20. Chapter 20

Chapter twenty

"A lady departs a party with the same elegance she entered, offering warm thanks to her host and ensuring her exit is as gracious as her presence." From The Polite Companion: A Lady’s Guide to Social Grace

B eth lay beside Boyd as dawn filtered through the curtains. Sunlight cast soft rays over his face. There were no worries or judgments in his smooth brow, only peace. She studied him, memorizing his angle and lines. According to society’s rules, she had every right to expect marriage from him. A way to save her family, her father’s reputation, and perhaps even her own heart, if she could dare to hope he felt anything close to what she did.

But at what cost? Her love for him was raw and visceral, pushing her to defy everything she’d once held sacred. But Boyd... his hatred for her father was as deeply rooted as his honor. Could she really demand this from him? Could she bind him to the man he despised? To her?

The sounds of the stirring household invaded the bedroom—a jarring reminder of reality. All would expect him to do the “right thing.” A life bound by duty, by rules she had willingly broken for his sake. She could hear her mother’s voice, urging her to secure the grand wedding she’d always wanted. It would be easy—she could fall back to sleep beside him, let the house believe what it would, and awake to a new life as his fiancée.

But it would be a lie. Should she force him into a union he would later resent? Love didn’t deserve to become a societal bargain.

He deserved the freedom to choose, and she earned more than a marriage built on duty. Locking a sob in her throat, she crept out of bed. Each step cost her dearly, the urge to turn around and stay threatening to consume her.

Back in her room, she shut the door and let the tears fall. Her hands trembled as she reached for a canvas bag, shoving her belongings inside with frantic movements.

Dora glided inside. “Merry Christmas, Lady Beth.”

Her gaze flickered over Beth’s tear-streaked face, then to her bag. “Where are we going?”

“Back to Oporto.”

“But it’s Christmas! What about your luggage? Your trousseau?”

Beth’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I’ll take only what I need for the train and my cello.” The thought of leaving the instrument behind was unbearable.

Dora’s brow furrowed. “Will you leave Mr. Sandeman? After last night, I thought you liked him.”

“I don’t like him in the least. Like is far too tame for one’s feelings about a Highlander. I love him.”

Dora tilted her head, watching her intently. “Then—”

“That’s why I can’t stay,” Beth brushed away her tears. “Not when I know what staying would cost him.”

“You rich people are ridiculous, really.”

Beth let out a hollow laugh. “Perhaps we are.” She drew in an unsteady breath. “I’ll ask the housekeeper to send everything else back to me. Now come, Dora. We have to reach the train station before he wakes.”