Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

T he snow had continued to fall for the last three days, piling up higher than Beth had ever seen. It was well known that the Lake District received more snowfall than most of England, but this was an excess, even for Westmorland.

Her father drew up beside her. “I do not suppose we will make it back to Hayworth Hall before it is time to retrieve Julianna. Perhaps we should try to return to Haverton.”

His willingness to go back to her uncle’s home spoke mounds of the uncomfortableness of the inn, but Beth resisted the pull of her thoughts.

“I would rather not, Papa.”

His voice became unusually soft. “Why not, my dear?”

The tenderness there nearly undid her. “I… I was angry. I said hurtful things, both to Julianna and others. They will not want me there. Best to let her enjoy her time without me.”

A large hand settled on her shoulder and she looked up into her father’s blue eyes. “Beth, you cannot lick your wounds forever.”

She pulled away. “I am not a dog.”

“Neither am I, but the Widow Westwood told me the same thing. I did not want to venture into the state of marriage again with all its risks. Losing your mama nearly killed me, but Phoebe has taught me that wounds won’t heal if you continually try to keep them open, much like a dog with its incessant licking.”

He turned to face her. “Edward hurt you and ever since then I have tried to shield you from that pain. Unfortunately, it only made you more unhappy. I can only surmise you are much like your hound of a father and keep pestering those wounds. When we have nothing else to focus on, memories are both our comfort and our greatest tormentor.”

Beth shook her head.

“Hear me out. When your mother died, I lived in my memories grasping every bit of solace I could, but with that soothing also came the sting of knowing she was gone. It was not until I allowed myself to move on that the painfulness of her loss ebbed and only the beautiful memories remained.”

Beth dropped her head. “Perhaps I did keep my old wounds exposed, but Edward no longer holds my heart, Papa. I am ready to go home, heal, and be happy.”

“Are you? From what I have observed, these last few days you have been far more unhappy .”

“I…” she trailed off, not sure how to convince him. Going home did not hold the appeal it once had.

“Beth, before we left Haverton, Julianna told me how content you had been, that you had smiled and laughed more than you have in the past three years. She held no malice for you and begged me to convince you to stay.”

Tears burned in her eyes. Years of controlling her feelings, and yet the last few days she’d become a veritable watering pot.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked.

The question pushed a tear through her lashes and down her cheek. “Because he does not love me.”

“Who?”

“Lord Bingham.”

Silence met her pronouncement. Time ticked by and finally she peeked up to see a soft smile on her father’s lips.

“You mean the man who stared after our sleigh until he could not see it anymore?”

“He did not.”

“He most certainly did, and you would have seen him yourself if you had not been so intent on the road ahead.”

Had he really watched until they had disappeared into the trees? “But he does not believe in love.”

“One need not believe in love to feel it. Love comes whether we wish for it or not. Yes, we can help it along, but sometimes love comes softly, whispering into our hearts light and soft as a feather. Over time it multiplies and one feather becomes thousands. Individually they might not seem like much, but stuff all those feathers into a coverlet and the weight will warm and comfort a body all their days.”

Beth pulled away from his grasp and crossed to the fire. “What a strange metaphor, Papa. Feathers and love?”

He chuckled. “Perhaps, but have you considered your Lord Bingham may only sense the love of a hundred feathers? Maybe he needs a few thousand more to feel the weight.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Go back, Beth. You will never know if he loves you if you do not give love time to grow. Add a few feathers to that stack.”

Picking up the fire poker, she moved the coals around. “I’m scared, Papa.”

“Now that I can understand. Might I impart one more word of wisdom?”

She turned to face him. “I hope you never stop imparting your wisdom to me. Would that there was no such thing as death so Mama could add her piece, too. Heaven knows I could use it.”

He smiled. “Your mama always did have good advice, and frankly this wisdom was hers first. I saw a fair amount of battle by the time I married your mother, but until I knew her love I never feared death. It was only me, after all. No one watched for my return. But that first battle after we wed, I found myself frozen in fear—not something any gentleman wants to admit. But I wrote to your mother about my fear. Weeks later I received a short missive. ‘ Then go scared,’ it said , ‘and do whatever it takes to make it back to me .’”

Beth scrunched her nose at the callous answer, but her father moved to her side.

“Your mother taught me two lessons with those words. First, fear or not, there are some things we need to do. And second, my first priority in life was to make it back to her loving arms.”

Those dratted tears were back. Beth sniffed. Her parents had shared such a beautiful love, even if others did not understand it.

“Thank you for passing on Mama’s words, and for coming back to all of us… even after she was gone.”

“Now that is your uncle’s fault,” he grumbled. “One I probably should be grateful for, considering the circumstances. If I’d had my way, I would have died there on that field. Then I’d be back with your mama.” He sighed and placed an arm around her shoulders. “But I would have missed this moment to pass her wisdom on to you.”

She leaned into him. “So are we both going to be brave?”

He cast her a comically gruff sidelong glance. “Are you saying if I swallow my pride and show your uncle some gratitude, you will return and face that baron of yours?”

“He is not my baron, Papa!”

“Not yet.” He waggled his bushy grey eyebrows at her, and she laughed softly. “Have some faith, my dear, and open that generous heart of yours.”

The sleigh ride to Haverton, though short, seemed like an eternity; especially with the way Beth’s heart insisted on beating out of her chest. Her father glanced at her every few minutes and inquired if she was well, which only made things worse. The reminder that her nervousness was evident on her face only made her worry more.

Would Carswell even want to see her if she appeared so ill? She scoffed at her own ridiculousness. Her appearance was the least of her worries. She had been cross and unkind. If he was angry with her for refusing to speak with him before she left, she would understand.

They turned up the lane that led to Haverton and a crisp breeze blew snow off the surrounding trees and into their open sleigh. Beth pulled her hand out of her muff and wiped the moisture off her face. While the cold helped ground her, she did not wish to show up disheveled.

When they reached the doors of Haverton, her aunt rushed out to meet them. “I cannot tell you the extent of my excitement when I received your note advising us of your return.” She gathered Beth in her arms and gave her a squeeze. “You must know how much I worried when you were caught in that storm. I am grateful you had the sense to stop in Kendal before things became too treacherous.”

Aunt Waverly glanced out the corner of her eye at Beth’s father, then rushed on. “I have hot tea awaiting you and a spot of luncheon. You must both be frozen clear through.”

Gratitude filled Beth. Aunt Waverly’s cheerful chatter was just what she needed to lift her spirits and give her courage to face Carswell again. Perhaps by the end of the day things would be right between them and this horrible sense of gloom she’d carried for days would be gone.

Instead of being led to the parlor as she expected, they ended up in the drawing room where Julianna and Mr. Kaye sat with the eldest Mr. Waverly and Mr. Bartholomew Waverly. The four seemed to be having an animated discussion over their expectations for Twelfth Night.

At her and her father’s appearance, Julianna’s eyes widened and she rushed to meet them. “I did not know you were coming back so soon.”

Beth glanced at Aunt Waverly in confusion.

“I did not tell anyone. I wanted it to be a surprise,” the older woman said.

“I see.”

Mr. Waverly and Mr. Bartholomew Waverly greeted her, then everyone sat and discussion turned to past Twelfth Nights. While reminiscing of shared past memories with her uncle’s nephews was pleasant, Beth often found her attention drawn to the door. Any moment she expected Carswell to enter and she wanted to be ready. But as the clock on the mantel ticked off each minute, she started to doubt.

Finally, after she’d finished her tea and a full half hour had crept by, she decided to inquire about the guests.

“Aunt Waverly, are your cousins still about?”

“Ah yes, but Mrs. Papworth has taken to her bed with a cold, so they will not be down today.”

“And Lord Bingham?” She hoped her question sounded innocent enough.

Everyone looked at each other and a pit opened up in her stomach.

“He’s gone, dear. Left the day before yesterday.”

“Gone? During the snowstorm? Where could he have to go that would be so pressing that he’d leave in such bad weather?”

“I am unsure dear, but do not worry. We received a missive from him with the one you sent letting us know he made it to Yorkshire without any trouble. Of course, he was on horseback so he could travel faster.”

Beth’s heart sunk into the pit that had opened up. It was over. She’d offended him so much he’d left, and in a storm no less. Maybe Papa was wrong; maybe Carswell had no feathers of love for her.

“Beth, may I speak with you for a moment?” Aunt Waverly rose from her seat.

She followed.

In the hall Aunt Waverly held out a small square of paper. “I was instructed to give this to you if you returned.”

She stared at the small piece of light blue paper, afraid to see what was written on it. Aunt Waverly shook it a bit and Beth finally took it.

“I will let you read it in peace.”

Beth nodded but did not move to open it. Fear beat so loud inside her that she was certain she heard it in her ears.

“ Be brave ,” she whispered to herself.

Slowly she unfolded it. There were only two sentences.

Beth,

I am sorry. I was wrong.

C.B.