Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

On Monday, Beatrice and Maggie journeyed to the Thorne estate at Mellstrow, hopeful that Lady Felicity would have news of Adam that would put Beatrice's mind at rest. Upon arrival, they were ushered into a sunlit solarium, where they were greeted by Lady Felicity, now a radiant young woman with golden curls and elegant dress, and an older, wearied Lady Thorne.

"Beatrice Witherspoon! How very lovely to see you again," Felicity greeted with genuine warmth.

Beatrice introduced her friends. After brief pleasantries in the solarium, surrounded by exotic plants and Chinoiserie, they sat down for lunch. Conversation veered towards the war and its impact.

"How happy we must all be that the wars are finally over, and all our men folk can return home," ventured Maggie. "Those that were not sacrificed for the cause," she added with a melancholy tone.

"My dear friend Margaret has suffered a great loss, herself," Bea picked up Maggie's cue, and silently thanked her friend. "She was engaged to marry her darling Philip, a cavalry officer, but sadly he was not to return home from the Peninsula. "

"My deepest condolences, Miss Smithsea, for your loss. How very tragic," said Felicity sweetly. "I can't imagine how you go on."

Maggie bowed her head. "It's been many years now. I am reconciled with it."

This triggered a palpable shift in Lady Thorne's demeanor, prompting her to excuse herself for her afternoon rest.

"Of course, Mama," Felicity jumped up. She helped her mother rise, and they said their good-byes and offered their thanks for nuncheon.

Once alone, Felicity led Bea and Maggie into the parterre garden and confided that her mother's health had declined after losing two sons to the war.

Beatrice's heart clenched. "Two sons? I'm so sorry... Are you saying Adam…" However troublesome Monty's news of Adam had been, Beatrice did not wish him dead. This shocking revelation left Bea stunned.

"He's not been confirmed dead, but we've had no word from him in years, except for a letter from a fellow shipmate that he was taken prisoner by the French during a shore expedition," Felicity disclosed.

Bea's previous fears about Adam's fidelity and character seemed trivial compared to the stark fear that he might be languishing in a French prison—or worse. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and concern. What could she believe? Monty's account or this new, dire twist?

As they continued to wander the garden paths, Felicity spoke of her younger brother William, bringing momentary lightness back to their conversation, when the young man suddenly appeared.

His blond curls tumbled over blue eyes. He swept a slender long-fingered hand up and through his hair, pushing it back. "Good afternoon, ladies."

"Lord William, how you have grown! For a moment, I thought you were Adam," Beatrice remarked.

The encounter, though fleeting, solidified something within Beatrice—a realization that her youthful infatuation with Adam, though genuine, was perhaps more a product of girlish sensibility than the deeper, more mature connection she now found herself craving. Monty, with his thoughtful presence and shared intellectual passions, offered a stark contrast to the memories of a more carefree Adam.

"He was always a bit wild and restless," Felicity said of Adam now. "I fear the disciplined life of a naval officer was ill-suited to him."

The visit concluded with more questions than answers about Adam's disappearance. Bea left Mellstrow more determined to uncover the truth, reflecting on the profound differences between her memories of Adam and the reality of Monty's steadfast presence.

As they arrived back at the Rectory, the fading sunlight cast long shadows on the path, mirroring the shifting shades of Beatrice's thoughts. She was no longer a girl chasing a romantic ideal but a woman seeking a love that could withstand the trials of real life.

Beatrice increasingly found solace in Monty's letters, reflecting on his words as they grew closer through conversations and walks.

Monty often expressed regret for not ending their engagement sooner out of a sense of duty. But despite his intentions, he couldn't bear to hurt her. "And I confess," Monty revealed during one of their walks, "your letters often reached me just when I needed them most, lifting me from despair."

Monty shared stories of his family, his love for his siblings, and his aspirations, which only deepened Bea's affection.

Their walks grew longer as they meandered through the countryside of Sparcombe, each moment a cherished blend of philosophical discussions and personal revelations. No matter how much time they spent together, it was never enough.

One day, as they wandered through a secluded spot, Monty's conversation turned more earnest. "I am here with you, Beatrice, because there is nowhere else I'd rather be. My future, my hopes, all hinge on what you feel for me," he confessed as they paused under the shade of ancient trees.

She began to wonder which was the more important, which more reliable and true. The final assessment of her uncle, or her own heart.

Monty said, "All I seek is a chance to prove my love and devotion. A life with you is all I desire."

Despite her increasing attraction and regard for him, Bea continued her reserve. She questioned her own constancy, worrying that she was being unfaithful. Was it not unfair of her to abandon Adam without releasing him from their promises?

"Beatrice, meeting you in person has only confirmed what I felt through our letters," Monty said. "My admiration for you grows day by day. I did not think it possible, my regard for you was already so high."

He stopped and turned to her, taking her hands in his, his chin dipping to gaze directly into her eyes, his expression tender. Her pulse thundered in her veins. Was he about to propose? "Everything depends upon you, darling Beatrice." He raised her hands to press a lingering kiss upon her fingers.

How fine it would be to know without doubt that one's regard could be whole-heartedly and without hesitation bestowed upon a person, and that his regard was returned in equal measure. That one could enter into an arrangement so secure, so warm and welcoming as to have no concerns for the rightness of one's future.

On the quiet shady path under the large oaks and elms on the edge of Sparcombe Hall's estate, he cradled her cheek in the palm of his hand, gazing into her eyes. With a sigh, he bent his head to lightly brush his lips against hers, sending shivers racing over her skin, heat to her centre, and a liquid weakness to her knees. Upon her quavering sigh, he clutched her to him more tightly, covering her mouth with his own. He tasted sweet. Heat shot through Bea from her breasts to her toes, and a soft sound escaped her throat.

Their kisses deepened, and for a while, they lost themselves in each other. However, the reality of her promise to Adam and the lack of closure made her pull away. Her voice a watery sob, she said, "You have deceived me, beguiled me, and laid my heart bare."

"I am sorry for the deceit, yet how can I be sorry to know you? But for the signature at the bottom of each letter, I never wrote an untrue word."

"It's not fair to either of us to move forward while that chapter remains open," she said, her voice tinged with frustration and longing.

Monty nodded, "I will wait for you, Beatrice. For as long as it takes. My heart is yours," he said.

"As I've re-read our letters, I've searched for evidence of faith and honesty," she confessed.

"As well you should, my dear," he said simply, meeting her gaze earnestly, and her heart swelled with feeling.

"There is one letter where you quote Johnstone, I have read again and again. I wonder if you remember it." She pulled it from her pocket and he stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her to read over her shoulder, humming with recognition.

"Do you believe it true?" she murmured softly.

"That in letters, a man's soul lies naked? And holds no space for doubt and distrust? Yes." She sighed deeply, and Monty's embrace tightened around her, his cheek pressed to hers as his scent enveloped her. He pressed a kiss to her cheek.

As they slowly made their way back, the weight of their circumstances hung between them like heavy dew drops on spring blossoms.

Bea needed time to think, to balance her feelings against the reality of their situation. Could she trust this man who had deceived her, yet opened her heart in unexpected ways?

She wondered about Felicity's calm demeanour; perhaps she knew more about Adam's disappearance than she let on .

As she mulled over these thoughts, a letter from her sister Isabella arrived, pulling Bea's thoughts back to the bustling London social scene. Her words painted a vivid picture of the season's events, lamenting Bea's absence and teasingly chiding her for not taking advantage of the throng of eligible bachelors, including many dashing officers freshly returned from war. Issy's playful nudge towards pragmatism echoed in Bea's mind, stirring doubts about her current romantic entanglements.

She had spent years pining for a sweetheart who cared not for her, and now held onto a relationship built on a foundation of sand. Could she trust her own judgement?

If her family knew of her recent emotional turmoil and the complexities of her relationship with Monty, born from deception, how would they react?

But the very thought of venturing out alone, starting again, playing all the courting games, sunk her heart down to her boots. She was not an outgoing, flirtatious woman, and found it difficult to break through the tedious formalities. If she had to, she'd confess to being a bluestocking. In many ways, her long epistolary courtship with Monty had been ideal. And also, the way he made her feel…

Despite her worries, Bea couldn't deny the deep connection she felt with Monty—the way he understood her thoughts, shared her passions, and responded to her inquiries with thoughtful sincerity. Each interaction with him brought a joy and comfort that she feared to lose.

With these conflicting thoughts swirling in her mind, Bea awaited any word from her uncle, hoping for clarity that might guide her decision. The uncertainty of Adam's fate and Monty's intentions weighed heavily on her, making each day a struggle between hope and skepticism.

The long hours Bea lay awake at night, alone, were agony. A momentous decision loomed and she knew not how to go on. What if Monty had told her, not lies, but something he believed in error? Could she fault him? His knowledge of Adam was years out of date. It was possible his reputed desertion was not true. What if Felicity's explanation of Adam's absence was true? He might have been injured on the Peninsula. Perhaps tortured in prison by the French, or even now struggling to get back to port, home to England, and to her. Perhaps thoughts of her waiting for him were all that kept him going.

These thoughts wracked Beatrice with regret, and filled her with guilt for her willingness to abandon Adam and be swayed by Monty's charm, his persuasiveness, his sheer agreeableness and physical appeal. How would she feel if Adam returned to find himself spurned and forgotten, Beatrice in the arms of another man?

Without doubt, it was morally wrong to spend more time with Monty under these circumstances, despite her growing feelings for him. Allowing themselves to become even more intimate was wicked. She must refuse to see him. She could not continue as they had been until she resolved her promise to Adam. She must be certain he did not want her as Monty claimed. It was the only honourable and loyal choice she could make, and still live with herself.