Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

B eatrice was still smiling when she stepped into the foyer of Notley House. For the third day in a row, the weather had been mild and sunny, and Munro had escorted her all about London. They'd gone to the museum, shopping on Bond Street, and for a picnic in Hyde Park. She'd given him silly dares, just like she'd done years ago. He'd almost fallen in the Serpentine when she'd dared him to walk the edge of the bridge. But when she'd dared him to swim it, he'd refused. Clearly, he was no longer the foolish youth he'd once been.

He told her all about the museums and monuments he'd visited on the Continent. If she was surprised he had done more than visit brothels, she made certain not to show it. He asked about all the plays she'd seen in London and what his nieces and nephews had been like as they were growing up. He seemed to regret not having been present for most of their childhoods.

She might have reminded him that he still had young nieces and nephews, and he could be present for them. But that would lead them back to the conversation about trust and tests and the Nefarious Scheme she'd concocted and now didn't know whether she should continue or not.

She didn't want to tempt him further, didn't want to think of another woman seducing him—even if that woman failed. She wanted him to want her not because some other woman had aroused him, but because he couldn't stand not to have Beatrice. She'd thought about asking him if they could simply become lovers. She was a widow. Most of Society would look the other way if she took a lover. Unfortunately, Mr. Notorious had the sort of reputation that meant they couldn't hope to keep an affair quiet. She either married him or sullied her own reputation. The last thing her poor sister and the rest of the Notley family needed was more scandal.

Even if she was willing to endure the scandal, she knew Munro well enough to know that he wouldn't accept any alternative to marriage. He'd been a rake and seemed to want no part in that lifestyle any longer. He wanted her love, wanted her to be his wife. He'd asked her twice now—once seven years ago and now again. He would not ask again, and a man had his pride. He'd leave again if she refused, and then she'd never see him again.

Unless he returned with a French or Italian or…Hungarian wife on his arm

As much as that thought frightened her, she was equally terrified to tie herself to another man who might break her heart or make a fool of her.

"Is that you, Beatrice?" Judith called from the parlor just off the foyer.

"Yes."

The door opened, and Judith peeked out. "Where have you been? I need your help. Lavinia and I are trying to make place cards, and neither of us has the beautiful hand you do. Will you help us?"

"Of course." Beatrice handed her coat and hat to the butler and stepped into the parlor. The entire room looked as though it had been overrun with fabric samples, flowers, and boxes of wedding presents. Lavinia sat at a table that had been cleared so the ladies might write the place cards for the wedding breakfast, and she looked as though she might cry any moment.

"Help me," she mouthed to Beatrice.

Beatrice nodded. "Judith, why don't you and I handle the place cards? Lavinia needs her rest. The wedding is tomorrow. She should be enjoying her last days at home."

Lavinia jumped up. "That's a wonderful idea. I'll just retire to my room."

When she was gone, Beatrice took her place and Judith joined her. "I'm rather glad we have a moment to speak privately. I've been worried about you, Bea."

"Still playing the role of big sister, even when I'm seven and twenty?"

"I can't help it, especially when you've been spending so much time with Munro."

Beatrice sighed. She had known this conversation loomed. "Judith, I know Mama died when I was young, and you really were more of a mother to me than a sister. I've always valued your advice, but I don't need it when it comes to Munro."

"You blame me, don't you? You still blame me."

"I don't blame you, and I never did. I made my own decision. I chose Solomon."

"After I pushed you to choose him. How was I to know he was as bad as Munro—worse, even?"

"No one knew. Munro tried to tell me, and I wish I had believed him."

"I convinced you he was lying, that he'd say anything to have you. Beatrice, I haven't changed my mind about that or about him."

"I know." She put her hand over Judith's. "And I know you want what's best for me, but I do think Munro has changed. And I do think if I'd married him, he would have been faithful."

"Then you believe he left for the Continent because he was mourning the loss of you? Everyone else says he bedded every woman from Calais to Calcutta."

"I know what he tells me, and I know I have no reason not to trust him. I also know…" She swallowed because she hadn't told Judith this. "He still wants to marry me."

Judith's hand tightened on hers. "Beatrice, no! Don't even consider it."

"He asked me the first night he saw me. He was drunk, of course, but the proposal was sincere. He has since reiterated it. He says…he says he never stopped wanting to marry me."

"I cannot condone a union with him. I saw how much Solomon hurt you. I don't want that to happen again. And it would be worse this time because you've always cared so much more for Munro than you ever did for Solomon."

"And that's the hardest part about all of it. I have to trust him or lose him forever, and both options seem impossible at the moment."

The morning of Lavinia's wedding dawned gray and wet. Munro parted the curtains in his chamber and stared out at the steady fall of rain. Lavinia would be disappointed, and Judith would be frantic at the idea that her daughter's dress might become wet in transit to the church. He decided then it would be a good idea to avoid all the ladies in the household and stay in his chamber until it was time to depart.

At half past seven, he stepped into a coach that already held Dudley and his wife, Louisa, as well as Lavinia's siblings Aylmer, Guy, and Lydia. "Where are your children?" he asked Dudley.

"Too young to attend," Munro's sister-in-law informed him. "Caroline is six and might have behaved, but little Dudley is a terror on a good day. One can't expect him to sit still five minutes, much less forty."

"I remember when you married, Aunt Louisa," Lydia said. "I was barely six and so excited to attend."

"Yes, and you were an absolute angel," Louisa said. Munro thought Louisa was probably the real angel as she had to live with Dudley and about eighty-three footstools.

"I remember when your parents married," Munro told Aylmer, Guy, and Lydia. Guy, who was twelve, didn't look away from the window but Aylmer and Lydia turned to him.

"You do?" Lydia said.

"I was fifteen, the same age as Aylmer and only a few years younger than your mother. I remember thinking she was beautiful."

"Was Aunt Beatrice there?" Lydia asked.

"I'm sure she was." She would have been no more than eight then and Munro didn't remember her at all. It wasn't until he saw her again, about ten years later, that Beatrice had made an impression on him.

"Did Papa have all of his hair then?" Aylmer asked.

"Well, he didn't have any children to antagonize him back then, so yes."

"Do you think you will ever marry?" Guy asked, finally looking away from the window.

Ah, exactly the question Munro wanted to avoid. "I don't know." He needed to say something to lighten the mood and change the subject. "I definitely don't want children." He patted his head. "My hair is too luxurious to pull out."

The children laughed, and Dudley, whose hair was beginning to thin, patted his own head.

The coach finally arrived at the church, and Munro made sure Lavinia's brothers and sister were seated beside their mother in the front pew. He took his seat behind them with his own siblings and forced himself not to look around in hopes of spotting Beatrice. The Duke of Ramsbury made his way to the front of the church and exchanged a few words with the bishop. Ramsbury looked nervous and shifted from foot to foot.

The church was full of candlelight. The rain outside had dimmed the interior of the building, so it seemed closer to eight at night than eight in the morning. A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see Beatrice standing beside the pew. She looked stunning in a champagne-colored gown that was simple and understated. Somehow the plainness of the gown made her raw beauty stand out more. Her complexion looked almost golden in the flickering candlelight. Her dark hair caught that same light and seemed to shimmer. His eyes met hers, and for a long moment, he was caught by her lovely green gaze. He had never known another person with eyes that color green, and he didn't think he ever would.

Munro stumbled to his feet, his legs unsteady. He'd wanted to see her, but now that he did, his heart sped up and he felt unaccountably warm. His entire body seemed to feel the need to remind him he was in love with her every single time he saw her.

Munro grasped the back of the pew before him to steady himself, then stepped aside when Beatrice made a shooing motion with her hand. The other residents of his pew shifted, but there was not much room left on their row. When everyone had adjusted, Munro and Beatrice sat. His leg fit snugly against hers. Normally, Munro wouldn't have minded the close quarters, but the feel of her leg against his just reminded him that this was their last day together. She hadn't sent him any more tests and didn't seem inclined to. Clearly, she had decided not to accept his proposal.

The bishop said something, and everyone rose and turned to the back of the church where Arthur stood with his daughter on his arm. Lavinia's face was brighter than any of the candles, and her father looked as though he might fall over.

"What's wrong with Arthur?" Munro whispered to Beatrice, who had been in the carriage with Judith, Lavinia, and Arthur on the way over.

"He's just realized he's not ready for his little girl to become a wife. He'll be fine."

Munro glanced at his brother again. Arthur looked waxy and stiff as he started toward the altar, Lavinia on his arm.

Beatrice glanced back at Munro. "Just in case, be ready to give Lavinia away."

Munro wanted to ask in case of what , but he caught Lavinia's eye and smiled at her. She beamed back, looking radiant as any bride should on her wedding day. Munro would strangle Ramsbury if he ever did anything to take that joy from Munro's niece.

He wondered what Beatrice would have looked like if she'd been able to give Munro her heart, if she'd been able to trust him. She'd probably look terrified as she stood at the altar with him. She knew weddings didn't always end in bliss. And Munro knew love didn't always conquer all. He'd loved Beatrice for years now, had never stopped loving her, but it seemed his love wasn't enough. She couldn't trust him enough to marry him.

As much as he wanted her, he wouldn't beg. He wouldn't linger in London and hope she'd change her mind one day. He couldn't even stay in London. It would be too painful to see her, want her, and know he couldn't have her.

Arthur managed to reach the steps to the altar. He looked up at the bishop who asked, "Who gives this woman to this man in marriage?"

"I am her father," Arthur said, "I do." He bent and kissed Lavinia's cheek then took her hand and placed it in Ramsbury's. Munro watched his brother stumble back to his seat, and once the families were allowed to sit again, he put his hand on Arthur's shoulder to comfort him.

The rest of the ceremony was brief. Beatrice sniffled, and Munro gave her his handkerchief. He tried not to think about how warm she felt beside him or allow himself to turn his head to catch her scent. He need only survive the wedding breakfast, and then he could pack his things and say his good-byes. He'd leave at dawn tomorrow morning and not look back.

Beatrice had hardly a moment to think until the wedding breakfast was underway and all the food laid out and the guests making toasts and offering felicitations. She'd been awake since long before dawn to help Judith with all the last-minute preparations, including dressing Lavinia for the ceremony. Now it was over, and Lavinia was the Duchess of Ramsbury. She looked happy, turning her head to smile at her new husband every few moments. He smiled back at her, pressing her hand with his.

Unexpectedly, Beatrice felt her heart clench. She wanted a man to look at her that way. Not just any man, but Munro. She looked about the dining room but didn't see him. Then she remembered Judith had said he'd taken the children to the drawing room and out of the way. Beatrice reached into her bodice and withdrew the handkerchief he'd given her. It smelled faintly of citrus and bergamot, scents she always associated with him.

She made her way out of the dining room and up the stairs to the drawing room. Outside the door, she peeked in and smiled at the chaos inside. Munro was trying to manage at least nine of his nieces and nephews. He held Mary's youngest, who was two and wailing, in his arms. The older boys were pushing and shoving in a corner, and one of the little girls was crying over a doll who seemed to have lost an arm.

He needed saving.

"What's all this?" Beatrice said as she swept into the room. Immediately, the boys stopped pushing each other and Lizzie, Mary's toddler, reached her arms out. Beatrice swept by Munro, took the child, and then bent to see what she could do about the broken doll.

"Thank God you are here," Munro said. "A riot was about to break out."

"I can sew her arm back on, Georgiana," Beatrice said. "Do stop crying." She looked about and spotted Lydia. "Lydia, begin a game of charades for the older children, please."

"Yes, Aunt Beatrice."

"Munro, help me put the blocks out for the little ones. They are in the cabinet. Yes, that one there. Where are the nannies?"

"I sent them away," he said, giving her a sheepish look. "I thought they might want a small respite. I didn't think everything would go wrong so quickly." He set the blocks out and took Lizzie from her arms, setting the child on the carpet before the blocks. Then he knelt beside her and began stacking blocks that she handed him.

Beatrice's mouth went dry. She had always loved children and enjoyed being part of the lives of Judith's children. Clearly, Munro enjoyed children as well. He listened to Lizzie babble on and made agreeable comments as though she were really conversing with him. It was too precious, and she had a momentary flash of Munro holding their child and playing with their toddler.

But that was not to be.

"I'll get the other little ones," she managed to say around the lump in her throat.

When everyone was either engaged in charades or toppling blocks, she sat on the couch and Munro rose from the floor and joined her. "Why aren't you enjoying the breakfast?" he asked.

She couldn't exactly tell him that she'd wondered where he was or that she missed him. She looked down at her hands, trying to think of some excuse, and spotted his handkerchief. "I wanted to give this back to you."

He took the handkerchief from her. "Thank you." His eyes met hers, and she could see the longing in the golden-brown gaze. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and he looked away.

"I think I'll stay here with the children a little longer," he said. "I don't know when I'll see them again."

This was her chance. This was her last opportunity to tell him she would marry him. All the tests and temptations be damned. She wanted him.

But she couldn't seem to say it, and then Guy was begging Uncle Munro to play at charades. "You know that I have never played charades," Munro said. "I've seen others play, but I never have."

"We'll show you how," Lydia offered. "Please!"

Munro glanced at Beatrice. She smiled. "I'll watch the little ones. Go ahead."

"Very well." He stood. "I'll try anything once."

And he would. He was not afraid to risk his heart, to risk everything. One of the nannies returned, and Beatrice gave the smaller children over to her care. She had to get back to the breakfast.

And she had to decide, for once and for all, if she would finally risk it all too.