother and Louise. Maybe she would even be a governess to Marissa’s daughter, Daisy. So long as she received room and board, she did not necessarily need money.
But that was silly. Marissa was going to be in charge of Daisy’s learning. Why would she take in another mouth to feed?
There was a knock at the door of her room and she turned her head from the window.
“Come in,” Beatrice said.
The maid entered and waltzed up to her.
“Here, Miss Cloud. A letter,” she said.
Beatrice took it and handed the maid an envelope in return.
Beatrice had only just finished writing a letter to Louise when she had been lost in her
thoughts.
“I will have it sent right away,” the maid said.
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Beatrice said, trying to focus on the presence of the maid instead of allowing her eyes to drift once more. But soon, the maid was gone.
Now, she looked at the letter instead of the outside and saw that it was a reply from Marissa to the letter she had previously written. With excitement at hearing from her sister, she unfolded the page and began to read it immediately.
My Dear Bea,
I miss you dearly. It breaks my heart, as well, that we have not had more time together.
After receiving your previous letter, I understand the importance of my reply. I know that you are looking for wisdom regarding your situation, and I fear that I am hardly one to provide such a thing at the moment.
Nevertheless, I do want you to know that I am thinking about you, hoping that you are able to find a way through the struggles that you are currently facing.
While I do not have anything resembling wisdom, I may offer you advice, if you do not mind my audacity in giving it. Please, feel free to disregard it as you see fit. After all you, and only you, are the one to make this choice. You, and only you, may proceed with any decision that befalls you.
What I suggest, humbly recognising my own shortcomings, is that you do not lose heart.
Lord Hawthorn is a wealthy, titled, man—not to mention the very vital fact that he is also engaged.
He has a great many qualities to his name and to his person. As I have inquired about him, curious for your sake, I have come to learn that he is a kind man, and not altogether a complex one. He is a man who may keep the lower classes at bay, but not necessarily understand why, when they are no different from him.
I understand that he is, currently, betrothed to your friend, but if you believe her to be indifferent, I do not think you should feel bad about the feelings that you have. Certainly, should they marry, you must abandon your affection at once. But, until that happens, you can hardly ignore the fact that you have noticed this man and that you desire to know him better.
Would it be logical? No. I make no attempt to lie to you, Bea. There is nothing to make anyone think that you and Lord Hawthorn could be bound in matrimony.
And yet, it would behoove me to tell you to give up.
Now, all of that aside, let me address the other matter, that of the men that Mother has chosen for you.
She is making these matches based on what she knows of the gentlemen’s families. She has not met the men themselves. I am sorry that not one of them has been what you had hoped that he might be.
But you mustn’t settle for a man that you do not love. It may be difficult, but it is better to wait for the right gentleman than to accept one who does not make you happy. And the right man is out there. Whether he is Lord Hawthorn or another, wait for him.
I love you, dear sister. Hold to your hope, for anything else would make me terribly sad.
Love,
Marissa
Beatrice folded the letter back up, trying to tell herself that she could survive just fine without any sort of love or affection.
But her sister’s words were true. Marissa was right to say that she should be patient. It was the same advice that everyone had been giving her, advice that she knew to be correct. What she could not come to terms with was the fact that Marissa also told her not to lose heart regarding Lord Hawthorn.
Why would she be bold and foolish enough to have hopes for that sort of union? She knew, without a doubt, that Lord Hawthorn and Isla had been promised to one another.
Hoping that either of them would end that was selfish and wrong.
“Oh, you fool. Why do you keep telling yourself these things? Is it not enough to go around and around with your hopes?” Beatrice asked herself in a whisper as she sat at the small desk in her room.
She didn’t want to think that she could be the sort of person to push through another’s arrangement with ambition and determination which would ruin things for them.
However, Beatrice felt quite certain that Lord Hawthorn felt the same way that she did. It was an awful feeling. It was terrible to think that she might have pulled his affections from her dearest friend.
The whole situation was a mess.
It was then, in the middle of these thoughts, that Beatrice had to ask herself another question.
What if she told Isla?
She had considered it, fleetingly, at various times. But now, she began to truly wonder. What would happen? How would her friend take it to hear that Beatrice had feelings for her betrothed?
Perhaps, seeing as how Isla did not care for him—as Beatrice had long suspected—it would hardly matter. However, if she was wrong, everything could fall apart.
Things would be much, much worse.
Beatrice looked at the time and saw that she needed to return to her lessons with the girls. She went downstairs and found them already waiting in the schoolroom, playing with their dollies.
“Now, now. Is this play time or is this learning time?” Beatrice asked.
“You told us once that the two could be intertwined,” Cecile replied, casually.
Beatrice laughed.
“Indeed, I did,” she said.
“So that is what we are doing,” Cecile said.
“Good heavens, one might think that the children are running me, rather than the other way around. But, my darlings, today our lesson shall consist of paper and ink,” she said.
The girls groaned, but Beatrice only gathered the materials that she needed for them.
Just then, one of the maids came to the school room.
“Miss Cloud? Please forgive the intrusion,” she said.
“It is nothing. What may I do for you?” Beatrice asked.
“I have another letter for you,” she replied, holding out the paper.
Beatrice took it, looking at it curiously. She did not recognise the handwriting on the letter and that made her nervous, for some strange reason. She was not accustomed to receiving letters from anyone aside from her mother and sisters. Even her own father typically did not write to her.
However, Beatrice did not want a strange letter to interrupt her time with the girls. She tucked it into her bodice and vowed to read it later. From there, she got back to the lesson and continued teaching the children about the importance of learning languages.
When she did finally have some time on her own and a chance to read the letter, she stowed away in her room and closed the door, taking a seat on her bed.
She opened the letter and decided to check the name first.
Mr. Walter Hinton.
Beatrice could scarcely believe it. Mr. Hinton was the first gentleman among her mother’s choosing with whom she had spent a day.
And it had been a horror.
Still, curiosity led her to reading through the letter.
Dear Miss Cloud,
I have not heard from you since the day we met for an outing. I was not sure whether or not I should write to you, or allow you to write to me first. However, since you did not, I have chosen to.
