Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

A MOMENT OF HOPE

" Y ou need to stop walking off on your own," Beatrice's mother chided her upon their return home that night. Of course, her absence had been noted. "We had a hard time convincing Mr. Carter," she exchanged a look with her husband, "that you were not doing anything untoward, that you were merely in the powder room, possibly delayed because of all the many guests in attendance tonight." Her mother's gaze drilled into hers. "You need to pull yourself together, Beatrice. All our future depends on it."

"Yes, Mother," Beatrice replied before hurrying up the stairs to her chamber. More than anything, she wished to be alone, her emotions hung by a thread the very moment people crowded around her.

With a heavy sigh, she closed the door and leaned against it. Even now, Beatrice could not believe that Lord Hawthorne had offered to marry her. Yet in her mind's eye, she still saw the honest expression upon his face. Indeed, he had meant what he had said, had he not?

Beginning to pace, Beatrice reminded herself that she ought never have told him the truth. Indeed, he had caught her in a moment of weakness, and now he knew her darkest secret. If he wished, he could ruin her. Yet instead, he had offered to save her.

Beatrice was certain that any other man would have been appalled to learn her secret. After all, Lord Hawthorne could not have guessed what it was when he had found her in tears. Who knew what he thought had upset her? Still, recalling the moment she had foolishly shared her secret, Beatrice knew she had not seen judgment or disgust upon his face. No, there had been fury there, outrage. Only they had not been directed at her but at Lord Strumpton… because he had dared hurt her.

Again and again, Beatrice's mind replayed the moments she had shared with Lord Hawthorne, and even when her head finally hit the pillow, she was no closer to knowing what to do. She could not even contemplate it, for her mind continued to argue that he could not have possibly meant what he had said. Even if he had in that moment, come morning, he would change his mind. He was the heir to his father's title, and he could not marry a woman who carried another man's child. No gentleman would do so.

No lord would do so.

"Are you already sleeping?"

At Francine's whispered voice, Beatrice flinched. She had not even heard the door open, nor her sister tiptoe across the floor toward her bed. Yet when her eyes flew open, Francine stood right beside her, her eyes glowing in the dark like two stars. "What are you doing out of bed again?"

Francine shrugged and then nimbly scrambled up onto the bed, slipping under the blanket beside Beatrice. "I heard Mother and Father arguing," she said simply. "What happened? Did you do something to upset them?" Eagerness rang in her voice, and Beatrice knew her sister was hoping for a good story.

Pulling Francine into her arms, Beatrice replied, "No, nothing happened. It was a ball like any other."

Francine giggled. "You're lying," she declared triumphantly as she scrambled back up into a sitting position. "Tell me. Tell me."

Exhausted, Beatrice swung her right arm over her eyes. "I felt sad again tonight," Beatrice said honestly, "and so I walked away from the ballroom to be by myself for a bit. Mother and Father did not like that."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And then? What happened then?" Francine pressed, her hands reaching out to pull Beatrice's arm away from her face. "I can hear in your voice that there's more. Tell me."

Beatrice chuckled. Somehow, her little sister always made her feel a little better. "Well, if you must know," she murmured into the half-dark, "a… a friend asked me to marry him." Briefly, Beatrice wondered if the word friend was appropriate. After all, she had met Lord Hawthorne only the day before. Yet the way he had acted today had clearly revealed him as a friend, an ally, someone who stood at her side.

Excitedly, Francine clapped her hands together. "Oh, what friend? Do I know him?" Then she frowned. "I thought you were supposed to marry Father's old friend." She paused then her frown deepened. "Is your friend old, too?"

Beatrice chuckled again. "No, he is not." From the look of him, he was merely a few years older than her.

"What's he like? Is he nice?"

Beatrice nodded. "Yes, he is nice. He helped me tonight and kept me safe. And he…" Staring up at the dark ceiling above her bed, Beatrice remembered the look in his eyes. "He acted very honorably." She grinned at her sister. "Like a knight from the ancient stories."

Again, Francine clapped her hands together in delight. "He sounds great. Marry him. I would if I were you."

Marry him . Francine's words continued to echo through Beatrice's mind all night. She barely slept a wink, and when morning came, she was still uncertain about what to do. Truth be told, Lord Hawthorne was a kind man and… and she liked him. Yet did that give her the right to be selfish? Would he not eventually come to regret his generous offer?

Knowing that time was short, Beatrice decided to put this question to her parents. And so, with Francine painting in the small studio her parents had set up for her, Beatrice forced herself to step into her father's study after breakfast. Her mother was there as well, and from the few words she overheard, she knew they were discussing her upcoming marriage to Mr. Carter.

"There is something I need to speak to you about," Beatrice said outright, closing the door firmly behind her. "There's something I would appreciate your advice on."

Her parents frowned, a touch of apprehension upon both their faces. Clearly, they were expecting nothing good.

Was what she had to say good news? Honestly, Beatrice could not say. "Last night, at the ball, I received a proposal."

"A proposal?" her mother exclaimed, exchanging a rather dumbfounded expression with her father. "From Lord Strumpton?"

Beatrice shook her head. "No, not from him. From… someone else."

"Who?" her father inquired, seating himself on the edge of his desk, his gaze fixed upon her. "Who would propose to you without speaking to your parents first?" He looked at his wife. "This sounds very untoward."

"I do not wish to say," Beatrice replied, uncertain why she was keeping Lord Hawthorne's identity a secret. Was it perhaps because a small part of her still doubted him? Indeed, would she soon receive a letter informing her that he had made a mistake? It was far from unthinkable.

Her mother's jaw dropped. "Why?" Her gaze narrowed, deep suspicion in her eyes. "Was it someone… disreputable?"

Beatrice shook her head. "No, he is a most respectable man, heir to an earldom." In a few words, Beatrice explained to her parents how she had first met this respectable man two nights ago, how kind he had been and how distraught she had felt. She told them honestly that she had revealed her secret to him and how he had reacted.

"You're a fool!" her mother huffed, spinning in circles, not quite knowing where to go with her anger. "He could ruin us! He could ruin us all!"

"That was far from wise, my dear," Beatrice's father agreed, shaking his head at her, clearly disappointed. "I hope you know that."

Beatrice nodded, wringing her hands. "I do. I assure you. I do. Yet," she looked from her mother to her father, "what am I to do? He is kind and—"

"I'll tell you what to do," her mother interrupted, her right forefinger lifted in warning. "You will wed Mr. Carter. Do you hear me? And you will tell this respectable man that you cannot marry him."

Beatrice closed her eyes, surprised how heavy her heart felt. "But why?"

"Don't be foolish again," her mother snapped. "He probably did not mean it anyhow. What gentleman in his right mind offers to marry a woman carrying another man's child?" She scoffed. "Besides, marrying Mr. Carter will ensure that your reputation remains intact. As long as a scandal is avoided, what does it matter who you marry?"

"Your mother is right," her father agreed, his expression tense. "Mr. Carter was kind enough to agree to my request. We cannot dishonor his generosity by refusing him now. Do you understand?"

Beatrice nodded. "Yes, I understand." Yet deep down, Beatrice knew that the reason she could not marry Lord Hawthorne was not her reputation or the risk to it if he were to change his mind. No, it was because he deserved better. Was that not what he had said to her the night before? Indeed, it was. And so did he. He deserved someone who loved him with all her heart, and if she allowed him to do this for her now, he would undoubtedly come to regret it one day.

Still, for a moment, it had felt good to have hope.