by Joyce Alec
“Lady Beatrice,” he said, very gently, very softly. “I have known you for a great many years. We were children together, playing in my mother’s gardens, or at the lake where your aunt and uncle live, or in the library here at your home. We became friends, and have grown up together. And one day, when our friends began to marry, I realized that I too wished to be married someday. And when I wondered who I wanted to be married to, only one woman stuck out in my mind, and that was the both beautiful and astute, Lady Beatrice.”
Beatrice flushed at his words, and a flood of memories came back to her. It was hard to believe that this attractive man in front of her was the same boy she remembered from long ago. But growing had done him good. She found it rather reassuring, to think she would have a husband as strong as he was.
“So,” he said, looking down at his hands, which were clasped in front of himself. “I had no idea whether you would even take me seriously. One of your favorite pastimes was to tease me when we were young, especially about anything that had to do with you. The thought of coming here was intimidating, and I was not sure how I could convince you to even listen to me.”
He laughed hollowly, but she could see that he was being honest. She had never considered herself to be intimidating, but then again, he was always nervous around her.
“But then, when I saw you this last weekend, and we spoke, I found for the first time a spark in your eyes that was not there before. Every time before then I felt a distance between us. I was never sure if you were interested or not, since you always redirected our conversations away from the ideas of marriage or a relationship. I always just assumed you were simply not interested in getting married. Saturday, though, you seemed just as interested in playful banter as I was. I tested the waters, just like I always did, and somehow, for some reason, this time you reciprocated. I thought that perhaps I had lost my mind or had misheard you.”
He smiled at her. “So, I pressed a little bit more, and you surprised me when you said that you wanted to spend some time alone with me, away from Margaret. I thought that all my dreams had come true when I asked to visit you at the estate. I realized then that you felt the same way that I have felt for so long.”
She leaned forward, closer to him. “I have known for a long time how you have felt. I just…” she trailed off. “I just was not entirely sure how I felt in return. Perhaps seeing my siblings so happy has helped to spur me along.”
She glanced over his head at her parents, who were looking intently at the two of them. Her words must have made an impact on them too, for they both seemed surprised, with a mixture of excitement.
“But I do now, and that was why, when you offered, I did not want you to be turned away. I was worried that perhaps you had turned your attentions onto another, and when I realized you hadn’t, I wasted no time making sure that you knew how I felt.”
He beamed at her, and he reached up to her and took her hands in his.
“Well then, let us not waste any more time with flirtatious pleasantries. Lady Beatrice Stone, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Beatrice felt an enormous relief wash over her, as well as satisfaction. She had been right, it could be this simple, and she was proving her point. She did not make it difficult, and she did not make it an issue by delaying it any further. She did not question it, and she did not think twice about it. It would not do to change her mind now.
No, she had made her decision, and she believed in the deepest parts of her heart that it was the right one.
She smiled at him in return, and she nodded her head. She was surprised when she felt tears fall onto her cheeks. “Yes. I will marry you.”
The wedding took place a few weeks later, in the earliest week of May. The spring blossoms were in full bloom, and Beatrice was able to make a bouquet out of all of her favorite flowers from her own garden. Lilies, roses, and tulips. It was beautiful, full, and bright.
Her sister Jane came home to help her pick out her dress. Margaret, who was the one who was most concerned with fashion, insisted on a particular style of dress, and Beatrice could understand why. It was made from a lovely material and covered in lace. It was a beautiful pale pink color, and she felt almost like a queen wearing it.
Her brother Robert, now a vicar, insisted they marry in his church. Beatrice loved the idea, even though it was a little farther away than the church she and William had grown up in together. She had insisted on it. Robert was overjoyed to perform the ceremony, and it allowed them to move the wedding up from the middle of the summer to the middle of spring. Lord Kenswick was overjoyed about the decision.
She did not spend much time with her betrothed before the wedding, since the planning and effort to move her things into his manor house took far longer than they had anticipated. He was further away than even Jane was living, and though the house was beautiful, Beatrice worried about its distance from her family. Living near them was all she had ever known, but she knew that she was to be a married woman now, and her husband would be her primary concern, and the same would apply to him, as his primary responsibility would be to her.
The ceremony was small, with only their families and a few friends. Many were surprised at the hastiness of the wedding; a rumor circulated through their group of friends that perhaps she was pregnant, and they were doing all they could to cover it up. She ignored the gossip because she knew the marriage was only about a young man who cared for a young woman.
Jane seemed awfully pleased about Beatrice’s wedding, saying that they would certainly see more of each other, since her husband and Lord Kenswick were such good friends. She talked and talked about the parties they could have and the trips they could all take. Her love of propriety had made her very proud of Lord Kenswick’s position, and she was pleased that her sister had married so well. She had then turned her attention to Margaret, telling her that she would be lucky to marry as well as Beatrice. Margaret huffed and brushed it off. She said she had little interest in all of this love business, and how much trouble it seemed to cause.
The wedding and honeymoon took place without a hitch, and soon, the happily married couple returned to their manor, just the two of them. All of the excitement, praise, and happiness had settled down into a comfortable quiet, and Beatrice realized that her life had just changed forever.
Lord Kenswick carried her through the doorway when they first arrived home, and she knew that she had made the right choice. She still believed it. He was a good man, and he loved her. It was obvious in every action, in every word.
And she knew that she would love him fully, eventually. There was plenty of time to get to know him better as her husband, and not just as her friend. She had done exactly as she wanted, and everything had fallen right into place, just as she knew it would.
The first night that she tried to fall asleep in her new home, she wondered if perhaps she understood her siblings just a little bit better. The joy of being married was perhaps the best reward of all. And as she smiled and settled down to fall asleep, she realized that she must have been the happiest of them all, for she had avoided all the heartache and trouble that they had experienced.
Beatrice took great pride in her decisions.
4
Questions
The spring bloomed into summer, and summer passed quietly into autumn. The trees were changing much earlier to their rubies and golds and ambers, and Beatrice found herself getting lost in the colors. She would often sit in her room, staring out of the window at a still unfamiliar landscape, trying as hard as she could to find that feeling of home that she knew she should have by now.
But she did not, and she found herself wondering why on earth that was.
The perfect life that she had envisioned was not as perfect as she would have expected. Her husband had many habits and patterns that she did not understand, and some she just downright did not like. He kept his regular meetings with his friends, seemingly unaware that his wife was often left alone in those times. He
still went about his business as if he were alone, and there were more weekends than she liked to admit where she sat alone in the library, reading more books than she ever thought she would being married.
Each day, a new sense of trouble bloomed inside of her, growing more each day. She disliked it immensely, and wished more than anything that she could ignore it.
But she could not.
An afternoon in early September brought rain that clattered angrily against the window panes, and Beatrice had hidden herself away in her room once again. She had yet to see Lord Kenswick… William, she reminded herself, scolding the inability to make that adjustment. She thought she would easily become an ideal woman for him, the perfect wife.
And yet, somehow, she could not remember to call him by his first name.
He found it rather charming for the first few weeks, almost romantic. She had not meant to continue to address him so formally, but it would just slip out before she was able to correct herself.
They had been married for four months now, and still she found herself slipping into the formality speak. William would still smile at her and kiss her cheek tenderly, but she could see the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and it seemed tighter than usual.
It made her feel guilty and it would often create a sort of distance between them temporarily.
It was odd to feel like a stranger in her own home.
But it still does not feel like home…That voice had continued to creep up in the back of her mind in recent days, and she tried her best to squash it away. It had become harder and harder to ignore those words when she was starting to believe them.
She frowned and rose to her feet.
“Perhaps I should go find my husband. Maybe he would enjoy having some tea with me.”
She put a smile on her face, and she left her room for the first time since breakfast.
She found him in his study, hovering over a map with a few of his friends. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and there were smudges of dirt along his neckline. The room itself smelled of earth and sweat, and she wondered wildly what in the world she had missed.
“Oh,” she said, her hand falling back to her side, still shaped to rap her knuckle against the wooden door. “My apologies. I did not know that we were expecting company today, darling.”
William and the other men looked up from the map and several pairs of eyes fell on her. William’s eyes grew wide. “Well, of course, my love. It is a Wednesday in September after all.”
She blinked, looking at him more closely. “I am sorry, but what does that mean, exactly?”
William stepped out from behind his desk, and apologized to his friends with a wave of his hand, a tight-lipped smile, and a nod of his head.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her out of the room and into the sitting room. The fires in their large sitting room were already burning heartily, warm and bright.
“I am sorry, my darling, I thought that we had spoken about this.”
He pressed his hands together as if collecting his thoughts.
“Every Wednesday in September, the chaps and I go out for a hunt in the morning, and plan our trip for the next week in the afternoon. It is something we have done for nearly ten years now, and it is a tradition that I hold most dear.”
Beatrice swallowed hard, pushing away the flare of frustration. “My dear, that is perfectly all right. I am pleased that you have this time with your friends. I just would have appreciated knowing about it ahead of time.”
“Of course, of course,” he said, placing both of his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them gently. He smiled sweetly at her. “I am truly sorry that I had not told you. If you so desire, I can ask them all to reconvene next week instead.”
She held her up her hand. “No, that is quite all right, William. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off, and she fixed her eyes on the cream-colored buttons of his jacket.
“What is it, my love?” he asked, bending down so that her eyes found his once more.
“I just am realizing that this is not the first time that you have forgotten to tell me about things that happen in this house,” she said quickly. The words had been plaguing her for a few weeks, and they felt like acid leaving her mouth.
His face was tight. He swallowed hard and looked away from her, almost in agreement.
“First you forget to tell me that the cook and the butler are married and they always join you for dinners on Sunday, and then you forget to tell me that you always take your morning tea in your study.”
“And I have told you that I love your company now that you have started to join me,” he said earnestly. “And Mr. and Mrs. Maple are more like family than not. I thought you had known that.”
She pursed her lips, taking a breath before replying. “It seems to me that you still think of this house as your house, and not so much our house yet.”
Her words must have stung, for his face fell, and his eyes searched hers feverishly.
He opened and closed his mouth several times, and eventually, he just pulled her into a hug against his chest.
Reluctantly, she wrapped her arms around his back.
“My dearest Beatrice, this house is ours, together. It was never a home until you moved in. Since we have been married, it finally feels warm and comforting, not cold and lonely as it used to.”
His words softened her heart, and she tightened her arms around him.
“That being said,” he added, pulling her away from him, and looking into her eyes. “It is wrong for me to not adapt better. Perhaps you are right, in that I still am living in old habits from before we were married. I will do my best to ensure that you are aware of,” he smiled at her, “and approve of, everything that happens under this roof. All right?”
She set her face into a gentler expression, and then nodded.
“Good,” he conceded. He looked around nervously. “So, what shall I tell the lads in the study?”
“They are welcome here, as long as you inform me next time.”
“Of course, my love,” he replied, and he kissed her swiftly on the cheek. “What shall you do?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps take a walk in the gardens.”
“Well, if you do, maybe you could take Arnold. He could use an easy walk after I worked him so hard this morning.”
The bloodhound who was sitting near the fire on the other side of the room perked up at the sound of his name, his tail beginning to wag furiously. It knocked against some of the firewood laid out beside the fire.
She smiled at the dog. “Of course. Come along, Arnold,” she said, and she turned after kissing William on the cheek and walked out of the room.
Arnold happily followed her out the front door and took off down into the garden path beside the house, almost as if he knew that was where she was headed.
He was an intelligent dog, and she found him to be a welcome addition to her life. But, just like the Wednesday in September hunting excursions, he had been a surprise.
The first time they had come back to the house after their honeymoon, the dog jumped up onto Beatrice, startling her. She had never grown up with dogs, and a dog of his size had caused her great alarm. William was laughing as he pulled Arnold away, and he told her that his sister’s husband’s bloodhound had given birth to puppies just six months prior to their wedding, and it had entirely slipped his mind to tell her that he had a dog.
“Doesn’t your father have hunting dogs?” William asked.
“No, his friends have the dogs,” Beatrice had responded.
William had furrowed his brow. “Well, I apologize. I did not think this would be a problem.”
It truly was not a problem, for she had grown rather fond of Arnold over the last few months. He was a good ear to listen to her worries, as long as she scratched him just behind his ears while he lay across her lap. He was quite the spoiled creature, but she did not seem to think that was an issue. Arnold was like part of the family
now, and she had been pleased that William loved him as much as she did.
The two of them walked along in the gardens together, Arnold snapping at a few butterflies flying just out of reach, and looking back at Beatrice, his tongue lolling happily out of his mouth. She laughed, and it felt good to let out a little of her frustrations.
The air outside was cool, the rain having passed less than an hour before, and the clouds still hung low in the sky, threatening to open up and begin again. She clutched her parasol closer to herself in preparation, but her eyes were cast down onto the ground.
She sighed, feeling a weight settle onto her chest that she found to be an ever-present companion as of late. The same questions swirled in her mind, and now that she was alone, she found it hard to ignore them.
Are you as clever as you think you are? Do you think that you are ever going to be happy here?
And the very worst one of them all, the one she always felt guilty for thinking…
Did you make the right choice?
The words made her stop in her tracks. She saw a stone bench not far up the path, and she sat down on it. The stone underneath her was still quite wet, but she did not pay it much mind. She huffed, feeling tears form in the corners of her eyes.
She had been so sure that she had been right in her choice. She had done exactly the opposite of what her siblings had done; avoided the heartache of choosing a spouse.
But what if you exchanged the temporary suffering before your marriage for an eternal suffering after?
She shook her head.
“No, no.”
Arnold heard her voice and came romping over to where she was. He was panting, but he laid his head on her leg, his eyes looking up into her face.
“Nothing disrupts your happiness, does it, boy?” she said, scratching and stroking his long ears.
His tail wagged happily, beating against the dirt path beneath him.
A hollow ache filled her.
“This is nothing more than growing pains, right?” she said, looking down at Arnold.
