Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Christine Merrill

  ‘Oh, I don’t...’

  ‘Do not worry.’

  Beatrice went to the kitchen and asked about having a picnic compiled for herself and Master William. She was met with slightly quizzical expressions, but nobody openly questioned her. And she spent the next hour considering what she might wear out in the garden.

  While she was being dressed, she took a moment to ponder the absurdity of it all.

  She had been a spectator in her own life for a great many years. Subject to the commands or the whims of those in authority over her. Even if they did love her. And here she was, taking part in running a household, caring for a child. She was deeply surprised and pleased by all of it and she might be confused about everything with Briggs, but it didn’t matter. She had not had any of this a week ago. Not this home, not this child. Not the sense of purpose. Husband was inconsequential. And she did not have unlimited freedom, it was true. But she had more freedom. Or rather... A different sort of freedom. A different sort of life. It might not be an adventure around Europe, no grand tour. But she had taken a small one sitting on the floor with William this morning.

  And it was not mouldering away in the country. Well, she supposed she was mouldering away in the country, but it was a different part of the country. So, there was that to be cheerful about.

  * * *

  In the end, she was deeply satisfied by the blue dress that her lady’s maid put her in. It was a light airy fabric, and she attired herself in a fichu to cover the swells of her bosom. It was not ballroom, after all.

  But she looked... Entirely like the Duchess of the house, and not like the child she had felt like only a week before. She was a woman. As close to making her own decisions as she possibly could be, at least, to the best of her knowledge.

  * * *

  Time had passed quickly, and before she knew it was time to collect William.

  The boy that she found stubbornly sitting in the corner of his room, was not quite the amiable chap she had met this morning.

  His dark head was lowered, and his face was fixed into a comical scowl. He had dark-looking circles under his eyes.

  ‘Are you tired?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘He has had a bit of difficulty with lessons today.’

  ‘I sometimes had difficulty with lessons too,’ she said, trying her best to relate to him. She reached down, and tried to take hold of his hand, but he would not rise, and instead, leaned backwards, rooting himself even more firmly to the ground.

  ‘William, I have very nice food in this basket.’

  He did not say anything.

  ‘Shall we put your shoes on?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘I don’t want them.’

  ‘You must have shoes.’

  He only lay down on the floor, not answering her at all.

  ‘I will see to him, Your Grace,’ the governess said.

  ‘No,’ Beatrice said, confused, but determined. ‘William,’ she said, trying to sound stout. ‘I’m going to have a picnic. I will have one here if I must. But I am intent upon eating with you.’

  He rolled to the side, not looking at her.

  She took the blanket that was draped over her arm and spread it out over the floor of the nursery. Right atop the beautiful rug. Then she sat determinedly, placing the basket beside her and beginning to place the food all around them. ‘I am quite hungry.’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Well I am.’

  ‘I don’t like it. I don’t want shoes.’

  ‘If we eat here you don’t have to put on shoes.’

  ‘I don’t want shoes,’ he said.

  ‘I said you did not have to have them.’

  ‘I do not want shoes.’

  She did not know what to make of it. He seemed upset, though not inconsolable. He made his statement about shoes at least four more times before going quiet. As if the idea was firmly rooted in his mind and he required extra time to ensure it had been dealt with.

  Beatrice decided to change her tactics.

  ‘Do you like cheese?’

  The boy did not answer. He was involved in examining a spot on the wallpaper.

  ‘I quite like it,’ she said, firmly, cheerfully.

  She stared at him for a moment and wondered if she had miscalculated, in a fit of arrogance, imagining that she understood him. His loneliness seemed to be something he chose. For he did not look at her. And he did not seem interested in her overtures.

  But maybe he simply didn’t know how.

  ‘William, do you know it is polite to look at someone when they are talking?’

  He turned his head, sharply and only for a moment. And then he went back to staring at the wall. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘You don’t like to look at people?’

  ‘No.’

  She searched herself, trying to sort out the best way forward. ‘What do you like to look at?’

  ‘I already showed you my cards.’

  ‘You did.’

  For her part, she ate some cheese, because it made her feel soothed.

  She heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall, and stilled. It could be a manservant, but it made her think of...

  The door pushed open, and there he was.

  His eyes connected with hers, and he looked momentarily surprised. And then... Angry.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ he asked.

  She expected William to scramble upwards at his father’s presence. But he did not. Instead, he remained as he was, laying with his back to her, facing the wall.

  ‘I’m having a picnic with William,’ she said, smiling determinedly. ‘Would you like to join us, Your Grace?’

  He frowned. Which was a feat as he’d been frowning already, but he managed to do it again. ‘Would I care to join you...in a picnic?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said brightly. ‘I have not seen you these many days.’

  She looked at William, who was kicking his feet idly, but still not looking.

  ‘Good afternoon, William,’ Briggs said. ‘How are you?’

  He didn’t respond to his father.

  Briggs, for his part, did not look perturbed by this at all.

  ‘Don’t you want to say hello to your father?’ Beatrice prompted.

  ‘It is no matter,’ Briggs said. ‘Sometimes William does not feel like saying hello.’

  She was surprised by the easy way that he accepted this.

  Confused, she shuffled over, making more room on the blanket. ‘You want to join us. Surely you’ve not taken your lunch yet?’

  ‘I have not. But I do not sit on the ground.’

  ‘That is very interesting as William informed me earlier that he does not eat outside.’ She adjusted her seating position on the floor and it made her dress go tight around her hips, which caught his attention more than it should.

  ‘And you told him what?’

  ‘I asked him to try.’ She looked like steel just then.

  His brows lifted. ‘And here you are, eating indoors.’

  ‘Far easier to accomplish than the moving of a large dining table up to this room, don’t you think?’

  ‘You think that you will win with me where you have not won with my son?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Have a picnic.’ It was William’s first acknowledgement of Briggs.

  They both stared at the child. Who looked serious.

  ‘Have a picnic,’ he repeated.

  ‘There,’ she said, smiling up at Briggs. ‘William wishes you to have a picnic.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Briggs was... He didn’t know what he was. Of all the things he had expected when he had walked into his son’s room, it had not been to see Beatrice sitting
with a determinedly cheerful expression on her face in the middle of a blanket on the floor, eating a picnic.

  Nor did he expect to see William laying on his side, staring at the wall.

  Beatrice might interpret this as insolence, but Briggs knew that it was not. He also knew that if William were unhappy with Beatrice’s presence, he would’ve made it known. He would not simply lie there quietly.

  He had been avoiding her.

  That was the truth. And now that he acknowledged it to himself he felt replete with cowardice, and cowardice was not something he trafficked in. He had told himself that it was for her own good. After all, the conversation in the carriage ride had steered far too close to intimate for what he had decided their marriage would be. But he had also decided that she was his. And he fundamentally could not excuse his neglect of her. Not when her care and keeping was his responsibility.

  What he had not expected was for her to be with William. And he felt... Oddly exposed, and angry about it. At war with the emotions that Beatrice created inside him.

  And he found himself sitting down. On the floor. He hated that she was right. But he could not deny William. And he had asked him to have a picnic.

  ‘William has shown me his collection of cards.’

  ‘Has he?’

  ‘Yes. I quite enjoyed hearing about everything he knows.’

  ‘Unless you’ve spent a considerable amount of hours with him, you have not scratched the surface of what he knows,’ Briggs said, marvelling slightly at the pride that he felt when he said it. William was in possession of a great deal of information. And while he might not be able to carry on a fluid conversation about whatever you wanted him to, he could certainly give you all of the information there was to have on the Roman Colosseum.

  ‘I don’t doubt that,’ Beatrice said.

  William rolled over then, as if he was intrigued by the direction of the conversation. Briggs couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘You know quite a lot, don’t you, William?’

  ‘I know everything about the Colosseum,’ William said.

  ‘William, are you interested in London?’

  ‘London is interesting,’ he said. ‘Westminster and St James’s Palace.’

  ‘You’re very clever,’ she said. ‘Do you look forward to joining us in London?’

  ‘He won’t be joining us,’ Briggs said.

  William did not react to that.

  ‘Why not?’ Beatrice asked.

  ‘He will not be joining us because he does not like to travel. He finds carriage rides to be interminable, and the disruption to his routine makes him fractious.’

  ‘Oh, it all makes me fractious as well,’ Beatrice said. ‘I am quite upended, and a bit fussy. But that does not mean we should not do things.’

  ‘He will not wish to go to London.’

  ‘London has Westminster Abbey, St James’s Palace. Grosvenor Square.’

  He recited facts rather than stating his feelings on the matter, and that did not surprise Briggs. Sometimes he seemed to be making a conversation, and other times, you couldn’t force one out of him. Briggs didn’t see the point in trying.

  He let him speak his piece, though.

  But he found that he did not necessarily want Beatrice to see, for he was afraid on behalf of William that she would offer judgement, but she did not.

  ‘You should’ve spoken to me, before you involved yourself with William.’

  ‘She is my friend,’ William said.

  Briggs was absolutely stunned by that. He did not know what to say. ‘She is?’

  ‘I’ve never had a friend,’ he said.

  ‘You have your governess.’

  ‘She is a governess. This lady is my friend.’

  ‘I cannot argue with that.’

  Beatrice, for her part, looked exceedingly pleased.

  They continued eating in silence, and when they were through, William’s governess came and made it clear that it was time for him to continue on with his lessons.

  They walked out of the nursery, and Beatrice left behind him.

  ‘Why can we not take him to London?’

  ‘Why have you inserted yourself into my son’s life?’ he asked.

  ‘I had nothing else to do,’ she said. ‘I felt that I had something in common with Master William. I am lonely. And I can assure you that he is as well.’

  ‘Did he look lonely to you?’ His son barely glanced at people when they were in the same room as he, not when he was engrossed in something else.

  ‘I somehow have the feeling that he does not necessarily look the way you or I might when we are feeling something. But it does not mean he does not feel it.’

  He was stunned by the insight, as he had known that was true for some time. Even if no one, including William himself, could confirm it.

  ‘You are correct about that, but that does not mean that he is lonely. Or that he wishes to go to London. You have spent some time with him, and that is very nice of you. A kindness. However, that does not give you a complete view of all of his struggles.’

  ‘I went into his room last night. When he was having one of his terrors.’

  Guilt ate at him. He ought to have heard William, but he had been in his study. He had spent much time there since bringing Beatrice to Maynard Park. Anything to keep her distant from him in the night when his vision was invaded by thoughts of beautiful virgin sacrifices, on their knees before him...

  ‘Yes, that is one of his difficulties. He sometimes does that during the day as well, though, when he is not asleep. His moods can be incredibly capricious. I do not always know what will cause... There is a disconnect. He loses himself. In his rage. He has never harmed anyone. I do not think he ever would. I cannot explain it better than that. But I do not think he would enjoy London. I think you would find it noisy, I think you would find it confusing, I think you would find the journey arduous. And I am his father. You might think that I have made this edict out of a sense of my own convenience, but I assure you it is not for my convenience. It is not so simple. Would that it were for my own convenience. Then I might not feel so much guilt. I might not feel torn. By my duties to him, and my duties to the House of Lords.’

  He felt a stab of guilt, because there was also the duty to his libido, which he had faithfully attended these past years. But that was part of quitting to London. At least for him. The opportunity to see to his baser needs. And he had a great need to deal with them now.

  Of course, he would already have Beatrice in tow.

  Beatrice likely had no idea what a brothel was, let alone the particular delights he saw in them.

  She looked at him in a fury. ‘Your Grace, I did not seek to question your commitment to your son, but I do have a differing opinion. He dreams of seeing things. He dreams of seeing the world. I think perhaps in part the trip will be upsetting for him, but it seems as if you find sleep upsetting at times, and he cannot be utterly and completely shielded from every bad feeling.’

  ‘Why not? Why do you think that is not something that should be done? You had the benefit of having it done for you. And you discarded it. You discarded your brother’s protection, and now you are under mine. And you must do as I say.’

  He had not asked for this. For her intervention with his son, his most private, painful relationship. The one he would die for, kill for.

  He had not asked for her to be here, bewitching him and making him long to touch her. Taste her.

  Receive her submission.

  This was her fault, and not his.

  If she did not like the way it was in his household, she should not have flung herself into his arms.

  ‘Is that how it’s to be, Your Grace?’

  ‘And when is it that I became Your Grace, and not Briggs?’

  ‘The moment you stopped being my friend
. Maybe you never started. I believed that we were friends, Your Grace, I did. I had a great deal of affection for you. But since all of this, all you have done is stay in your study.’

  ‘This is what I do with my life, Beatrice. You have always seen me when I was away from my duties and responsibilities. You only ever see me away from Maynard Park. This is my life. I have a duty to my tenants to manage things to the best of my ability. I have a son, and my duty is to make sure that his life... I wish for him to be happy, Beatrice, and I do not know how to accomplish this. There is no road map. There is no map for parents, not in the general sense, but when you have a child like mine, who is not like any other child I have ever met, how is it that I’m supposed to ensure his happiness? When cards with pictures of buildings on them make him happier than toys, and when he does not always smile even when he is happy. How am I to ever know what to do?

  ‘Do not speak to me with such authority and confidence. Do not tell me what I have denied you, when you are the one that put yourself in the situation. You wanted my anger, and now you may have it. You might have got your way. You might have escaped from your house, but you have stepped into my life. And I warned you that I would not disrupt it for you.’

  She looked wounded, and he regretted it. But she had no right to speak to him on such matters. She might be a woman in figure, but she was a child in so many ways. Desperately sheltered.

  ‘I was a child like that. It might not have been for the same reasons,’ she said, her voice filled with conviction, ‘but I was that child. My parents did not know what to do. Hugh has never known what to do with me. I have been isolated and alone because of the differences in me. Because of the fear that my family has always felt for me. And it might come from a place of love, but the result is the same. I have been lonely. And isolated. Controlled. And at the same time... Do you know what it is to be a child who has accepted that you will likely die? Because all of that fear that surrounded me all the time, I knew what it meant. I knew that it meant I was dying. I was surprised to wake up some days. Many days. I endured pain that would make grown men weep. And I learned to do so without fear. Having a different set of circumstances does not make you weak. I am not weak. Your son is not weak.’