Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

THE WONDERS OF FRIENDSHIP

A fter seeing the way Charles had spoken to Francine, Beatrice was suddenly inspired to make the best of everything. Determination surged through her, and she felt hopeful in a way she had not in a long time.

Quick steps carried them back to the Whickertons' townhouse, up the front steps and into the entry hall. "Lizzie!" Charles called, craning his neck, as Beatrice felt her heart hammering with excitement. "Lizzie, there is snow! Lizzie!"

For a moment, no sound could be heard besides their rapid breathing. Then, however, soft footsteps drifted to their ears, and a moment later, Lizzie appeared at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide in awe. "Snow?" she asked, hesitation in her voice as though she did not dare believe them.

"Yes!" Charles exclaimed, waving her forward. "Let's bundle up and head into the garden." He gathered Lizzie's coat, boots and mittens in his arms and rushed toward her, meeting her at the landing.

"Quick!" Lizzie exclaimed, clearly afraid that the snow would disappear before she could see it.

Beatrice felt herself bounce upon her feet, wishing Francine could be here. Hopefully, the coming days would bring her over frequently so that she could get to know the Whickertons alongside Beatrice. Perhaps this would truly be a wonderful new chapter in all their lives.

With Lizzie finally bundled up warmly, they rushed outside.

The garden lay in silence, the air still and drifting in little clouds through the bare tree branches. Tiny snowflakes lingered, swirling here and there, giving the garden an ethereal quality. Even the birds seemed to sense the quiet as if they had forgotten their usual twitter and chirp.

In the stillness, time seemed to stand still, and Beatrice felt as though she could have remained in this moment forever, entranced by the winter sky, the soft whispers of the wind and the small crystals dancing down from the sky.

Lizzie, though, squealed with delight. "Snow! Look, Charlie, it's snowing!" Spreading her arms wide, she twirled in circles, her head tilted back, and her eyes lifted to the heavens.

Charles laughed, and Beatrice knew that his heart soared seeing his little sister so carefree and happy. "Come."

Beatrice blinked and saw Charles holding out his hand to her. "What?"

He nodded toward Lizzie then grasped Beatrice's hand without warning and tugged her along. Only a moment later, they were twirling around the garden alongside Lizzie, and Beatrice had never felt so free.

It was as though this one moment changed everything. She no longer felt apprehensive or was plagued by doubts. No, instead, she embraced her new life wholeheartedly, and within a matter of days, Beatrice felt at home with the Whickertons.

Lizzie was a delight, and Beatrice loved seeing her and Francine together; and Francine did visit often. Sometimes even twice a day, coming over accompanied by her nursemaid. Although seven years separated the girls, they seemed drawn to one another. While Francine sensed that Lizzie's body was frailer, Lizzie had a way of imparting her wisdom in a way that made the girls seem like equals.

Henry possessed a certain fondness for poking fun at all those around him, never missing the opportunity to tease his siblings… as well as her and Francine, which made them feel included and gave them even more a feeling of belonging.

Lord and Lady Whickerton—or Jasper and Edith as they insisted Beatrice call them—were quite unlike Beatrice's own parents in one particular way. They, too, certainly had quite a number of duties to handle; yet they always made time to spend together as a family. Meals were shared, even including the children, and they never had that absent expression on their faces that suggested they wished to be elsewhere. No, when Charles's parents spent time with their children, they were truly there.

And then, two days before the Christmas ball, Beatrice walked by Jasper's study and overheard him speaking to Charles. She knew she ought not listen; yet when she heard her name mentioned, she simply could not walk away.

"I never had any objections against Beatrice," Jasper insisted, the tone in his voice suggesting that he was choosing his words most carefully. "She is indeed a wonderful, truly kind young woman, and I wish you two all the happiness in the world."

Beatrice barely breathed, every muscle in her body tensing despite the beautiful words she had just overheard.

"I know," Charles replied, his voice sounding so close that Beatrice flinched. "I never meant to suggest it. I only meant to ask your opinion of her."

A chill trailed down Beatrice's spine because she knew what Charles was asking, and it made her feel awful. Yes, she had settled into this family with an ease that surprised even her. She loved them all, and she felt certain that with time, she would only love them more. But Charles? He was a most wonderful man, and she truly cared for him. But was she in love with him? Would she ever be?

As though to echo her thoughts, Jasper said, "The reason I initially objected has not changed. I wish it had. Believe me." He exhaled a slow breath, and Beatrice could hear regret in his voice. "What worries me is that you are now married to a woman who might never love you back, at least not the way you love her."

Unable to listen to more, Beatrice silently moved away, her heart feeling heavy again. The lightness of the past few days disappeared, replaced by a most intense pressure to feel something for Charles because if she did not, he would be heartbroken. He deserved love, and more than anything, she wanted to give it. It was not something she could conjure by willpower alone, though. She cared for him, certainly… but love?

Still, Beatrice could not deny that time with Charles had become precious to her. Very precious, indeed. They rode out together, toured the city, walked in the park, and read by the fire. Although he often seemed serious, especially compared to his younger brother, Charles, too, possessed a carefree and almost whimsical side. Beatrice would never forget the way they had twirled and danced in the snow, laughing arm in arm like children, as though they had not a care in the world. Indeed, whenever he was nearby, Beatrice felt somehow lighter. He barely needed more than a few words to make her smile, and she never hesitated to go along when he suggested a midnight walk in the gardens to count the stars or to read a book backwards, starting with the last page. Oh, how they laughed!

At her childhood home, it had been ages since Beatrice had done anything remotely like these things. After all, she was no longer a child, and it was simply not ladylike. The Whickertons, though, did not seem to mind.

"Are you getting tired?" Charles inquired with a grin as they sat in the library the night before the ball. The fire danced in the hearth, casting its orange-red glow across the tall, vaulted chamber.

Beatrice tried to hide a yawn behind her hand.

Charles chuckled. "Oh no, I saw that." He rose from where he had sat upon the rug, half-leaning against the settee, and set aside the book he had read to her. "Off to bed with you. After all, tomorrow night's ball is in our honor; therefore, we should try to attend."

Beatrice held out her hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Strangely enough, it no longer felt odd when his fingers grasped hers, skin touching. "Do you enjoy balls?" she inquired, still curious to find out more about him. "Do you dance?"

Instead of replying to her question, Charles suddenly tugged her forward and into his arms, one hand settling upon her waist while the other held onto her hand.

Beatrice held her breath, staring into his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed to be so close. Of course, it was far from indecent—even if they had not been husband and wife. After all, throughout her Season, Beatrice had danced with many gentlemen at many balls. Yet being alone here with Charles in the library, the night surrounding them and the warmth of the flames in the hearth reaching out, the world suddenly seemed a different place.

"Do you know how to dance?" Charles challenged, a mischievous grin upon his face, before he hummed a sweet melody and his feet moved.

Easily falling back into the rhythm that had grown between them these past few days, Beatrice smiled at him. "I'm realizing only now that I've never heard you sing," she teased, delighting in the deep smile that came to his face. "Perhaps tomorrow, at the ball, you'll grant us a small performance." She arced an eyebrow at him.

Charles laughed. "Believe me, if you had heard me sing, you would not have just asked that." He stilled, as though at a sudden thought. "Though, it might be a sure way to empty the house of guests should we tire of them."

"It's a plan then," Beatrice declared, allowing him to twirl her in a small circle. "It is always good to have a—" All of a sudden, the world began to sway, and Beatrice blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to get it back into focus.

"Beatrice! Are you all right?" Charles's voice sounded concerned and strangely far away. Yet when Beatrice felt her knees buckle, his arms grasped her, pulling her against his chest, keeping her safe.

Gently, he settled her upon the soft rug in front of the fireplace, fetching a small pillow to place beneath her head. All the while, he spoke to her, and although Beatrice barely understood a word he was saying, the sound of his voice was soothing. She closed her eyes, one hand clasped in his, and simply breathed.

"Shall I fetch the doctor?"

"No," Beatrice managed to say. Then she opened her eyes once more, and the world was back in focus. She waited for another heartbeat or two, and when it remained where it was, she smiled up at her husband. "It has passed. It was merely a spell of dizziness. Nothing to worry about."

Charles's gaze still held concern. "Are you certain?"

She nodded. "Yes, I am. Please, help me up."

With great care, Charles assisted her to her feet, his hands never leaving her arms, holding onto her in case she lost her balance once more. "Is the child all right? Do you have any way of knowing?"

Oddly enough, for a brief moment, Beatrice had even forgotten about the child. These past few days, she had felt wonderful, her mind so focused on this new beginning that she had barely thought of the new life growing within her.

Feeling tense, Beatrice looked at her husband. "I do believe it is fine." Her gaze lingered upon Charles's face, and as always she feared to see something dark descend upon his features, the child a reminder of what stood between them.

Yet it never did.

His hands held hers, and his eyes looked at her with the same deep concern and utter devotion that were simply his. He did not seem at all burdened by the reminder that she was carrying another man's child.

"Is there anything you need?"

Beatrice sighed, deeply touched by his care, because everything he had said proved true. "Thank you for being you," she whispered, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. "Thank you for… your friendship." Beatrice knew that it was probably not what he wanted to hear; yet it was all she had to give.

No disappointment showed up on his face, though, and the smile that touched his lips looked utterly genuine. "Always."

And then Beatrice sank into his arms, resting her head upon his shoulder, and it felt right, as though this spot had been made for her only.