Chapter 5

Chapter Five

A SHOOTING STAR

B eatrice felt as though she had spent the better part of the night weeping. The sun had not yet risen, and she felt exhausted in heart, mind, and body. That brief encounter with Mr. Carter had destroyed every last sliver of hope that her future husband would treat her kindly and not regard her with shame in his eyes. In fact, Beatrice felt certain that the look in Mr. Carter's eyes would remind her of the mistake she had made every day for the rest of her life.

Hugging her pillow, Beatrice curled up into a tight ball. In an odd way, she felt like a child, helpless and without power over her own life. At the same time, all the joys and innocence of childhood were now utterly gone, never to return.

Unable to sleep, Beatrice listened to the soft sounds of London slowly awakening, her pillow wet from the tears she had shed that night. How many more would there be? How many more nights like this one?

The echo of soft footsteps drifted to Beatrice's ears, and then the door slowly glided open. A moment later, a head full of blonde curls appeared in the gap. "Bea, are you awake?"

"How come you are awake?" Beatrice pushed herself up, resting her back against the headboard.

Francine tiptoed into her chamber, a small canvas in her hands. "I couldn't sleep."

Beatrice chuckled, and the sound felt almost alien to her ears. "Well, that seems obvious."

Giggling, Francine jumped up onto her bed and crawled closer. "I made this for you." She held out the canvas. It looked almost completely covered in black—especially considering the lack of light currently in the room. Yet there was a small splotch of something brighter right at its center. "You look so sad lately, and I don't want you to be sad. So, I made you this."

Beatrice smiled at her little sister. "That is very sweet of you, Frannie." She glanced down at the canvas once more. "What… is it?"

"A shooting star!" Frannie exclaimed in a burst of exuberance. "I'm not allowed outside at night, so I can't find you a real one but—"

"And yet you are here," Beatrice interrupted, grinning at her sister. "Out of bed and in my chamber."

Grinning mischievously, Francine shrugged, as though the fact that she was out of bed at night was not her fault at all but had simply been brought about by happenstance. "Go ahead. Make a wish."

Beatrice stilled. "You made this for me so I could make… a wish?"

Francine nodded eagerly. "Yes, so you wouldn't be so sad anymore."

Setting the canvas aside, Beatrice held open her arms and hugged her little sister. "Thank you so much. I will treasure it. Always."

"Don't forget to make your wish," Francine reminded her, and Beatrice wished with all her heart that her sister's words held truth. If only there were some sort of fairy godmother who would grant her a wish. If only she simply needed to scour the night sky for a shooting star and all her problems would be solved.

"Why are you sad?" Francine asked abruptly as she sat back and looked at Beatrice with wide, innocent eyes. "Are you not happy to be having a baby? And Mother says you are to be married, too."

Beatrice did not quite know where to begin. How did one explain to a five-year-old the confinements of society? The expectations that ruled her life?

"The truth is," Beatrice simply said, "that I do not wish to be married."

For a moment, Francine simply looked at her. "Then why do you?"

"Because it is not my choice. Because I am with child, and… I have to be married." Beatrice closed her eyes, for it felt good to voice her heart's pain out loud.

"Why do you have to be married to have a baby?"

Beatrice groaned. Of course, she ought to have seen this question coming. In fact, Francine had never met a question she did not like to see answered. "Because… Because people do not like it. Because I cannot raise a child by myself."

"But you wouldn't be by yourself," Francine insisted, a touch of indignation in her voice. "You have us. I'll help you raise the baby. I'll feed it and play with it and… and I'll even share my toys with it." She gave Beatrice a pointed look, as though she could not believe that Beatrice had not seen this rather simple solution to her problems.

Beatrice chuckled, fighting down tears. "Thank you for your most gracious offer." If only there were a simple way for her to explain the world to her little sister. Indeed, what Francine had said was true. Why could she not simply raise her child with the help of her family? Why should that ruin them all? It did feel wrong. Yet the world was what it was.

"You said you don't wish to be married," Francine reminded her, a quizzical expression upon her face, half-hidden in shadow. "Why? Brides always get lovely presents, and they get to wear a beautiful dress." She sighed longingly. "And cake. Don't they have cake at weddings?"

Even though tears streamed down Beatrice's face, she could not subdue the laughter that rose in her throat. "Yes, I suppose there will be cake, and you shall have the biggest piece. I promise."

Francine beamed with delight. Yet not even the promise of cake could make her forget her question. "Then why don't you wish to be married?"

Beatrice heaved a deep sigh. "Because… Because I do not love the one I am to marry." She brushed a curl behind her sister's ear. "You'll understand when you are older. Most people dream of marrying for love, and those that cannot…" She shrugged helplessly, once again overcome by utter sadness.

"Then don't marry until you find someone you can love."

Beatrice almost cringed at the sharp pain that shot through her heart. "I thought I had," she admitted out loud, uncertain whether it was wise to speak to her little sister like this. "Only it turns out he did not love me back."

"Can you not make him?" Francine frowned. "What makes people love one another?"

Beatrice shrugged, honestly at a loss. "I don't know. I wish I did."

" I love you," Francine told her solemnly, "and I always will." She sank back into Beatrice's arms, snuggling close. "I don't know why he doesn't love you. You're so easy to love."

Beatrice bit her lower lip to hold back the sobs that rose in her throat. She held her little sister tightly, wishing with all her heart and soul she could be five years old again. Indeed, life had been simple then.

Now, though, it seemed to get worse every day.

On the carriage ride home from the ball, Beatrice's parents had informed her that her betrothed was determined to send her to the country after they had been wed. He wished for her to remain there and give birth in secret to avoid the shame of her transgression becoming known to society. With any luck, people would believe that her child had been born early.

Luck? Beatrice wondered. It was an odd thing to say, for she did not feel lucky at all.