Chapter 17

The rest of her evening had gotten better. Beatrice had danced four more dances—three with Oscar, and one with Elspeth’s Iagan. She had never danced so much in her life—and she had enjoyed every minute of being held in Oscar’s arms. Dr. Coleson had felt different, almost fraternal, in a way. But dancing with Oscar had been wonderful.

She had wanted to press closer, to stay in that man’s arms forever.

She and her girls made their way down the wide corridor, the soft glow of a kerosene lamp in Agnes’s hand lighting their path. Beatrice stayed close to Agnes; she would probably never like the dark. She could still feel Oscar’s arms around her, could still smell the champaign mingling with the scents of perfumes.

It had been her first ever Christmas ball. And she had gotten to spend it with him.

She would never forget.

Mora hummed a little under her breath. She had always had the most beautiful voice. Isobel was trying to mimic one of the gentlemen’s stiff waltz steps. It was not going well—Isobel almost tripped on the hem of her very own gown.

“Isobel, you’re going to fall and harm yourself,” Agnes said. But she was laughing.

“I will not. I’m as graceful as a bird,” Isobel said, promptly losing her balance and grabbing Mora for support. The two dissolved into giggles. “I am just like Dr. Collins’s little bird. You were very graceful tonight, Beatrice. I think Dr. Collins enjoyed dancing with you.”

Agnes turned back to Beatrice. “Well then, Beatrice Maeve, are you going to tell us what he said? What he asked you?”

“Yes, do not hold out on us. You and Dr. Collins disappeared for quite some time after that dance,” Mora said. “He was looking at you the way Dr. Coleson looks at our Elspeth.”

“He carried her off like a knight in a novel,” Isobel said. “Did he confess his undying love? Tell you he’ll build you a castle?”

“Stop,” Beatrice said, though her cheeks warmed. “He asked me to tell him when I will marry him. That is all.”

They just stopped walking. Right there in the hallway between Isobel’s room and Mora’s. With the door to Beatrice’s own room behind her. And looked at her.

“You are just now telling us this?” Mora asked. “He proposed? Already? He’s a bit of an impatient one, once his mind is made.”

“And what did you say?” Agnes asked at the same instant.

“I said I have not decided if I will…yet.” She had barely had a moment to think about such a thing. She had never imagined he would want…that. Would want a girl like her.

The girls quieted again. Isobel just stared at her, her arms still up from her imaginary waltz. “What do you mean you have not decided? He’s a doctor , Beatrice. A rich one. You’d never want for anything ever again. You would be safe and protected forever.”

“That is no reason to marry a man. Inside, I think we need to have a talk,” Agnes said, as she opened the door to Beatrice’s room, and waved them all inside. She set the lamp on the bedside table and turned to face Beatrice fully. “Do you love him?”

“I do not ken,” Beatrice admitted. “I like him. He is kind. He makes me feel…safe. And when he holds me, I feel like I have never felt before. Like I want him to hold me even more. But have I been with him long enough to even be thinking love ?”

Did she love him? How could a woman know, especially after less than a week?

“Safety is not enough to build a life on,” Agnes said. “Life is a long time to be married to a man you do not love.”

Beatrice understood—Agnes’s own mama had lived with a horrible brute of a husband. But he had been a stable man, with a bit of money behind him. They’d never worried about going hungry, but Beatrice had seen the bruises on Agnes and her younger brother herself.

“Agnes is romanticizing again. Beatrice, listen to me. Love is nice, but you need security. That man will take care of you forever. You’ll have a house, a good life. What more could you ask for?” Isobel asked.

Agnes and Isobel had argued such before. Beatrice had decided she fell somewhere in the middle of what those two believed. Agnes just looked at her, and waved a hand in Isobel’s face. Those two argued a bit more than the rest. “Ignore her. Just…think about it, Bea. You’ll know what to do when the time is right.”

Mora hugged her gently, from the side. Beatrice did not like hugs from the front, and Mora always remembered that. “Ignore those two squawking chickens. I pity the men they eventually wed; those poor gentlemen will never have peace. But you—Dr. Collins cares for you very deeply, and is a good man. He looks at you the way Iagan looks at Elspeth. I personally will not be marrying any man until he looks at me like that, too. Take your time, Beatrice. If he loves you, he will wait until you are ready. No matter how much the fires of passion seem to be burning him.”

They left her with those words still echoing about her head. Beatrice sank to the edge of her bed. She did not think she would sleep tonight.

She lay awake long into the night, thinking about Oscar Collins and what that man could really want from her.

When she married him.

Not if.

As if it had long been decided that she would. But…the idea of him just carrying her off to marry her anyway gave her a tingling in her gut that she had never felt before. An excitement, even. Hope. Most definitely hope.

Oscar Collins wanted to marry her.

But did she want to marry him ?

She just did not know.