Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The Honourable Miss Beatrice Witherspoon set down her week-old Times, her thoughts on the latest Parliamentary debates, when her elder sister Isabella entered the morning room with purpose.

"Bea! Say it isn't so," Isabella pleaded, stopping before her, arms akimbo.

"I beg your pardon, sister," Bea replied, puzzled.

"Bartlett says you intend to stay behind when we depart for town on Thursday."

Bea sighed, having hoped to avoid this confrontation. Her family were to open their London house for the season, but Bea had decided against joining. "Yes, I detested London's foulness last year. Moreover, I promised Father to redesign the herb garden and read Cicero together this spring."

Isabella frowned. "But, Father intends to accompany us to London. He wishes to visit his old colleagues from the House of Lords."

Bea's concern for their aging father deepened. "Won't that be taxing for him?"

"He's determined, and you won't change his mind. So you might as well join us. We'll visit the modiste for new gowns. "

Bea smirked, teasing her sister. "Oh, fripperies with no pockets?"

"Pockets! Pah," Isabella dismissed. "Your ball gowns and morning dresses need no pockets. A lovely embroidered silk reticule is a mark of status."

Bea scoffed. "On the contrary, Sister. I always have need of pockets. How would I fare without my books, paints and letters?" Indeed, she always wore tie-on pockets and kept slits in her day dresses.

Their debate was interrupted by Isabella's youngest son, Hugh, bursting into the room. "Mama, come quickly! John has put wee frogs in Eloise's pinafore pockets!"

As Isabella left to handle her children's mischief, she urged, "Please reconsider, Bea. We can enjoy the entertainments in town, visit Madame Tussaud's, and the Royal Opera House. It's time you engaged with the real world, and pulled your head from the clouds."

Bea had no ready reply. Her entire family would go to town, yet she must stay behind. For any day now, Adam might come home.

Alone again, Bea reflected on Adam, the real reason she remained at their Somerset estate. Despite the allure of London's wonders, the frivolous marriage mart held no interest for her.

Instead, she envisioned a future London visit not as a single woman but with Adam by her side as her husband.

She pondered Adam's possible choices post-war, including leaving the Navy, a common pattern among his peers now that peace reigned. The prospect of traveling to far-off lands like India or the West Indies with him, should he remain in service, stirred a mix of excitement and apprehension within her.

Seeking solitude, Beatrice walked out to the rose garden, the air rich with the promise of spring. She settled on her favourite bench and pulled out the bundle of letters from her pocket, bound by a ribbon. The newest letter lay on top.

Though her family dismissed her feelings for Adam as youthful infatuation, Beatrice and Adam had shared a deep, enduring connection since childhood, their young promises of love now matured by time and distance. Knowing it was improper, they had shared intimate letters over the last five years, their words secretly exchanged through her friend Miss Margaret Smithsea, avoiding family scrutiny and societal judgment. However, their connection was not only suitable but destined, supported by their compatible social standings and genuine affection.

Her family might view her as na?ve, but Bea felt ready to start her life as a wife, confident in the love she and Adam shared. Their connection was profound, their letters an thread of mutual connection and joy. Bea clung to the belief that their love was sustained by their shared dreams and confidences, far beyond mere child's play. Rooted in mutual understanding and genuine affection, their love was poised to blossom into a lifelong commitment.

Bea caressed the well-worn pages filled with Adam's words, tracing the elegant sweep of his script with a finger as she reread his latest letter:

Dearest Bea,

Forgive my delayed response. My duties have been burdensome, escalated by Captain Conner's unfortunate illness and subsequent passing, thrusting me into his role, not how I envisioned my promotion.

Now the wars have ended, I might finally step towards you, though by a long circuit. I long for our reunion, yet I worry. How will our written affections alter when we meet?

There's little time left for a reply to reach me. Patience, my dear Bea.

Affectionately,

Adam

As Bea folded the letter, she felt the weight of the silence that followed it. No word from Adam in over two months, a period filled with an anxious wait despite the steady return of troops and sailors.

Later, at dinner, Isabella and Bartlett renewed their attempts to persuade Bea to join the London season. "You can assist with drafting my speech on the Military retrenchment petition, Beatrice," Bartlett suggested. "Your insights would be invaluable."

Isabella chimed in, emphasizing the importance of Bea's presence in London to maintain her social visibility, especially given her age and the brief window to secure a suitable match.

Bea retorted, "The social exertions tire me, and none of the gentlemen match the worthiness of those here. Moreover, though the balls are elegant, how can anyone conduct a proper conversation in such a crush?"

"I don't believe conversation is the point, my dear," Bartlett dryly noted.

As her family debated, Bea's thoughts returned to Adam's anticipated return. She appealed to her father, pleading to avoid another season in London.

Father, after a contemplative pause over his meal, murmured, "I won't compel you, Beatrice. Though your mother might have expected more enthusiasm for the season's festivities from you."

Bea's resolve hardened; she would wait for Adam, certain that their planned future was close at hand, making any fleeting social triumphs in London pale in comparison.

The day her family left for London, Bea moved to the Rectory to stay with her dear friends, giving the Sparcombe Hall servants relief from tending to just one person. She had always viewed the Rectory, home of the Reverend Thomas Parke and his wife Harriet, as a second home, particularly after her mother's death when the Parkes provided immense support.

Harriet's sister, Margaret, had come to live with them after losing her fiancé in the Peninsular War. Maggie, despite being older, became Bea's closest confidante, sharing grief and secrets alike.

Life at the Rectory was filled with simple pleasures and intellectual discussions, often involving the upcoming Sunday sermon or nuances of faith and human nature. Bea enjoyed helping with the household and engaging with the local community, but her thoughts were often interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

One afternoon, as the ladies returned from a picnic, conversation turned to a particularly pompous parishioner, eliciting candid remarks from Maggie as they entered the hall.

Harriet smiled and said of her husband, "Indeed Thomas is a patient man, but he'd argue it is only his duty to give every citizen their due."

Once again, Bea thought her own happiness would be complete if her marriage to Adam was as delightful and companionable, as well as showing the sweet intimacy her friends shared.

Joining them in the parlour, Thomas jested, "Why are my ears tingling, I wonder?" Smiling he leaned over his wife to kiss her brow tenderly, and sat down.

"Did the mail arrive," Maggie asked him, and Bea slanted her a look of thanks. She feared her own daily enquiries bordered on tedious.

"Wells just brought it, yes," Thomas replied. "Nothing for the ladies, I'm afraid." His glance flicked ever so briefly to Bea, and she felt her cheeks warm, even as her heart fell.

Days later, while the Parkes visited a friend in Monkford, Bea's solitude was broken by the sound of approaching hooves—an unexpected visitor.

Handing her a note, a flustered Maggie announced that a gentleman wished to speak with Bea, sending a rush of excitement and anxiety through her as she read .

Darling Beatrice,

This will shock you, no doubt, arriving by the hand of a stranger. I ask only that you grant Commander Hancock an audience, that he might explain himself in full. He is a trusted friend who conveys confidential information that you will find of interest. I beg you listen.

Affectionately,

Adam

Holding Adam's letter, Bea felt overwhelmed by the potential implications.

The gentleman entered, his naval regalia striking against the modest decor of the salon, and introduced himself as Commander Montague James Hancock. His confident stance and the refined cut of his uniform marked him as a man accustomed to command, yet there was an underlying tension in his demeanor that intrigued Bea. His dark gaze, curious yet cautious, in a strikingly handsome face, met hers. He asked if they might speak privately in the garden. Bea's pulse quickened, hope surging at the possibility of news from Adam.

"Pray, tell me quickly, Commander. What is your news? Is it of Lord Adam Thorne?"

He struck a pose, his hands linked behind him. "Indirectly."

"What is it? Please speak frankly, sir."

"Affairs are not quite as you imagine them, Miss Witherspoon, but it is frightfully complicated, and I know not how to begin."

Bea scowled, utterly confused by this dissimulation. "Why would Adam tell me he was returning, and then not do so? Has he been detained?"

"Not exactly. But, I have come, so to speak, in his place."

Commander Hancock raised a hand to pinch his brow, as though his thoughts pained him. "You have, I believe, shared a long correspondence with Midshipman Thorne."

Bea felt a wave of embarrassment. How did he know of it? "What if I have, sir? Lord Adam and I were friends and playmates as youths. And though it was secret, we had made… promises to each other."

Nodding, he took a few paces in one direction, turned and strode back. "This is very difficult. I apologize for my reticence. It is unlike me, you understand. But these circumstances, well… they are unprecedented."

Bea waited in silence, drawing her lower lip between her teeth in dread.

"I dearly hope that in the fullness of time, what I am about to disclose will not bring you pain, but ultimately, happiness." His dark eyes were hopeful and entreating, stark in his serious mien.

She raised her brows in query.

"You are quite correct. I dissemble out of cowardice. It is unfair to you." Again he cleared his throat. "The fact of the matter is, Miss Witherspoon, that the correspondence you have exchanged with Midshipman Thorne these past five years, were in fact received, and written, by myself."

Bea blinked in confusion. What? What an absurd claim!

"Fear not. No one but I have read them. Your secrets are safe with me."

"But…why?" Waving his note of entré in front of her, she floundered. "Could Adam not write them himself?"

On her urging, Commander Hancock explained his connection to Adam Thorne. The conversation that followed would challenge everything Bea believed about her relationship with Adam.

Hancock's admission was delivered with a mixture of regret and earnestness, his expression remorseful, yet Bea struggled to reconcile this stranger with the man she had unwittingly bared her soul to.

"Clearly you are shamming it, but I can't figure out why. What do you hope to gain by–"

"My sincere apology, Miss Witherspoon, for the falsehood. You did not deserve to be treated so. But I tell the truth, strange as it is." He swallowed, clearly discomfited by her challenge .

Overwhelmed by the betrayal and the brazen deceit of Hancock's actions, Bea demanded the return of her letters. She snatched them from his grasp with a huff, spun on her heel and marched to the Rectory, her emotions in turmoil.

Striding behind her, she heard his parting words. "I've taken a room at the White Stag in the village. If you wish to speak again."

"I shall not!" She slammed the door closed without a civil farewell, for he did not deserve one.