by Joyce Alec
“Hypocrites,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. She said it in a very nonchalant voice, as if it were the most obvious thing in the whole world.
Beatrice’s father and mother both stared at her, the duke’s mouth slightly gaping and the duchess’ eyes wide.
A sense of satisfaction flooded through Beatrice, as well as a high-strung anxiety. It was not wise to confront her parents in this way; she was not always this direct with them. Typically, if she ever wanted anything, she would gently and slowly circle the issue when she addressed her father, and eventually allow him to believe that her idea was actually his own.
It was not as if she was a mischievous girl; she had no adverse feelings for any of those in her family. She did not use her innate ability to persuade people to harm others, but she realized that it would be very easy to do so. People were so predictable, and for Beatrice, that made life a lot easier to live.
“I do not know why you give me those looks,” she said, rising to her feet once more. “I am not alone in feeling this. Margaret feels the same way.”
“But why?” her father asked. “Why do you think they are hypocritical? That is a very strong word.”
Beatrice glared. “I said it intentionally.”
Her mother looked down at her hands clasped in her lap.
Beatrice continued. “All of them, John, Robert, and Jane, have been utter fools, and I am absolutely astounded that the three of them have managed to have decent marriages. They have all expressed that they are upset with me over my choice to refuse Lord Richardson.”
“One must face challenges to grow in character,” the duchess protested. “Three of your siblings have married, and they are all truly happy. They were just trying to give you good advice.”
“They may be happy now, but they certainly went through the most acute suffering in order to reach that happiness.”
Her father huffed angrily, his mustache twitching in frustration.
“Take John, for example,” Beatrice began. “My dearest older brother is a very wise, kind man, and he is handsome. The two of you, along with Agnes’ family, agreed that they be wed when they grew to be of marrying age. It should have been simple for him, with everything laid out right in front of him. All he had to do was get out of his own head and yet, somehow, he managed to almost ruin his marriage before it even began.”
She gave her parents a meaningful look, her arms crossed over her chest. “Do you see what I mean? And he tells me that falling in love with Agnes was the easiest thing he had ever done, and that he would not change a thing. Hypocrite. It was not an easy engagement for either one of them.”
Before either of her parents could protest, she pressed on. She was like a train at full steam, unable to stop now.
“Robert is perhaps the worst of them all. I know that he has no love for the rules of society, but he could have made his own life so easy by choosing any number of the women we know, many of whom are my friends. He could have settled into quite a comfortable life. He would not have had to go through that whole ordeal with Alice, and yet he tells me that Lord Richardson would have made me happy and I need to keep an open mind. His mind was not open to marrying someone that you felt was a good match! He went after the first woman that he found attractive, even though she was a maid!”
“You hold your tongue!” her mother scolded, her face growing dark.
Beatrice ignored her.
“And Jane. Dear Jane, the one that we all thought would never even consider a man below her. I always thought she might marry into the royal family itself, with her nose so far in the air. She told me that I should marry someone who is practical, such as Lord Richardson. And yet, she was tempted to accept the proposal of a baron and ruin the chance of marrying the man who truly loved her. She had no idea that the baron was so dishonorable, of course, but it should have been expected, and had she not been an outright hypocrite, she never would have gotten hurt.”
Her father was watching her, and her mother appeared to be on the edge of tears.
“What terrible, terrible things to say about your brothers and your sister. Do you wish that they had not been married? Or in Robert’s case, that he had married someone else? Who are you to determine how God has laid out our lives before us? And who are you to determine what is right?”
Beatrice felt the sting of her mother’s words; she supposed she had to get the gift of persuasion from one of her parents.
She was vaguely aware that her father had laid his hand on her mother’s shoulder once again, but his eyes were on Beatrice. He did not appear to be upset at all, which was what Beatrice had expected.
Instead, his face softened, and he took a step toward Beatrice.
“My dear,” her father began in a surprisingly gentle voice, “You have never been in love. These things that you see as hypocrisies… they are the result of a heart changed by love. These things that seem foolish to you are what shaped them, and what shaped their marriages. They are thankful for the strife and hardships, just as you would be if it were beside a man that you loved.”
Beatrice huffed a sound of disbelief and rolled her eyes. The entire argument had just been completely flattened by her father’s words, and her own fire and spirit about it died away. She felt mountains of tension settling on her shoulders, and her mind was full of unfinished thoughts and points that she wanted to make.
She bristled and stood with her shoulders straight and high.
“I do not need to have loved a man to see that my siblings made life too hard for themselves, and they still could have found love.”
“You are not wrong,” her father continued in that frustratingly calm tone. Where was his anger from a few moments before? Where was his frustration at her? Somehow, this resolute attitude, something that almost resembled pity, was worse than if he had caused her to storm out of the room.
She never had been defeated in this manner, and somehow, it was very unsettling.
Beatrice took a step back from her father, her back against the bookcase, which she leaned against. She tried to look as comfortable and as natural as possible, but part of herself wanted to remain in the anger and frustration. Her father was wrong, and he had somehow turned the entire conversation from her brothers and sisters onto herself, and she had become very good at diverting attention from herself.
“Perhaps they did make things too difficult for themselves. But what does it matter? They all ended up with someone who makes them happy, and look what has come of it! We have some beautiful new members of our family; their children. They would not have been in our lives if they had not married who they had.”
Beatrice bit back the retort that had formed right at the tip of her tongue. She had not thought of that so starkly. Her niece and nephews were some of her favorite things about their family gatherings, and somehow, they had slipped her mind when thinking of her siblings’ shortcomings.
“Well,” she said, unwilling to give up her frustration. It had to go somewhere, for she might burst with the built-up emotions. “I for one will not be making the same mistakes that they did. I will not marry beneath my station, and I will not dance around the issue if some man proposes to me. I will be the only one who is not going to mess up the decision of who I am going to marry. I will do it the right way.”
Her father had returned to sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her mother. He smiled gently at her. “All right.”
She blinked at him. “All right?” she retorted.
Her mother still was only staring at her, as if she was completely lost for words.
He shrugged his shoulders. “All right. We have never asked any of you to marry in a right way. I do not believe there is a right way.”
“There certainly is!” she answered angrily. “What of Robert? Do you recall how you reacted when you discovered that he wanted to marry a maid!”
The duke arched his brow, but she took the advantage to continue.
“You were absolutely livid! You could not
believe that your son would attempt to dishonor his family in such a way! You worried it would affect any potential matches that Margaret, Jane, and I would have! You cannot be serious when you say that there is no right way.” She did not know why she continued to argue with her parents. Her father had already accepted that she did not wish to marry Lord Richardson.
The duke’s face became stern, and she realized that she had crossed a line.
“My reaction to Robert’s choice of a wife was wrong. I never anticipated that any of my children would wish to marry into a life where they would be less comfortable than they were when they lived under my roof. Your mother and I hoped to provide every opportunity for you all to be very happy with whomever you married. It can be difficult for a young lady to find a good match, and so I spent a lot of my time making contacts with men who had sons that were unmarried, in order to ensure that you and your sisters would be taken care of when you were married. Jane took advantage of one of those connections, which was wonderful. Jane’s husband is the son of one of my dear friends, so I knew we could trust him. I hope that you and your sister can find someone in the same way.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Father, she nearly chose a baron that nobody liked.”
“But she did not,” he replied, firmly but not unkindly. “It does not matter what she could have done, only what she did.”
“Thankfully she saw that man for what he really was,” her mother added, and both Beatrice and her father looked at her. “A monster.”
Beatrice nodded in agreement. “True. I am glad she did, too.”
Her father smiled at her gently. “Beatrice, my dear, I do hope that you will find someone who will be able to take care of you, but even more so, someone who will love you and make you happy. God only knows that love is not always an easy road, but it is worthwhile. And your mother and I pray for you and your sister to find the perfect man for you.”
Beatrice folded her arms across her chest. “I have no doubt that I will,” she said.
He nodded.
With a heavy sigh, he glanced at the clock. “Well, my dears, I believe that our guests will soon be arriving. I must change into my dinner coat, and find my new shoes.”
“I believe they are inside the dressing room, in the blue box, my love,” her mother said gently.
“Will you come and help me locate them? I know I will spend the next half hour searching for them if you do not.”
“Of course,” she said, and they rose together and walked toward the door.
Her father looked back at Beatrice before he stepped out into the hall.
“I understand your concern for your siblings,” he said. “But you do not need to worry for them. Your mother and I have forgiven them for any things that we felt they had done wrong. Perhaps you should consider doing that as well. Now, let’s put all talk of Lord Richardson behind us and move forward.”
And with a last smile, he closed the door to the room.
Beatrice slumped down into the chair beside herself and blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes.
It is not a question of forgiveness, she thought. It is simply an issue of foolishness. They all made it far too hard on themselves. Why? Especially John and Jane. John’s marriage had been arranged, and Jane had been pursued by the man she finally married for quite some time. Why did they have to make things so complicated?
She looked out of the window. The sun was setting outside, and she exhaled heavily.
“I will not make things so complicated. If a man is in good standing, if he genuinely seems to be interested in my wellbeing and not just my father’s title, why in the world would I not accept an offer of marriage? Surely, I could grow to love someone with those qualities.”
She retrieved her book that she had set down, grasping it tightly in her hands. She promised herself, in that moment, that when that man appeared, she would not wait on his offer, or spend too long thinking on it. The cleverest thing that she could do would be to accept it and take the time to learn all about the man when they were married.
I will not make things complicated.
2
Resolution
Margaret insisted that Beatrice accompany her into town the following weekend in order to shop for the perfect teacups for her coming spring gathering. Their father had promised that Margaret could invite several of her friends over and celebrate her eighteenth birthday. She still had not decided if she wished to have a ball as well, or if she wished for it to be just for some of her young women friends.
Regardless, she knew that she would be serving only the finest teas that their father had brought home from his trip to Italy. He had brought home more of it than any of them had expected, and that was when Margaret had the idea.
Beatrice thought it was rather brilliant, and she loved the idea so much that she had invested more time than she normally would fueling her sister’s schemes.
Saturday dawned bright and blue, with the signs of spring clear in the trees and along the ground. The grass had turned green seemingly overnight, and the yellows and purples of spring’s early flowers had begun pushing up through the flower beds surrounding the outside of the manor. Beatrice had to force herself to leave the tiny buds to get into the carriage after her sister had called to her three times.
“I’ll come back for you,” she told the tiny yellow blossoms, caressing them gently with her fingertips.
The ride into town was full of happy outlooks and cheerful plans, with Margaret chattering excitedly like a squirrel with a fresh nest full of nuts and berries, and Beatrice listened to her patiently.
She could not remember the last time they had gone into town alone, just the two of them, and found it rather exhilarating. The last of winter’s chills had made their mother ill, and she was recovering in bed from a cold. Their father insisted he would leave their mother in her state, and insisted they go alone.
They had found their way into a little park just inside the town, filled with people mingling about on such a beautiful day. Apparently they were not the only ones to want to take advantage of such a nice day.
They saw a few of their friends there, one of whom was carrying a lovely lace parasol, and another of whom had a hat that was nearly as wide as her shoulders. She looked quite beautiful with it, despite having to turn sideways before walking through a stone archway.
After engaging in a few short conversations with some other ladies that they knew, the girls left the park and strode down the street to the small shop where teacups and other ceramics were made and sold.
Their father knew the man who made these cups, as he only purchased those they used at home from him. His name was Mr. Baxter, and his attention to detail was unlike any other that Beatrice had seen.
Her favorite cup that he had made was a simple white cup with a deep blue, pen-tip thin drawing of a lakeside, full of trees and even some tiny birds flying above the water. It was beautifully detailed, and Beatrice looked every time they came to see if he had painted another.
So far, he had not created one quite as lovely, but Beatrice did not give up hope. When asked about that cup in particular, Mr. Baxter would smile and shake his head.
“That was the only one of its kind. I do not think I could ever create its equal, and so I have not attempted to create another quite like it. Instead I have taken it as inspiration, and hope that perhaps, someday, I can create something just as beautiful, if not in a different way.”
Beatrice allowed Margaret to look about at all of the different cups, including all of the new ones. Beatrice had found a collection of gold-trimmed cups that were a very pale pink color, and she debated about whether to buy the entire set, or just a single cup to set on a table so she could look at it.
“Look at this one,” Margaret said from a few feet away. “Oh, but what of these ones, Beatrice? And oh my heavens, look at this one!”
Beatrice did not bother looking at her sister, knowing that she was far too excited to notice that Beatrice was n
ot following her observations. She could have spent all day looking, and Beatrice intended to allow her to look for a while, but eventually, she would have to guide her to make a decision.
Until then, she enjoyed the time to examine all the different cups in peace.
The door to the shop opened with a chime of a bell above the door to signal Mr. Baxter of a customer’s arrival. Beatrice, having heard it several times since walking inside herself, ignored it, until she heard a familiar voice greet Mr. Baxter, who sat behind the long, wooden counter at the opposite side of the store.
“Good morning, Lord Kenswick. I am pleased to see you have returned.”
“Of course, Mr. Baxter. My sister will be most pleased with her new tea set. She has spoken of little else since yesterday.”
Beatrice’s face flushed.
Lord Kenswick was an old friend of hers, someone she had known since childhood. They had attended many of the same parties together as they had grown, and now that they were both out in society, they had found themselves in many of the same social circles still.
He looked about the store, and Beatrice did nothing to hide herself. Instead, she stood where she was, smiling as she was, until he spotted her.
He was quite the handsome man, though not overly so. He had dark hair, almost as dark as the night sky, and eyes that were as bright as stones of amber. It was an odd trait, but she had spent much of her life telling him how unique his eyes were, and eventually, he became proud, not ashamed, of them.
“Well, well,” he said, and a wide smile spread across his face. He seemed to forget his intentions for coming, and stepped across the small store toward Beatrice. “If it is not Lady Beatrice.”
He reached her, and she smiled up at him. She offered him her hand, and he bent down and kissed the back of her glove easily. It was an informal gesture, and Beatrice found that she was not displeased with it.
“It is wonderful to see you,” he told her as he straightened up.
“Indeed, it is very nice to see you as well,” she responded.
