Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

S tephen sat in the carriage and brooded. He didn’t often allow himself the opportunity to sit and reflect . Looking to the past seldom did anyone any good. The past could not be ignored , of course, but neither should it preoccupy one’s thoughts. The future depended on the present, and too much reflection distracted a person from the now .

It seemed truly ridiculous that he was sitting angrily in a carriage, thinking about such rubbish, with no idea who—or what—he was angry at beyond himself.

I should leave her alone. I should pack up my things and go back to France, or Scotland, or Ireland, or Spain, or anywhere. She deserves peace of mind, does she not? She’ll never get that from me.

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool glass of the carriage window. As expected, after such a poor night’s sleep, he had a pounding headache. He felt vaguely sick, as well as both wide awake and sleepy at the same time—a fairly upsetting conundrum.

What had possessed him to crawl into bed with Beatrice? He kept replaying the moment in his mind—the wide-eyed expression on her face, the way her body shifted warmly against his as he pressed her down.

I had no right to do such a thing.

Had she been afraid? No, he didn’t think so. Beatrice was not the sort of woman who would ever be afraid of him, or anyone. But he was pushing his luck. There were rules . They’d struck a bargain, made an agreement.

And here he was, pushing the boundaries. It was not going to end well.

The carriage bounced over a rut in the road, jostling Stephen a little too much. His eyes snapped open, and he barely suppressed a growl. It wasn’t the coachman’s fault, of course—the streets of London were bad at the best of times, and it was impossible to avoid ruts and potholes.

The jolt had woken him up, though, in more ways than one.

He should have stayed out of the breakfast room that morning.

Stephen was well aware of what he had done, leaning so close to Beatrice. He’d seen the effect it had on her—her heaving chest, her flushed cheeks, her averted eyes. Stephen was comfortably aware of what the signs of desire were, and it was fairly clear that Beatrice desired him.

For most husbands, it would be wonderful news to know that their wives desired them so very much. But in my case, it means disaster. What if she wants to start whittling away at the rules? What if she expects more than I can give?

In his mind’s eye, Stephen could see Beatrice’s blank, disappointed face. He saw her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes not quite meeting his. He could see the hurt in them, and it hurt him .

It was an odd sort of pain, a dull sensation shooting through his chest, as if something heavy was resting on him. He swallowed hard.

I won’t hurt her. I can’t. It’s not fair. Even if… even if she doesn’t understand, I won’t let her suffer.

His mind drifted back to Cornelia’s expression, tight and angry and full of determination. He’d warned her off, but would she listen? Cornelia always had been stubborn to a fault, and vengefully angry whenever she considered herself wronged.

It wasn’t fair to put Beatrice in harm’s way.

The carriage jerked to a halt, jolting him out of his reverie.

I need to talk to Theo, Stephen decided, with miserable certainty.

He climbed down from the carriage and headed inside.

“I’m expected,” he said casually to the butler at the door.

The man nodded and stepped aside.

Theodore put a finger to his lips, signaling silence, as Stephen entered the room.

“He’s finally asleep,” Theodore whispered.

The baby—name still undecided—lay in his crib, sleeping soundly. Stephen leaned over, hardly daring to breathe too deeply in case he disturbed the infant.

“They’re very sweet when they’re asleep,” he remarked in a whisper. “Like little wax dolls.”

“Don’t be fooled,” Theodore huffed. “He’s a little banshee. Worse than Kitty, in fact.”

“From my recollection, Kitty was an angel.”

“You’re quite wrong, I’m afraid.”

The two men stood over the crib for a few moments, staring down at the tiny creature.

For a moment, Stephen allowed himself to imagine holding a baby that was his . What would his baby look like? Would it have his green eyes or tufts of black hair? Olive skin or pale pink?

Almost without thinking, he found himself imagining a tiny baby with a head full of red hair. Red hair.

Color rushed to his face, much to his horror. He was not the sort of man who blushed like a nervous schoolboy facing his first waltz.

He turned away, but it was too late. Theodore’s eyes were too sharp.

“Stephen? What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing. Your baby is very sweet, by the way.”

Theodore paused, narrowing his eyes. “There’s something you aren’t telling me. Come on, man, out with it. You’ve been acting strangely since your marriage. About which I am still on the fence, by the way. What possessed you to marry? And to marry Beatrice ?”

“I thought you were fond of Beatrice,” Stephen retorted.

“I am, and that leads me nicely to my second question—why would she marry you ?”

“Oh, very kind, very kind.”

Theodore snorted. “I am just being honest.”

“Do you really intend to re-examine my motives? I seem to recall having this conversation with you several times in the past. You know why I chose to marry.”

Theodore was quiet for a moment, eyeing his friend thoughtfully. “Sometimes, Stephen, I feel as though I don’t know you at all. You married Beatrice—against all advice, I might add—and then you immediately deserted her for a full six months.”

“If you must know, Beatrice and I agreed to live separate lives. So off I went, to live my life, while she lived hers.”

Theodore pursed his lips, eyeing Stephen coolly. Stephen forced himself to stay still and endure his friend’s scrutiny.

I can see why some men advocate for steering clear of friends altogether . Friends can cut through one’s defenses as cleanly as a hot knife through butter. I consider myself an excellent liar, but when it comes to my old friend, I turn into a babbling youth again. I simply can’t lie to him. Or to Beatrice.

“Do you know what I think?” Theodore said after the pause had stretched on for a long while.

“Do enlighten me.”

“I think you are fond of her.”

Stephen shrugged. “It is no lie. I certainly do like Beatrice. She is clever and fairly pretty, and pleasant to converse with. I like her. That is why I married her.”

Theodore narrowed his eyes, leaning close. “That is not the sort of fondness to which I refer. When the two of you came here, I saw how you looked at her.”

“And you expect me to believe that? You could think of nothing but Anna and your new baby.”

On cue, the baby stirred, making a thin keening sound. For a moment, Stephen was sure the tiny creature was about to start wailing. It was remarkable how an entire household could revolve around the whims of such a delicate, little thing.

The baby did not cry. Instead, he waved a small, wrinkled hand in the air, and then succumbed to sleep once again. Stephen let out a breath he did not know he was holding, and tried not to think about the ache in his chest.

Children are nothing but trouble, everybody knows. The desire for babies and progeny is nothing more than instinct. Nothing more. My decision to live and die childless is a sound one. I just need to keep reminding myself of that.

“Stephen?” Theodore prompted, his voice suddenly soft. “I’ve upset you.”

“Nonsense.”

“Don’t try and fool me. I know you, don’t I? You like Beatrice. You care for her.”

Stephen squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lower lip. “I… She… She’s not what I thought she would be. I set rules between us, guidelines , just as you did with Anna.”

“You should have taken a lesson from Anna and me,” Theodore remarked acidly. “It didn’t work for us, did it?”

Stephen sighed. “The trouble is that I have been letting myself get too close. I need more distance between us. With distance, I can think clearly. I can make good, rational decisions. I can manage . Distance is what we need, more space between us.”

Theodore let out an incredulous snort. “Sometimes, Stephen, I think you are the stupidest man I know. For such a clever man, you do not understand these matters at all.”

“Well, how would you interpret the situation?” Stephen asked, stung.

“You say you need more distance. I say that you need less . You say that Beatrice preoccupies you and weighs on your mind? Well, you are obsessing over her for one simple reason. It is because you have not had her yet.”

Stephen flinched, shooting his friend a shocked glance. “ Theodore !”

Theodore shrugged. “I only draw on my experiences with Anna. As you recall, we intended to have a marriage of convenience, too. And—well, look at us now, two children in and counting. Tell me, am I wrong?”

No, was the simple answer. No, Theodore was not wrong. Stephen did think of Beatrice in that way. He could not imagine a time when he had not thought of her as a woman, as a beautiful, clever woman, an object of desire. When had he started feeling such intense lust towards her?

It wasn’t just lust, though. Perhaps it would have been easier to manage if it was. No, Stephen wanted Beatrice near him. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, talk to her. He wanted to show her the stars and all of his favorite plants. He wanted to see her read the book he’d written on botany, and hear her honest opinions.

Beatrice would tell him the truth. She would tell him what she really thought.

And, to his horror, he desperately wanted to hear it.

“You!” hissed a feminine voice from the doorway.

Both men flinched and spun around, automatically lifting their fingers to their lips in a plea for silence.

They needn’t have worried. Anna stood there, her hands on her hips. Mrs. Haunt stood behind her, looking amused, holding Kitty’s hand. It occurred to Stephen that they had certainly heard everything he and Theodore had just said about Beatrice.

Anna strode into the room, waving a finger in his face. “If you hurt my friend, I shall kill you,” she hissed. “Duke Blackheart or not. I shall kill you and throw your body in a pond.”

“How very specific,” Stephen found himself saying. “Although the pond may not be the best location. For instance?—”

“That is quite enough!” Anna’s voice rose a little too much, and the baby stirred.

The four adults all turned their eyes towards the baby, holding their breaths, but he did not wake up. Kitty tiptoed over to the crib, peering down at her baby brother.

“I mean what I say, Stephen,” Anna said, her voice a little less angry now. “True friends are hard to find. When… when Beatrice was going through a hard time, when she was about to marry the Marquess, I was not there for her. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Stephen shifted from foot to foot, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

“Anna, I reassure you that Beatrice does not blame you. She loves you. You are her friend.”

Anna sniffed. “I know that . She’s the best woman in the world. But the fact is that I did leave her to face her troubles alone, and I must blame myself for that. I can’t let her have a miserable marriage. So, you might be my husband’s dearest friend, but let me tell you this—if you hurt Beatrice or make her unhappy, I shall make you unhappy. And believe me, Duke Blackheart , I am not an enemy you wish to have.”

Stephen bit his lip in the silence that followed. He sensed that Anna was half-joking… but only half.

“I would never want to hurt Beatrice,” he said, at last. “Believe me, Anna. Even if I were some sort of cruel husband, I think we both know that Beatrice can hold her own.”

He expected some sort of witty comment or perhaps laughter from Anna, but she only shook her head.

“Beatrice gives the impression of strength, but she is more vulnerable than she lets people know, Stephen. Ever since she lost her sister, Beatrice believes that she must be a beacon of strength for her family. That she must never complain, never give in, never ask for help or support or anything that an ordinary person needs. She feels that she must always be more . And I’m sure that you can imagine how exhausting that can be.”

Stephen felt a little taken aback by this speech. Mrs. Haunt had melted away, taking Kitty with her, and Theodore had gone silent, staring down at the floor.

The atmosphere had suddenly turned heavy and serious, and Stephen felt a lump forming in his throat.

“I know how she feels about the loss of her sister,” he found himself saying. “She’s spoken about it. I can only imagine how hard that was for her. Anna, I understand that you are concerned about your friend, but believe me when I say that I care for her. Truly, I do. I would never hurt Beatrice.”

Anna stared up at him, her expression unreadable. “I’m not sure you understand, Stephen. I don’t believe for a moment that you would hurt her. Not deliberately, at least.”

He frowned. “Then… then what are you?—”

He was interrupted by the baby, who chose that moment to wake up and use his tiny lungs, making them all jump with his chesty squalls.

With a sigh, Anna stepped forward, scooping the baby up and out of his crib with practiced hands.

“Are you staying for supper, then, Stephen?”

He blinked. “Just a moment ago, you were saying you would kill me if I hurt your friend, and now you are inviting me to eat with you?”

She grinned wolfishly. “Well, if I were going to kill you, I would probably have to poison you.”

Theodore let out a hoot of laughter.

Stephen rolled his eyes. “In that case, I think I will politely decline your invitation.”

“As you like.” Anna gave him a smile while gently bouncing the baby up and down.

“Before I go, Anna, let me assure you of one thing. I only wish to give Beatrice the life of her dreams.”

Stephen was rather proud of that sentence. It showed, he thought, his desire to make Beatrice happy, and how far he was willing to go to make her happy.

Anna, however, did not smile. She only stared at him, her expression thoughtful and a little sad.

“That is very noble. The problem with that, Stephen, is that dreams can change. And they can change rather quickly.”

With that, Anna and Theodore left the nursery, trying to soothe the wailing baby.

Stephen stayed where he was for a moment, staring down at the empty crib.

Dreams change. And they can change rather quickly.

He closed his eyes. At some point, he knew exactly what his dream was, and it was to live the exact life that he was living. He imagined that Beatrice’s dream was to be free, to study, to be happy.

And what about now? What is my dream now?

To his horror, an answer immediately presented itself. His new dream, it seemed, was a person .