Chapter 1

Chapter One

A SHAMEFUL SECRET

E very step Beatrice took down the long hallway toward the drawing room felt as though it was weighted down by lead. Dark shadows loomed this late in the day, every bit of cheer the Christmas season usually promised gone, and she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling cold. Yet there was no help for it. This was not a situation Beatrice knew how to handle herself. It was not something that would go away if only she ignored it steadfastly. No, she needed her parents' help… if it was not already too late for that.

Again, tears threatened, and Beatrice determinedly willed them away. She had to be strong. She knew that. Yet it was easier said than done. Never would she have thought her life would take such a drastic turn and lead her away from the dream she had always entertained.

A dream of love and marriage and family.

Breathing in deeply, Beatrice stared at the closed door, her limbs unwilling to move. Still, there was no choice, and it was that reminder that finally propelled her forward.

As Beatrice stepped into the drawing room, both her parents looked up. While her father had been immersed in one of his books, seated in a comfortable armchair near the fire, her mother had retreated to the settee, her latest work of embroidery in her hands. "Are you well?" her mother inquired, that slightly concerned frown once again upon her face. "You've been rather quiet these last few days." She exchanged a look with her husband, who nodded in agreement before both turned their attention back to Beatrice.

With her hands clasped together almost painfully, Beatrice straightened, willing herself not to crumble before their eyes. After all, her parents had always been kind, their family born out of convenience, yes, but also respect and compassion. "I'm afraid there is something I need to tell you," she began, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "I… I've made a grievous mistake."

Her parents' faces tensed, and they exchanged another concerned look. Then her mother set aside her embroidery and beckoned Beatrice forward, patting the spot upon the settee next to her. "Come. Tell us what has happened."

Truthfully, Beatrice would have preferred to remain near the door. Somehow, being face-to-face with her parents, only an arm's length or two separating them, made it harder to speak.

Seating herself on the far edge of the settee, Beatrice clasped her hands in her lap, her gaze downcast, her courage now all but gone. "There is… there is no good way to say this," she murmured, still not daring to look up at her parents. "So, I will simply say it." She closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. Then she lifted her chin and looked at her mother. "I am with child."

For a moment, it appeared time had stopped, as though the world had ceased its rotation. There was not even a flicker of a reaction upon her mother's face, her expression almost blank as she stared back at Beatrice.

A quick glance at her father told Beatrice that her news had stunned him as well. He barely blinked, his shoulders still as though he did not even dare draw breath.

"I'm so sorry," Beatrice mumbled, bowing her head in shame. "I know I disappointed you. I know I made a grievous mistake. I wish I—"

Her mother shot to her feet, and her mouth fell open as though she wished to speak. Yet no sound came out. Then, quick steps carried her around the room, her eyes wide and her hands clasped to her mouth. Long moments passed, before she spun around to face Beatrice. "Who? Who is—?" A muscle in her jaw twitched, and she glanced at her husband.

Beatrice's father remained where he was, his expression now stern, his eyes moving as he no doubt thought of a way out of this predicament.

Swallowing hard, Beatrice met her mother's eyes. "Lord Strumpton."

Her mother's eyes closed, and a heavy sigh left her lips as she bowed her head in what looked like resignation. "How could you have been such a fool?" she huffed, seeking Beatrice's gaze, her own accusing. "The man's a known rake. I assume he refused to marry you, is that not so?"

Unable to speak, Beatrice nodded in confirmation, tears blurring her vision as she recalled the moment she had shared her happy news with the man she loved.

It had been that very night at the Tennyson ball. Beatrice had waited for what felt like a small eternity until she had finally caught him alone.

Seeing him leave the ballroom, Beatrice had excused herself, telling Marianne that she was heading to the powder room and would be back within moments. Her friend had nodded in acknowledgment of her words before quickly turning back toward the dance floor, hope in her eyes to find herself out there among the dancing couples soon, too.

Quick steps had carried Beatrice out of the ballroom and toward the powder room. There she had waited until no one had been nearby before rounding the next corner and hurrying after Lord Strumpton. She had not dared call out to him until the noise of the ballroom had faded away.

"Eugene!" Indeed, calling him by his given name had somehow reassured her, reminding her of the wonderful moments they had spent together, of all the precious things he had said to her.

Surprise had come to his face upon seeing her, and he had quickly drawn her aside, ushering her into an empty room. His lips had found hers without delay, her words stuck in her throat as he had drawn her into his arms. For a moment, Beatrice had forgotten the world around her, once more reassured that all would end well after all.

Reminding herself of the words that needed to be said, she had gained his attention, her heart full of hope once more. "Eugene, I am with child."

His face had fallen instantly, and he had stumbled backwards a step or two, his hands falling from her arms, as though he could no longer bear the thought of even touching her. "Are… Are you certain?"

Beatrice had shrugged. "As certain as I can be." In truth, she knew very little about these matters. All she knew she had overheard by sheer happenstance, drawing her own conclusions. Indeed, it could barely be considered knowledge at all.

His lips had thinned, his head shaking from side to side ever so slowly in denial.

Beatrice's heart had broken in that moment, and yet she had forced herself to ask, "Will you not propose? After all," her hands had settled upon her belly, "I am carrying your child."

For a moment, his gaze had followed her movement and lingered upon her hands. Then, however, he had shaken his head once more. "I'm afraid I cannot. My father seeks another match for me."

Tears had shot to Beatrice's eyes. "Eugene, you cannot mean that."

"It breaks my heart," Eugene had replied, his arms now linked behind his back, his feet retreating another step, "but I have an obligation to my family." He had inhaled a slow breath and then stepped around her and left the room.

All Beatrice had thought in that moment had been that he had not looked heartbroken at all.

"How could you not know?" Beatrice's mother demanded, disappointment in her eyes as she shook her head at Beatrice. "Did we not warn you to be wary of his kind? Of men like him? How could not see that—?" She pinched her lips together and shook her head in a gesture of utter defeat. "There is no point in lamenting what cannot be undone."

Beatrice dapped her handkerchief to the corner of her eye to hide the tear that lingered there. Of course, she had heard the whispers; and yet they had only been that: whispers. After all, whispers existed about almost everyone of the ton in one form or another.

Truth be told, one look into Eugen's eyes and Beatrice had known him to be different. Even if he was a rake, even if all the rumors were true, everything would change now that he had lost his heart to her. Beatrice had been certain of it.

Only she had been wrong.

His heart had never been hers.

Not even for a moment.

Silence lingered in the small drawing room as Beatrice's mother continued to pace. Beatrice could all but feel her parents trying to think of a way to remedy the mistake she had made, their anger at her momentarily subdued by the desperate need to preserve their family's reputation.

"We must find her a match," her mother stated firmly as her feet finally drew to a halt, her gaze meeting her husband's. "There is no point in trying to persuade Lord Strumpton to do the honorable thing."

Beatrice's father sighed, the expression in his eyes hesitant before he spoke. "I could call him out," he suggested in a feeble voice.

Beatrice's mother scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous! He would kill you, and then where would we be?" She shook her head in finality. "No, we must find her another match. And quickly. She must be married in a fortnight at the latest." Then her gaze swung around to Beatrice. "How long has it been since your last courses?"

Beatrice blushed profusely while her father cleared his throat uncomfortably before he rose to his feet and moved closer to the door. "Almost six weeks," Beatrice replied in a small voice.

A muttered curse flew from her mother's lips. "We can be certain she is with child," she murmured to herself before approaching her husband. "Who?"

For a long moment, Beatrice's parents looked at one another, not a word leaving their lips as they considered every option.

Beatrice felt sickened. Of course, like all young ladies, she had always dreamed of a love match, and for a time, she had thought she had found it. Now, though, everything came crashing down around her. Yet despite the awful thought of being ruined in the eyes of society, Beatrice could not deny that a match of convenience was something almost as awful. What sort of man would her parents choose? Would they tell him the truth about her situation? What if they did not tell him and he found out?

All sorts of disconcerting thoughts raced through Beatrice's head as her parents considered their next step.

"John Carter."

Beatrice flinched at the sound of her father's voice as well as the name he spoke.

"Do you think he will agree?" her mother inquired, doubt in her voice. "Has he not said more than once that he does not desire another wife?"

"He has," her father confirmed. "Yet if I ask him as a friend, he might grant me this favor. After all, it need not be a true union."

Mr. John Carter had been a school friend of her father's. As the second son of a baron, he possessed no title, yet he was well respected. He had been married to his wife for almost two decades when he had suddenly lost her to a lung infection. The disease had moved swiftly, and Beatrice remembered the crestfallen expression upon Mr. Carter's face after losing the woman he had loved all his life. He had always been a kind man, and yet the thought of marrying him made Beatrice feel sick.

"Then send word to him," Beatrice's mother insisted. "Tonight. Now." She heaved a deep breath. "There is no time to lose."

Her father nodded and hurried from the drawing room, his receding footsteps echoing down the hall.

"No one must know," her mother spoke in a calm and clear voice as she moved back to Beatrice's side. "Do you understand?" She grasped Beatrice's hands, her eyes insistent upon hers. "We will attend every function, every event as though… nothing happened."

Beatrice nodded in agreement, fighting to hold back the tears that wished to rush forth. Yet this was her predicament. She had made a mistake, and now, she would have to pay for it. She had no one to blame but herself.

Indeed, Beatrice had been a fool to give her heart away so easily, to ignore the whispers, the tentative warnings she had heard in her head now and then. Yet her heart had been too full of love to heed them.

"Dance and smile and converse as always," her mother instructed, one finger lifted in warning. "Do you understand? No one can know you're with child."

"You're with child?"

Beatrice and her mother flinched at the sound of Francine's squeaked exclamation, their heads whipping around to stare at the door.

With bare feet, Beatrice's five-year-old sister stood in the doorframe, her green eyes wide with excitement and her unruly blond curls falling into her face. "Truly?" She tiptoed closer. "You're having a baby?"

Beatrice knew not what to say, her eyes darting to her mother, seeking support. Her mother, too, appeared shocked witless; however, she quickly recovered. "Come here, Darling."

Francine bounced closer, and their mother pulled the girl onto her lap. "You were not meant to hear this," their mother sighed, casting a fearful look at Beatrice. "However, now that you know, it is important that you keep this a secret, do you understand?"

Francine frowned, her wide green eyes darting to Beatrice in question. "But why? Are you not happy?"

Beatrice almost laughed hysterically in that moment. And so, she quickly rose to her feet, turning her back to her sister, and hurried over to the window. Tears fell freely now, and she gritted her teeth against the sobs that rose in her throat as she listened to her mother's gentle voice, urging Francine to keep quiet.

Are you not happy? Francine's question echoed through Beatrice's head like an awful taunt. Indeed, happiness would not be hers now. She had taken one wrong step, and everything had come undone. At only nineteen years of age, all hope was now lost.

For good.