by Abigail Agar
Still, Beatrice couldn’t help but enjoy the naughtiness of it. She was happy for Isla.
“You are going to get yourself into trouble one of these days, you know,” Beatrice said.
“Yes, perhaps I will, but I shall enjoy myself in doing so,” Isla said.
“You must be cautious. We do not know if or when we shall have the marriages that we are each hoping for,” Beatrice reminded her.
“Do not think like that, Beatrice. We will figure something out,” Isla said, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.
They would figure something out. That was the phrase that they had continually told themselves. The question, however, was when they would have it figured out. Would it be soon enough that Beatrice did not have to worry about her Isla’s wedding to Lord Hawthorn? Or would they be too late?
“Oh, and I saw that you were speaking with Lady Hawthorn. How was that? You met his mother already, even I have not done so,” Isla said.
“I recall you said that she does not live nearby. Well, she has come tonight, presumably to meet you. But, yes, I met her. She was frightening at first, but I wonder if she was intentionally attempting to intimidate me. In the end, she was rather lovely,” Beatrice said.
“Wonderful! I am glad that the two of you got along well,” Isla said.
“As am I. This is all very new for me,” Beatrice said.
“You know, I think we are really, very close to moving forward. I do believe that the gentlemen have a plan of their own, although they have not yet shared it with me and I am simply trying to find my courage to tell my father that I simply refuse to marry Lord Hawthorn and that he would be wise to allow me to marry Lord Beckridge,” Isla said.
“It is really going to be as simple as that? You think you can just tell him what you want and he shall acquiesce?” Beatrice scoffed.
“Of course not. I am not that foolish. I am telling you the ideal, not the reality. The reality is that my father will ignore me entirely, then get very angry and tell me that I shall marry Lord Hawthorn whether I wish it or not,” Isla said.
“And then?” Beatrice asked.
“And then Lord Hawthorn is going to tell him that he does not love me or wish to marry me. At that point, my father will tell him that it hardly matters what he wants because he has made a commitment and my father shall hold him to it. And that is when Lord Beckridge shall enter the scene,” Isla said.
Beatrice tried not to laugh.
“And what happens in this scene?” she asked.
“Lord Beckridge declares that he has come to whisk me away to happiness. We are to be married and to live in bliss,” Isla said.
“So, there you have it. You and Lord Beckridge marry,” Beatrice said.
“Oh, no, not at all. Then, my father stares at him until he melts into a puddle. Lord Hawthorn and I say our vows then and there. We are married. And not one of us is contented,” Isla said, ending the story with a girlish laugh and a shrug.
Just then, another woman came over to speak to Isla. Beatrice recognised that she had no place in the conversation and made her departure.
With that, Beatrice wandered off to the side wall to stand and observe the room.
What she had not expected was for Lord Seton to come up next to her.
“Lord Seton, good evening,” she greeted, pushing away the chilly air that she felt at his sudden presence beside her.
“Miss Cloud…” he said, his voice low and unpleasant.
“Are you enjoying your evening?” Beatrice asked him.
“I would be. However, I find that it is much disturbed in the least expected of ways,” Lord Seton said.
“I am very sorry to hear that, Lord Seton. What has you so disturbed?” Beatrice asked.
“I have found that my daughter had been betrayed by someone that she had believed to be a friend,” he growled.
“That is horrible, Lord Seton! What has happened? Is Lady Isla all right?” she asked.
With that, Lord Seton drew up close, uncomfortably so, in an effort to assert his dominance. Beatrice could feel her heart racing. She had not anticipated a confrontation.
Lord Seton was not amused by her presence.
She ought to have been prepared for this. He had seen her dancing with the Lord Hawthorn, and she had known that he would not approve. Why would he? Why would any man approve of his employees dancing with the future husband of his daughter?
Indeed, he had every reason to be upset with her. But Beatrice could not afford that just now. She was still dependent upon her work. She was still dependent upon Lord Seton.
“It was a mistake for you to have come here. If you have any wisdom at all, you will leave here at once,” Lord Seton ordered.
“Why must I leave?” she dared to ask, looking up at him with wide, anxious eyes. No matter how frightened she was, Beatrice would not leave until he had given her a reason. He had to face his fear and tell her. He had to vocalise the truth, even if it gave Beatrice an opportunity to urge him to let Isla marry Lord Beckridge.
“Because you dared to consort with the man that my daughter is to marry. You have betrayed her. You have forced her into the arms of another man because of your selfishness. You, a governess,” he said, spitting the last word.
The hall was full, but in their spot against the wall no one was looking or caring that Beatrice was trapped by her employer. No one noticed them at all. And when she looked around for help from one of her allies, she saw that Isla was dancing with another gentleman and Lord Hawthorn and Lord Beckridge were busily chatting away with a group of other men.
She was alone.
“Who are you looking for?” Lord Seton asked, grasping her arm and putting his face in hers, veins bulging along his forehead, his cheeks red with hate.
Beatrice was shaking. She couldn’t believe his fury. She could not believe that he had grasped her arm like this, squeezing it tightly.
If anything, she had been prepared to defend herself. She had been prepared to tell him that his daughter was in love with another man; that he should allow her to be with him.
But now, the moment had arrived. Now was the time in which she would have to make her statement, to make her claims.
And her words failed her.
She could implore him, but Beatrice had very little hope that it would be effective. After all, this was not a man who was accustomed to bowing to the whims of young women.
Why should he listen to her? Why should he listen to his own daughter?
No, there was nothing now to do but beg.
“Why are you just standing there? Looking around for someone to rescue you? No one will come. You have made every mistake possible. You have put yourself in the way of my plans and I will not easily forgive that offense,” Lord Seton said.
“P-please, my lord,” Beatrice said.
“There is no compassion in me for a waste of a life like yours. Your only duty was to teach my girls to be pretty little displays when we had guests over. Instead, you have befriended my eldest and…polluted her in the process,” he said, gripping her arm even more tightly so that she had to hold back from crying out.
“Please, I have done no such thing,” she said. “I am sorry that I have upset you, but you must know that it was not meant to do you harm.”
“Just go, you little wretch,” he said, harshly.
“I will. I will go,” Beatrice said, backing down.
But Lord Seton was evidently not done with her yet. He had not released her. Instead, he leaned in just a little bit closer to her ear. His voice was the harsh whisper of a serpent that longs to wound.
“What a foolish creature you are, thinking you could win the affections of a great man like Lord Hawthorn. There is no place in this world for you. No place in this world for a poverty-stricken usurper like you,” he said, as cruelly as he was able.
It was horrible to be accused of these things. It was horrible to be hurt in this way for something that she could not feel guilt
y about. But these words were positively unbearable. An identity that she wished to be rid of, more than anything else.
Beatrice just wanted to live her life, just wanted to be loved and to be with the one that she loved.
But she always should have known that she could never have that. She always should have known that her life was predetermined.
“Now, get out of here before I have you taken out and forgotten,” Lord Seton threatened.
“Y-yes, My Lord,” Beatrice said, cowering, despite every bit of hope that she might have had for strength.
His words were a sword, piercing through her chest. The cruelty and hatred in his eyes told Beatrice everything she needed to know.
She had to leave.
Unable to remain any longer with him, Beatrice turned and rushed from the room. And once she was gone, she ran as fast as she could, her legs taking her as far as they were able before she could run no longer.
Chapter 33
Peter was enjoying the evening, happy to spend time with so many of his friends.
The ball had been as grand a time as he could have imagined. He had created an evening worth remembering.
The many attendees and guests appeared to feel the same way. They were thanking him and expressing their gratitude for such a grand evening. In all, it had been a success.
Still, the best part had been the dance that he had shared with Miss Cloud. Nothing had prepared him for what a joy that would be or how perfect a dance could be when one’s partner is the right person.
It was only difficult that he could not spend more time with her; that he could not entertain her for a better portion of the evening.
His eyes searched the crowd of people, hoping to find her. If he could not dance with her he at least wanted to see her, to smile at her from across the room.
But she was nowhere within his sights and he sighed, figuring that she had either gone to the powder room or was surrounded by one of the many bunches of people who were entertaining one another and laughing, having a merry time.
As he was reaching for a drink from the refreshments table, Lady Seton came to him with a look of worry on her face.
“Lady Seton? Is everything all right?” he asked.
“No, My Lord. I hoped that you might tell me, have you seen Miss Cloud?” she asked.
Peter’s brows came together in concern. He had not expected that Miss Cloud had actually gone missing.
“I have not seen her. What is wrong? How long has it been since you have seen her? Is something the matter?” he asked, suddenly worried.
“I cannot say. I am probably nervous over nothing, Lord Hawthorn, but I cannot help but be concerned,” she said.
“I understand, Lady Seton. We must look for her, regardless. It would do us no good to stand here, worrying about her, if she is simply in another room speaking with other guests,” Peter said.
“I suppose that is true. But, Lord Hawthorn, I also wanted to speak with you on another very important matter,” Lady Seton said.
“Oh? What is it?” he asked, wishing that they could focus on one issue at present. He wanted to find Miss Cloud. Lady Seton’s worry only made him doubly concerned, not understanding where she might have gone.
“Perhaps it would be more private if we discuss the matter as we search for Miss Cloud. I do not think anyone here needs to overhear this conversation and I should like to find my friend,” she said, appearing to agree that it was a crucial moment to find her.
Peter led Lady Seton out of the hall and they smiled at a few other guests who were mingling, eyeing the two of them running off together on their own. Certainly, it did not look good for them to do such a thing. It would give the guests every reason to be suspicious of their behaviour and their propriety.
But Peter could not bring himself to care in that moment. He wanted only to find Miss Cloud and to focus on his search for her. After all, she was his greatest priority. Nothing else mattered so much as she did in that moment and, if she was truly missing, Peter could hardly handle to think what might have occurred.
They entered a hallway that was clear of people and began searching the rooms along the way.
“Lord Hawthorn, I must tell you what is on my mind,” Lady Seton said.
“Please do,” he replied.
“To be perfectly frank with you, I know that you care for Miss Cloud. I know that you like her better than you care for me,” she said.
Peter instantly felt his heart race a little bit faster. He felt awful. No matter how true it was, the last thing that he had wanted was to make anyone feel as though they were not important to him.
“I am terribly sorry, Lady Seton,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “I fear that I have been less than a good and honest man.”
“Oh, no, I am not here to scold you about it. Understand that I hardly mind that you do not love me. That is just the thing, Lord Hawthorn. I, as well, love another. I do not wish for our marriage to proceed any more than you do. And I suspect that you are well aware of this, which is why I am not wasting time with subtlety,” she said.
Although Peter had long suspected this, and had known for Andrew’s part that this would be the resolution, he was impressed to hear Lady Seton be so forthcoming with the information. After all, it was not the sort of polite conversation that a young lady might be expected to share with her betrothed.
“Forgive me if I am too blunt with you, Lord Hawthorn, but I thought that it was best for me to be honest,” she said.
They looked in yet another room and found it empty. Miss Cloud was gone.
“Have you checked the powder room?” he asked her, interjecting the question in the midst of their search.
“She was not there,” Lady Seton replied.
His heart sunk a little further.
“All right, then. We must continue searching. As for your declaration, Lady Seton, I am not the most observant man in the kingdom, but I could see long ago that you and my dear friend, Lord Beckridge, are meant for one another. I am grateful for your boldness in telling me so and the fact that you are unashamed of your affections. You and Lord Beckridge would be a most wonderful couple,” he said.
“Then I fear I must apologise to you once more. I ought to have at least tried to hide my affections for Lord Beckridge as well,” she said. “I have been making efforts to try and pair you with Miss Cloud, to help the match to blossom. Although, perhaps, I did not do so well as I might have wanted.”
Peter laughed.
“I find that amusing as I have been trying to give space for you and Lord Beckridge to flourish in a match of your own. I know that he would be thrilled to marry you; I only know that there are many complications to consider,” Peter said.
“Well, that is certainly something. I am glad that we are out with it now. You have been a very good man and a good friend. It is only that my heart belongs to Lord Beckridge,” Lady Seton said.
“And mine belongs to Miss Cloud,” he replied.
“In that case, we had better find her. Quickly,” Lady Seton said.
