by Millie Adams
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, an
d 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.’
‘I did not say that either of you was weak.’
‘When you deny him the chance to fail, it reveals that is what you think.’
‘Beatrice, you have spent your life cloistered in the house. You do not have a child. You do not know what I have endured, what it has cost me to try to be the best father that I can be to him.’
‘I do not deny it,’ she said. ‘I am certain that you have...endured a great many difficult and painful things trying to parent him, but that does not... Maybe it is helpful for me to challenge you.’
‘You have spent a few hours of my son, you do not know him.’ And he felt guilt. Because he was not listening to her. And he did know it.
He was denying the strength he knew was in her, choosing instead to focus on her weakness, which was a petty and small thing to do.
But he had not asked for Beatrice to uproot his life, any more than he had asked for any of this. What he had done, he had done for her.
For her, or for yourself?
He pushed that to the side. It made no difference debating this with himself. She was here, she was his wife. And he would conduct their marriage, and raise his child in the way that he saw fit, and it was not for her to tell him otherwise.
‘You mean well, Beatrice,’ he said. ‘I know you do. You are a kind, sweet girl...’
‘You make it sound as though you are speaking of a kitten. Kind and sweet and well meaning. But you forget, Your Grace, that kittens have claws, and you have vastly underestimated mine.’
She turned to begin storming away from him, and he caught her by the arm.
The action shocked her, clearly it did; her eyes went wide, her cheeks pink. That was what he noticed first. Then after that, he noticed the way that her skin felt beneath his touch. Soft. Warm. And he was transported back to that garden. To that moment when he had realised just what a lovely woman she had become. And perhaps that was why it was so easy to dismiss her now. To turn all of this into a treatise on her inexperience. To write her off as a child, because as long as he could think of her as such, he had an easier time keeping his hands off her.
‘You may have claws, kitten,’ he said, his voice soft and stern. ‘But do not forget that I could pick you up with one hand if I so chose. I do not deny that you possess a certain amount of ferocity, but I have an iron hand, and you would do well to remember that.’
‘Threats?’
‘Not deadly threats,’ he said, pushing hard at the bonds of propriety that he had laid out for himself. ‘But perhaps you do require a punishment. For all that he has kept you hemmed in your entire life, Hugh is quite indulgent towards you.’
Her lips parted, her breasts quickening. ‘You do not know of what you speak.’
‘Perhaps not. But I know more about you than you might think.’
‘If you knew anything about me, you would not treat me as you do. You would not ignore me for days on end. I am little more than an antiquity to you, set up on a shelf in this house and left to gather dust.’
She jerked away from him. ‘You do not have the authority to punish an object.’
‘I have the authority to do whatever I wish.’
‘Perhaps. But where is the glory to be had in unchecked authority? Authority that must be taken.’
And her words tugged at his gut, because she had hit right against the very thing he knew deeply to be true. There was no joy in wielding authority when the supplicant was not willing. But this was not a game to be played in a bedroom. This was...
What was it? He didn’t seem to know.
Neither did she. That much was clear. Her eyes burned bright, with both rage and excitement. And he knew, he absolutely knew that she had no idea why this battle excited her. He knew all too well that it fired his blood. And he felt nothing but contempt for himself. Over his lack of control. Because he had attempted it at this moment. Brought it to this place. Not because it was an accident, because he was actually threatening to punish her, but because he wanted to tease the fire inside her. Because he wanted to push that limit and see how far it might go. She was not a simpering miss. He didn’t mind a simpering miss, particularly when she was playing a role. But he found he responded to the wilfulness in her. She liked to fight, did Beatrice. And that said more about her than she knew.
But she moved away from him, effectively placing herself in a safer spot. Smart girl. It was better that way. Better that she end this now.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘This is the first time I have seen you in your real life. And I thought that I knew you based on what I saw when you were in the presence of my brother. But I do not know you. I will not make commentary on you. However, I feel strongly about William.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because I see myself in him. And you might find that silly, or you may not believe it, but I do. But it is true. Protection at what cost, Briggs?’
‘He does not...’
‘As you said, he does not always show it. I understand that everyone around me, everyone in my life, was simply trying to make things better for me. Perhaps not my father, but my mother and Hugh wanted only that I should be safe. But they wanted my safety so very much that they did not consider risk is part of living. But it must be. Because there is so much that I have not tasted, so much that I feel I have not done. Survival, breathing, cannot be the end of it. I am certain of that fact.’
‘But without at least that there is nothing,’ he said.
‘William isn’t going to die of a trip to London. He just might find it difficult.’
‘I only meant if we were speaking of you, Beatrice.’
‘Thank you for thinking of me,’ she said. ‘But I’m tired of it. I wish to think of more.’
And as he watched her leave, he could not escape the sensation that he was failing yet again. That he was not... It was not any better off with Beatrice than he had been with Serena. And worse, he wondered if Beatrice would be any happier.
Chapter Eight
Beatrice wondered if she would ever have a peaceful night’s sleep. She worried about William and listened for his cries while she should be sleeping.
She rarely saw Briggs.
And as each lonely day stretched on—with Alice the governess not warming to her, with most meals eaten alone and nights stretching on endlessly, she realised this was truly no different than Bybee House.
Except she did not have her mother. She had no one here who cared about her at all.
Except perhaps William, but it was very difficult to say. Some days with him were lovely. Others...
He often became angry and lashed out. Afternoons seemed very hard for him. Beatrice could understand why Briggs wanted to protect him
, but he was so bright and brilliant, and seeing him sequestered in isolation—as she was—felt wrong.
When she had lived at Bybee House she had cocooned herself in her innocence. She had not wished to look too deeply at the world around her.
Choosing to look at the bright colours of the frescoes and not too closely at the chips and cracks in the paint.
Not searching herself deeply for the truths of her parents’ lives or their actions. She had instead focused on her own world. The one she created in the gardens alone. In her secret friendships.
In fantasy.
Yet her decision to fling herself into James’s arms had been the first step away from that and into reality.
She had landed somewhere much...harder with Briggs.
In all the ways that could be taken.
Her foray into the real world was difficult and she felt as if she was shedding layers of down, her insulation against the harsher truths of life falling away.
She was not sure if she liked it.
But she could not help William if she turned away.
* * *
She was trying to sort out exactly how to broach the topic with Briggs, over a buttered roll with preserves, when Gates the butler walked into the room.
‘Your Grace, Sir James Prescott to see you. Shall I tell him you’re at home?’
Her heart lifted.
James.
The idea of seeing her friend made her almost giddy.
If Gates thought less of her because a man had come to call on her he did not show it. She had a feeling that had more to do with his sense of propriety regarding his position than it did with whether or not he actually judged her.
When James entered the room, it was as if the sun shone twice as bright on the pale blue and gold. And he was golden. Like the sun. She’d forgotten what it was like to have someone smile at her.
Gates nodded and left the room, leaving the doors open wide.
‘James,’ she said, ‘I am so, so pleased you’ve called. Sit and I’ll ring for tea.’
‘Thank you, Bea,’ he said, sitting and looking at her, his expression intent, and there was something about having her friend there, having someone who truly knew her and understood her look at her, when Briggs had been ignoring her, that made her eyes fill with tears. James’s expression became alarmed. ‘Are you well? He isn’t being an ogre?’
