by Joyce Alec
She saw Margaret peer around the corner toward her voice out of the corner of her eye, and knew that her youngest sister would do all she could to spy on them. So to avoid the looks, she took a step toward him, out of her sister’s sight.
“How… have you been?” he asked, and she almost smiled at his slight stumble. It was typical with him, and she often expected it.
“I am well, Lord Kenswick. And you?”
He smiled, and she noticed he was playing with the hem of his jacket. She felt her brow twitch in amusement.
No, do not let him see that you notice.
“Fine, quite fine,” he murmured, and cleared his throat. “So, you and your sister are shopping for teacups, I see,” he added.
She nodded her head. “Indeed we are. My dear sister is planning a celebration for her birthday. Perhaps you have heard of her plans?”
“Not yet,” he answered. “But I would like to hear all about it.”
She turned and gestured to all of the cups, explaining her plans for the tea party. He listened very patiently and intently, though Beatrice was sure that this was the last thing that any man would have any interest in discussing. She smiled.
“But of course, I must bore you.”
“Oh, not at all, Lady Beatrice. I was even about to suggest that I could offer my help in picking out the perfect set for the party.”
“Could you now?” Beatrice asked.
“My sister has quite the knack for such things, and I have acquired some of her vast knowledge over the years.” He looked sheepish for a moment. “But only if you would care for my company, of course.”
Beatrice giggled, and felt both amused and flattered. “Your company would be most welcome, Lord Kenswick.”
And help he did. She was surprised by his knowledge of the different tea cups. Apparently, his words were not just to impress her. He managed to show Beatrice a very unique set that she would have completely brushed over, and showed her the subtlety of the design that made it so beautiful.
She caught him studying her every few moments, and there was always a ghost of a smile as he did. It was not a new characteristic; she always noticed the way he looked at her. It was the same way he had looked at her the moment he needed to find a wife, and the moment he knew that she was not related to him in any way, making her a perfect candidate.
But she allowed it, just as she always had. She even enjoyed it.
“I believe that you have convinced me,” Beatrice said, holding one of the pale yellow cups up near her face to examine it more closely. “I would never have considered these. But I think you are right.”
“Well, perhaps the lady gives me too much credit,” he remarked. “I simply thought that a beauty like these would only reflect yours even more.”
Beatrice felt her cheeks color as she looked up at him. She was surprised, though not entirely, to see that he had turned away and was intently staring at a set of black cups, trimmed with silver, with such concentration that it would almost appear as if he had not said anything at all.
But she knew better. She had heard him.
It has been quite some time since he has let something like that slip… but perhaps it was because I was quite cold to him last time he attempted.
It was as if a spark had ignited an engulfing flame in her mind.
She looked into his face, which was still turned away from her, obviously intent on not returning her gaze, and several things crashed into her mind at once. First, she had always known he cared for her, perhaps more than any other gentleman she knew. Second, she had essentially vowed that she would not be as foolish as her siblings and pass up the proper marriage. Third, what was preventing her from the very thing that seemed to be presenting itself in front of her eyes?
He looked back over at her, and his eyes found hers. She could see such depth, like a vast ocean of hope, joy, and anticipation. She could see the desire in him and she could almost feel his longing. The longing for her, for her attention, and for her affection.
She smiled at him, and she let down her walls, letting him in.
“Well,” he said, almost breathlessly, not looking away from her. “Shall we find your sister and show her these teacups?”
“Perhaps we should,” she replied, just as quietly. “Or, perhaps, we could stay here, together, and admire a few more teacups together? Just the two of us?”
The elation that passed over his face was unlike any expression she had ever seen him make. It was as if she had just helped to make all his dreams a reality.
And why shouldn’t she? If this was going to end up where she thought it may, then she should certainly encourage him, allowing him to see her own feelings as plainly as she could see his. Then he would have no doubt about what her own intentions were, which she hoped would be the same as his.
Their moment was interrupted, however, by the appearance of Margaret. She was delighted when Lord Kenswick showed her the cups, and insisted that she take the entire set for her party. She also insisted that he come to the party, which Beatrice took to mean that she intended for it to be a ball instead of just a morning gathering for the women. She then proceeded to carry on about the grandiose plans that she had for the ball, and all of the things she wanted to happen, as they purchased the cup set.
Mr. Baxter promised to have the set sent up to the house as soon as it was wrapped and packaged for a safe trip, at which time Beatrice, Margaret, and Lord Kenswick made their way out of the shop and back out into the sunshine.
Margaret wanted to head farther down the street to the ribbon, thread, and linen shop, and Beatrice told her that she would be right behind her. Thankfully, Margaret ran into one of her friends, and the two of them continued down the street to the shop.
Lord Kenswick smiled after her. “She seems awfully excited about her party.”
“She has spoken of nothing else since Father returned home from Italy.”
“And you think it is quite all right that I attend her party?”
“I would have it no other way,” Beatrice insisted.
This truly is the best way that I can prove to my parents that I was correct. My siblings did make it too difficult on themselves. If they would have simply allowed their relationships with their spouses to progress naturally, then they would not have gone through so much useless suffering. No, I will not be like them. I will let it happen the way it should have for them; easily and happily.
He seemed pleased with her answer, and looked down at the ground beneath him, attempting to hide his satisfaction.
He is a good choice, she told herself. He is the Earl of Kenswick, which would make me a countess should we marry. He is thoughtful and affectionate. He’s intelligent and well read. Perhaps he is a bit too shy or unsure of himself, but these are things that will pass as we grow together. Yes, he is a good choice. I shall not second guess myself. Now, I must help him along in a subtle and gentle way.
It felt almost strange, in a way, to be looking up into the face of the man that she had decided would be her first choice for a husband. She had debated about it, even dreamed about it a time or two, but she had never acted upon it. She had seen him attempt to act on it in the past, even hint at it himself. But fear had driven her to deny him, even in a flirtatious and perhaps kind way. He had not been deterred, however, as his actions that Saturday afternoon had proved.
“You know,” he said, looking at her sideways, a smirk appearing on his face. He kicked at a loose stone on the ground, and it bounced away with a happy clatter. “I would not be opposed to seeing you again sooner.”
“Nor would I,” she answered, feeling her heart flutter. “I would very much enjoy that.”
“As would I,” he said. “It caused me to wonder if…” he trailed off. “Well, perhaps not.”
“Lord Kenswick, what is it?” she asked, gently touching his arm. “Do not be afraid to speak openly with me. You know that you can, and always have been able to.”
Her words seemed to soothe
him, and she felt some of the tension ease out of his posture. “I suppose I was just wondering… if I could call upon you sometime.”
She grinned at him, and felt as if all the pieces of her life were falling smoothly into place. It was so simple, and she could not believe that anyone would have ever had it any other way. Why fight it when a man, who was perfectly wonderful, showed an interest? That was Jane’s mistake. Or even look for a person who was outside of her social circles? That was Robert’s mistake. Or hide from the person who cared for you so dearly, so much so that you could nearly mess up your marriage? That was John’s.
This is how it is supposed to be, she said to herself.
“Lord Kenswick,” she whispered smoothly, and she took a step closer to him. “I thought that you would never ask.”
The look that came over his face was of surprise, wonder, and confusion.
The time for clever quips and dancing around the bushes was over. If he was to know how she truly felt about him and what she wanted, then she had to be clear. Men were just as susceptible to misunderstanding as women, and she had no intention of allowing him to be misdirected.
“And I do hope that you make it soon, my lord,” she said, “for I have been longing for you to come and visit for quite some time now.”
It was clear he did not know how to reply to her, but she smiled in spite of his speechlessness. She laced her arm through his and began to move down the street, guiding him along, but appearing to all others that he was guiding her.
He did not say anything else as they walked, but Beatrice made sure to smile at any of those around them who gave them any sort of notice. If she was making it clear to all of them what was happening between them, then at least he would be sure of her words.
This is certainly how it is supposed to be.
3
Patience
Lord Kenswick did not keep her waiting for very long. The following Friday, as Beatrice and Margaret were outside enjoying some painting, a carriage pulled up to the manor. Margaret immediately peered over the top of her canvas at the driveway, and Beatrice did nothing to stop her. When Margaret wanted to do something, no matter how forward or obvious she was, she would do it. Beatrice just ensured that she was the more proper of the two.
I suppose Jane rubbed off on me a little, Beatrice thought as Margaret whispered to her furiously with crazy ideas of who it might be in the carriage. She drew her brush across the white canvas with patience and diligence, doing her best to ignore Margaret. She swirled the blues and greens to create the best shade of the grass that she could, and dotted in pops of yellows for all the flowers in the fields.
When the doors opened and Beatrice glanced at it momentarily, she was not surprised to see the strong form of Lord Kenswick, his dark hair a stark contrast to the bright sky behind him. He wore a dark green jacket, and he seemed to be carrying some sort of package in his hands.
“Beatrice!” Margaret hissed, leaning closer to her, fixing her gaze so she could stare openly at the front of the house between their two canvases. “Is that who I think that is? Beatrice, is he here for you? What were the two of you talking about the other day?”
Beatrice continued to ignore her, and focused on her painting. Part of her, somewhere deep down inside, was nervous about his arrival. She knew what it meant and what was coming. She had been preparing herself for it all week, and had even become almost excited about the idea. She realized that she did indeed find him handsome, and she knew him well enough to know that he would be a good husband to her.
“Is he here for a particular reason, do you think? Oh, what if he is here to ask one of us to marry him? That would be rather strange, since I hardly know him at all. What do you think, Beatrice?”
Beatrice laid down her brush on her easel, and wiped the excess paint from her fingers on the cloth that lay beside her tray of paints. She rose to her feet and examined her painting.
The trees were not quite as thin as they were on the horizons, and the sky was not as bright blue as she would have liked, but it was pretty, and it was done, and she was pleased.
It was only another few minutes before they were called indoors, informed that they had a guest. Beatrice and Margaret both gathered their tools and their easels, and with help from some of the servants, brought their supplies indoors.
They were brought to the sitting room, and were made to wait outside the door for a few moments. Beatrice heard voices through the door, one of them the nearly melodic voice of Lord Kenswick, and she felt her face flush.
Margaret unabashedly pressed her face against the wooden door and attempted to listen. Beatrice rolled her eyes.
“What has gotten into you?” Margaret insisted. “It always used to be the two of us, trying to hear what Mother and Father were saying. You stood right beside me as we listened to John and Agnes argue that one afternoon!”
Beatrice rounded on her. “Margaret, I still feel ashamed that we did that. Have you no shame? Whatever is being said in that room has nothing to do with us, otherwise we would be in there.”
“Or maybe, it has everything to do with us!” Margaret hissed in reply. “It is possible that our parents are deciding our fate at this very moment!”
“And what if they are?” Beatrice replied.
Margaret frowned at her. “I will not let them tell me what I can and cannot do. Jane and Robert weren’t told what to do! And I won’t be either!”
Beatrice glared at Margaret. “You are so hard headed,” she retorted. “Do you not know that you are the last child, and a daughter, no less? You should be happy that Mother and Father care so much about us that they want nothing but the best matches for us.”
Margaret scowled.
“Besides,” Beatrice went on before Margaret could, “I do not believe they are discussing you in there at all today.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Because Lord Kenswick is here to ask for my hand.”
Margaret blinked, and some of her frustration melted away, only to be replaced with surprise. “How do you know?”
“It proves how little you pay attention to everything,” Beatrice retorted. She leaned against the wall, the soft murmurs of their parents and Lord Kenswick only just audible through the walls. “Have you not seen Lord Kenswick’s interest in me?”
“Not any more than any other man,” she responded. “What makes you think that he would all of the sudden ask for your hand? It is not as if the two of you have had any special interactions as of late.”
“Perhaps I finally allowed him to see my interest,” Beatrice answered.
“Your interest? You are telling me that you are interested in him?”
“And what if I am?” Beatrice uttered rather coolly. “Any woman would be foolish to turn down a man such as Lord Kenswick.”
Margaret stared at her sister intently. “So with no further looking or questions, you will just… accept?”
“I will not be like Jane,” Beatrice argued. “Or Robert, or John. I will marry the right way, to a good man who will be a good husband. It is foolishness to do anything else.”
Margaret huffed in exasperation. “How do you know that you will be happy?”
“Because I will not put myself through the suffering that our siblings experienced, and I will not make it hard on myself. I shall accept an offer for something that is perfectly good, and I shall be just as happy as they are in the end.”
Margaret studied her face quietly, the fight apparently gone from her. “Well, I hope you are right, dear sister. And that you are not walking into a life of misery purely to prove a point to us all.”
Beatrice swallowed hard.
“You may be clever, but perhaps this is not the wisest decision,” Margaret added, and she turned to walk back down the hall.
The door to the sitting room opened, and her father appeared.
“I heard angry voices out here. Is everything all right?” he asked, looking up and down the hall. “Where is Marg
aret?”
“She… needed a few moments to compose herself.”
Her father looked confused, but he shook it off quickly enough. “Well, this matter concerns you more than her, so why don’t you step inside here?”
He stepped back to let her pass through into the room.
Lord Kenswick was standing beside the fireplace, her mother was in the chair nearby, and the atmosphere in the room was excited and tense.
Her father gestured to the chair beside where Lord Kenswick stood, and she took a seat in it.
“My dear, Lord Kenswick has come here today with quite the generous offer,” her father began, going to stand beside the young man beside the fireplace. He smiled at her, and Lord Kenswick shifted nervously.
“Lord Kenswick, feel free to tell her yourself. If you need some privacy, we can leave the two of you alone.”
The only way that her father would suggest such a thing was if it truly was what she expected it to be: a marriage proposal.
Beatrice waited patiently for Lord Kenswick to reply. He looked at her father and her mother, and finally at her. He looked so happy, so excited, that she was not sure that he cared if the entire room was full of people. In fact, by the look in his eyes, he might have preferred the chance to tell the entire world how he felt.
It was endearing, somehow, and so she remained quiet and patient, waiting for his choice. She would do nothing to make this difficult for them.
“Not at all, Your Grace. I am sure that she will not mind either.”
But as soon as he said those words, he crossed across the room to her, and knelt at her feet. He did not appear to notice that her parents were there at all, and she understood why he did not mind them being there.
He only had eyes for her.
He smiled up into her face, and in the warm light of the fire and the afternoon sun shining inside the room, she could see the line of his jaw clearly, his high cheekbones, and there were flecks of gold in his amber eyes.
He was almost breathtakingly handsome, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
