Chapter 8

“Wherein a villain is confronted.”

9 th November 1820.

Beatrice took breakfast in her room the next morning, not yet ready to face Rutherford. No… Justin . He had asked her to call him Justin, and she had agreed. She still did not know if she was being an unutterable fool, but he had sought to do something for her, not only a kindness, but something more than that. He was returning her power to her, the power to act in her own best interests, which her uncle had sought to steal away. That he had thought of that and given her the choice of whether to send him in her stead or for her to go with him, well, it had shaken her. It had made her look at her husband and wonder if this was the man he really was. She wanted it to be. To her shame, she wanted it more every day.

Bea had known it was a terrible idea to spend time with him, to share breakfasts and dinners together, where they could discuss their day, their shared interests, their little triumphs and disasters. It engendered familiarity, intimacy, and a desire to further a friendship she knew was dangerous. The Earl of Rutherford might well be a good man, despite all the gossip to the contrary. He might not resemble the villain the ton had painted him as of late, but that did not mean he would be a good husband, it did not mean he would be faithful. Which meant if she allowed herself to care for him, enough to risk a marriage that was more than just a sharing of a name and a property, she would get her heart broken.

There was little point in denying it. Justin Langley, the Earl of Rutherford, was charming, handsome, compelling, witty, and thoughtful, and the more time she spent in his company, the more she craved it. Fool. Stupid, stupid fool.

Yet how could she have done otherwise? If he was being courteous, it ill-behoved her to throw that back in his face, to act cruelly and treat him with contempt, though it would have been the sensible thing to do.

“Oh, Bea, you are on the path to a broken heart,” she told herself wretchedly.

Despite her anxiety, her mingled excitement and terror for the coming morning was undiminished, galvanising her into jumping out of bed the moment she had finished eating. She dressed with care, choosing one of the new gowns that had arrived the day before. It was a shagreen pink gros de Naples silk and quite a la mode .

“Your uncle will gnash his teeth considering the pretty penny that outfit will have cost,” Rachel said impishly, giving her a conspiratorial smile.

Bea laughed, despite the quiver of anxiety in her belly. The porridge she had eaten was not sitting comfortably this morning. “I should hope so too,” she remarked, with more insouciance than she was feeling.

“John is going with you, and a dozen footmen too, so there’s no need to be anxious. There will be no question of the horrid man touching you,” Rachel said. “John knows better than to let any harm befall you, for he’ll have me to answer to.”

Bea regarded her maid with interest. She had known Justin would ensure her safety, for he had told her so before she had retired for the night. No, the interesting part had been the way Rachel had said John . Not that fellow , or Rutherford’s valet .

“You trust him to look after me, then?” she asked casually, watching Rachel’s face.

Rachel smiled and nodded. “I reckon so. He’s strong, for one thing, and for reasons I don’t understand, he thinks the world of his lordship. He says you’ve changed Rutherford for the better and so he’s all for it. Reckons you’ll be the making of him and so he thinks highly of you, too.”

“He really said I’ve changed Rutherford?” Bea said in surprise, never having believed the surly valet would have approved of her.

“He did, and he’s been with Rutherford since he were not much more than a lad. Been together through thick and thin, by all accounts.”

“They have?” Bea asked, interested in the conversation for an entirely different reason now.

Rachel nodded, moving forward with a frown to tweak Bea’s coiffure. “John said he’d not been paid for nearly a year before you arrived, but he stayed with his lordship all the same. He says Rutherford got a rough start in life, what with his ma dying when he was a babe and his ne’er-do-well father committing suicide when he was only fifteen. Didn’t have much of a chance.”

“Fifteen?” Bea said with a gasp. “Oh, I had not realised how young he was when it happened.”

“It were bad, worse than you imagine. John told me—” Rachel paused at the sound of a knock.

“The carriage is waiting, my lady,” one of the footmen said from the other side of the door.

“Very good, I shall be down directly,” Bea called, frustrated by the interruption.

“I’ll tell you the rest another time,” Rachel said when Bea turned to her expectantly. “But I don’t want you getting romantic notions about the man. Just because he was dealt a rough hand, ain’t no reason to fall at his feet. He’s an adult, and he’s made his own bed. One which doesn’t deserve you in it,” she added, wagging a finger.

Bea rolled her eyes. “I’m not a fool, Rachel. I know very well what he is, and what he is not. I do not need warning, though it seems to me you have warmed towards him a good deal now your John has persuaded you he’s not the devil.”

“He’s not my John,” Rachel protested, flushing hotly, but happiness shone in her eyes.

“So you say,” Bea retorted, smirking as she hurried from the room before Rachel could protest.

She smiled as she made her way down the stairs. So, that was how the wind blew, was it? How interesting. Perhaps she ought to find a bit more out about John. After all, Rachel, as tough as she might appear, was tender-hearted in truth. Bea did not wish to see her get her heart broken any more than she wished such a fate for herself.

“You’re looking very grave, Beatrice, and very lovely too. That goes without saying.”

Bea looked up and smiled as she saw Rutherford waiting for her. He looked so handsome this morning, his dark gold hair glinting in the bright daylight that filled the entrance hall. He wore fawn-coloured breeches with a superbly cut dark blue coat that showed off his physique marvellously well. His boots shone like glass and his deep blue eyes settled upon her, a smile lurking there.

“Good morning, my—Justin,” she corrected herself, gaining a smile of delight at her remembering to use his name. “I beg your pardon, I was thinking about something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Certainly. Shall we continue in the carriage or do you prefer to wait—”

“Oh, no. In the carriage. Let us go before I lose my nerve. I confess I am a little anxious,” she admitted, which was something of an understatement.

Rutherford took her arm and escorted her outside, handing her up into the carriage. She noticed John and half a dozen footmen followed on horseback, making quite a procession.

“I would not, for one moment, take you anywhere near your uncle’s house if I believed there was the slightest risk,” he told her, his expression serious. Sitting down beside her, he reached for her hand, holding it in his. “I shan’t let anyone upset you, certainly not hurt you. I give you my word.”

Bea nodded, her heart thudding too hard at the feeling of his large hand holding hers, at the way he spoke so gravely, with such sincerity, his concern all for her, for her safety . Oh, Bea, you are in a deal of trouble, she thought ruefully.

Rather to her regret, Rutherford let go of her hand and sat back, regarding her with interest. “Now, then. What were you thinking so hard about as you came down the stairs?”

“I was thinking about John,” she admitted.

“John? My valet?” he said, his brows tugging together. “Why?”

“I want to know a little about him. Is he a good man? Reliable? Do you trust him?”

He looked perplexed but considered her questions. “John is the best man I’ve ever known. He saved my life and stayed by my side when he had no reason to do so. He is the most honourable and trustworthy man of my acquaintance. I would say that John is more than my valet, he is my friend.” He gazed at her curiously. “Might you explain to me why you ask such questions? I hope he is not under suspicion of wrongdoing?”

“Oh, no. Indeed, not. It’s only…”

Bea hesitated. Everything Justin had told her was what she had hoped to hear, but she needed to know more. How did he treat women, would Rachel be safe with him? Yet, if she said anything, there was a risk Justin would pass the information on to John, that John might use it against Rachel if he were really not trustworthy. If she was to say anything to Justin, she must trust him to keep it to himself. She looked up at him, considering. Yes , her heart said, even as her mind told her she was a fool.

“Justin, if I tell you something in confidence, do you swear, upon your honour, to never speak a word of it to anyone else?”

He stilled, staring at her. For a moment she did not know what he would say, perhaps he would warn her not to trust him, the look in his eyes was so unreadable. Then he moved, reaching for her hand once more and holding on tight. “My Lady Rutherford. Beatrice , I swear you can put your trust in me. I promise I shall never speak a word, give a hint or write anything that breaks this vow, and… and I thank you for the opportunity to prove myself to you. My honour is not something anyone has asked me for in a very, very long time, but it means everything to me that you would do so.”

Bea let out a breath, startled by the intensity of his reply. She hadn't anticipated his reaction, nor understood what it might signify to a man branded as dishonourable.

“I beg your pardon, I have startled you,” he said ruefully, removing his hand from hers.

Impulsively, Bea’s fingers tightened, holding onto him. “No, I… I am glad, and I believe you.”

He smiled at that, looking almost bashful but pleased by her words. “Well then, what is this great secret?”

Bea returned his smile. “I may be completely wrong, you understand, but I believe there may be a romance blooming under our noses.”

“Ah, now it makes sense,” he replied, nodding. “You speak of John and Rachel?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, turning in her seat to face him. “Oh, you devil. You let me run on and all the time you knew.”

“I didn’t know that’s what you wished to speak of!” he protested. “Truly, I did not, but are you telling me that Rachel reciprocates? I beg you will get her to give the poor fellow a hint if she does, for he’s been moping about like a lovesick hound for days now. It’s appalling.”

Bea gave a bark of laughter, which made him grin. “Oh, you wicked man. How can you speak so of your friend?”

“I speak so because he is my friend,” he replied frankly. “And I must ask, I suppose, as you represent Rachel, I must do so for my dear John.”

“She is an angel,” Bea said firmly, understanding at once, and then she hesitated. “Well, maybe not an angel . She’s not one to suffer fools, I’ll give you that, but she is patient and kind and loyal and brave and I do not know what I should have done without her. She was a true friend when I was alone and desperate. I shall never be able to repay her for that, but I am trying,” she added, for she had raised Rachel’s wages so much she was likely the best paid lady’s maid in the country.

“It sounds as if they are well suited, then,” Justin suggested.

Bea nodded. “I think so. I certainly hope so. Wouldn’t it be lovely if a romance bloomed out of a situation that was so desperately awful?”

Justin’s hand squeezed her fingers. “It would,” he said, his voice soft.

Bea looked up at him, her heart giving an uneven thud as she saw the warmth in his eyes, the wistful glint there that she dared not believe in. Not yet. Maybe never.

“Oh, this is the driveway,” she said, sitting up and tugging her hand from his. “We’re here.”

Justin cursed the driver’s wretched timing. If only he’d had a few more minutes, perhaps he might have found the words he’d needed to tell her what was in his heart. Not that she would have believed him, he thought darkly. Not if she had any sense. He wondered how long it would take to prove to her he had changed, that she had changed him. Years and years and years. The answer made his spirits plummet when they had soared just moments before. Buck up, he told himself. She had trusted him, trusted him enough to ask him to keep his word, and believed that he would keep it. That was more than he had ever expected a few short weeks ago. It was progress, and he would keep making progress, no matter how slow it was, no matter how long it took, even if it was the years and years and years he feared it might be.

Her uncle’s house was a modern red brick building of elegant proportions but was modest when compared to Chalfont House. No wonder the fortune his older brother had amassed had rankled so. He must have coveted it for decades and assumed he would gain more control when his brother died. To have his niece thwart him so thoroughly must stick in his throat like a bramble thorn. Good, Justin thought with satisfaction. He hoped the bastard choked on it.

He stepped out, reaching a hand back to help Beatrice rather than letting the footman do it. Justin was not about to miss an opportunity to take her hand, and once she had stepped down, he tucked it carefully into the crook of his arm. He looked at John, who had dismounted and come to stand beside them.

“If we’re not out in fifteen minutes, you’d best make a fuss and demand to see us.”

“With pleasure, my lord,” John replied with a grin.

Justin nodded and turned back to Beatrice.

“Ready, love?” he asked her, realising too late he had spoken an endearment when he had promised to behave as a brother to her.

She did not seem to notice; the colour had drained from her face, and she looked pale. He thought perhaps she was trembling.

“You do not need to do this,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You may remain in the carriage and simply issue instructions if—”

“No.” She shook her head, putting up her chin. “I am ready. I can do this, if… if you remain by my side, I can do this.”

“I’m going nowhere,” he promised her, wishing she understood that the promise was for more than just this moment, this day.

She nodded. “Very well, then.”

He guided her up the path to the front door, and Justin knocked.

The door swung open, and the butler’s eyes widened as he recognised them. “Miss Huntingdon,” he said in shock.

“That’s my Lady Rutherford to you,” Justin said coldly, determined that everyone in the damned house understand that the Countess of Rutherford deserved the full measure of respect such a title was due. Her husband might be a wastrel, but she was everything a lady ought to be and should be treated as such.

“My lady, my lord,” the butler corrected hastily. “If you would come this way, I shall see if Lord Worth is at home.”

They followed the butler through to a small parlour. No fire was burning, and the room was on the north side of the house, making it dark and rather gloomy.

“I had forgotten what an oppressive atmosphere there is here,” Bea said, clutching her arms about herself. “I hated it here, Justin. I was utterly wretched.”

Justin moved to stand beside her, resting his hand at the small of her back, hoping she would see it as the comforting gesture he meant it to be. She did not move away, even leaning into his touch a little. “That’s over now. We shall collect the things you wish to take and go home.”

Home.

The word resonated like the last note of a concerto, ringing long after it had first sounded. It reverberated in his heart, warming him. His house, the place where he had been born and raised, had never been his home. It had been the place he’d lived in when he wasn’t at school, or when he had disgraced himself sufficiently that he must hide from society. But it had never been home. It was now, because she was there, because she had made it a home for him.

She nodded, turning to gaze up at him, a tentative smile on her lips. “That’s a happy thought,” she said, as if the word had struck her too, meaning more than the property they dwelled in together.

The door flew open, and she jolted as her uncle stood before them. His expression was one of utter disbelief.

“You dare?” he said in outrage. “You dare come here? What is it you want?”

“Only those things that belong to my wife,” Justin said, reaching for Beatrice’s hand and holding it tightly. “We will not stay above a moment, but you have no right to keep her from collecting them.”

“I’ve thrown them out,” her uncle said with a sneer. “We burnt everything.”

Justin snorted, the man was clearly lying, blustering and hoping to hurt Beatrice with his words. She clung to him, holding on as though he offered a lifeline. “Well, which is it? Did you burn them or throw them out? Perhaps we shall just check to be certain nothing remains. My lady,” he said, glancing down at Beatrice.

Her face was ashen, her lips tight, but she nodded at him.

Justin walked towards the door, but Lord Worth did not move. “I should hate to have to knock you down in your own home,” Justin said silkily. “But I shall.”

The man glared at him, so furious his face burned, his eyes bulging in a manner that could not be good for his health. Still, he stepped aside, and Justin guided Beatrice up the stairs.

“It’s this way,” she said, moving along the hall until she reached the room that had been hers. She hurried inside and then turned to give him a dazzling smile. “He was lying!” she said, beaming at him.

Justin’s heart lurched. Christ, he was in a bad way, but he would have dismantled her uncle’s house brick by brick if she asked it of him, if he could only be worthy of another smile like that one.

He watched as she pulled a small trunk out from under the bed and rushed about, filling it with books and pictures, and her treasured possessions. Pulling open the doors of a large wardrobe, she got to her knees and buried herself under the gowns. A folded blanket, a pillow and several folded petticoats were thrown behind her, before she reached to the far back and tugged.

“Do you need help?” Justin asked, moving to crouch beside her, curious to know what she was doing.

“No… I’ve… I’ve got it,” she said, her voice muffled as she drew a small but apparently heavy chest out. It thudded as she dragged it from the wardrobe, out onto the floor. “My jewellery,” she said in triumph.

“There’s a lot?” Justin suggested, for the chest was solid, banded around with iron and with a hefty lock. You did not take such precautions if there were only a few trinkets inside.

Bea nodded. “Papa spoiled me. I told my uncle he did not approve of jewellery, that he thought it vulgar, and I hid the trunk in Rachel’s belongings when we came here. I never really trusted him, you see. Papa thought Uncle Charles was vulgar and Charles knew it, so he believed me, I think. He must have done, for if he’d known it was here, he would have taken it.”

“Clever girl,” Justin said approvingly.

Bea flushed but looked pleased by the comment.

“Well, that’s everything.”

“You do not wish to take the gowns?” he asked, gesturing to the wardrobe which was full.

“No,” she said firmly. “They’re all mourning gowns and I have no desire to be reminded of such an unhappy time in my life.”

Justin nodded and took the chest, placing it inside the larger one she had dragged from under the bed. Closing it securely, he tested the weight. It was heavy, but he could manage it. He did not trust her uncle to let them back in again if he went to fetch John, and he was not about to leave her alone in this place.

“Beatrice!”

The feminine voice was an exclamation of shock and John turned to see a woman of about his wife’s age standing just inside the room. He supposed she was pretty, in an obvious sort of way. She had the same fine build as Beatrice, but her features were a little too sharp, her mouth one that looked like it turned down more often than it turned up. Her hair was blonde, fine, thin ringlets hanging around her heart-shaped face.

“I cannot believe you dare to come back here after what you did!” the young woman said, her cheeks flushed. “And… And to bring him .”

Beatrice stiffened at her words, her green eyes flashing with anger. “Ah, yes, Dorothy, I forgot you have not met my husband. May I present the Earl of Rutherford?”

“I know who he is,” Dorothy spat. “Everyone knows who he is. He is a disgrace and not fit to be in the same room as a lady.”

“Then you had better flee before he eats you,” Beatrice suggested sweetly.

Justin choked back a laugh, not entirely successfully, for Dorothy glared at him and then once more at Beatrice. “Papa told me what you did, that you’d been carrying on with him all the time you were here. It’s disgusting. No wonder you spoke kindly of him when Rogers told us he was going to die from his wounds. He was already your lover.”

“Is that what he said?” Beatrice said, her eyes going wide at the accusation. “Good lord, Dorothy, and you believed him, you little peewit. How exactly did I get out of my room and all the way to Chalfont House, make love to Lord Rutherford, and then come home again, all without anyone noticing, pray tell? You might remember I hardly had a moment alone, for you were with me most all the time. Whether I liked it or not,” she added indignantly.

Justin decided he loved her all the more for that little bit of spite, which he did not doubt Dorothy thoroughly deserved. That Bea had also spoken kindly of him before they had even met was something that warmed his soul.

Dorothy hesitated.

Beatrice stepped forward. “Do you remember the day I disappeared? Do you remember how all the servants had gone? Do you remember Mr Runcible?”

Dorothy made a face of disgust. “That vile creature. I cannot think why Papa invited him. He made me most uncomfortable, and why all the servants must take leave on the same day, I never understood,” she added frankly. “It was most inconvenient when I needed my belongings packed to return to town.”

“Your Papa had decided I was to marry Mr Runcible, and when I refused, he told me he would lock me in my room and that Mr Runcible alone would have the key. Then Uncle Charles was going to leave with you, so only Mr Runcible and I would be here, with no servants. Mr Runcible was going to persuade me to marry him, Dorothy. Do you understand how he was going to do that?”

To her credit, Dorothy turned a ghastly shade of green, her hand going to her throat. Beatrice leaned in, whispering to her. “I should choose a husband and get married as fast as you can, Dorothy, for perhaps your Papa might find a Mr Runcible for you, one who is rich and old, or weak enough for him to manipulate.”

Dorothy gasped, shaking her head. “I don’t… Oh, Beatrice. I don’t want that.”

“No, and neither did I!” Beatrice told her, gripping her arms. “Now listen to me, Dorothy, and listen well. You have a care with your papa, but if you ever need my help, you write to me, and I shall come. Or you come to Chalfont House, and I shall help you however I can. Do you understand?”

Dorothy burst into tears, and Beatrice sighed, pulling her into a hug. “There, there. Your papa loves you far more than he ever did me. He never even liked me, Dot, you know that. He only ever wanted my father’s money. Don’t be frightened now, but do be careful, and remember what I said.”

“I sh-shall.” Dorothy gave a weak sniff. “And I’m s-sorry for the wicked things I said about you. I never stopped to think about how impossible it was. I shan’t ever say them again, and I shall tell people they are wrong if I hear such things said too,” she added stoutly.

“Thank you, Dorothy,” Beatrice said, patting her hand. “Now, if you will excuse us, I would like to leave before your father gets any notions about keeping us here.”

Dorothy nodded and watched as Justin hefted the heavy chest and they walked down the stairs. She did not follow. Justin did not doubt she wanted no part in any further confrontation with her father. He could not blame her.

The butler ran from the front hall as he spied them on their way down and Justin sighed inwardly, certain Lord Worth had told the man to alert him when they were ready to go.

As he had anticipated, Lord Worth slammed out of a room, the crash of the door echoing from somewhere in the house in the moments before he appeared.

“Get out of my house, you little slut, and don’t ever think of returning again.”

He spat the words at Beatrice and Justin did not think, only reacted. He set the chest down before turning on the man, grabbing hold of his coat lapels and propelling him back against the nearest surface. He heard Worth’s head hit the wall and felt nothing but grim satisfaction.

“Apologise,” he growled, low in his throat, the desire to smash his fist into the bastard’s face so tantalising he was vibrating with it.

“Let go of me. Petersham, help me, damn you!” he called, trying to summon the butler.

Justin turned a volcanic glare upon the man, who had taken a hesitant step forward. “Try it,” he suggested.

Petersham thought better of his choices and didn’t move.

Justin adjusted his grip, taking hold of the man’s neckcloth and twisting. “Apologise, or I’ll choke the life from you, just see if I don’t.”

Worth made a spluttering sound, and Justin released his grip enough for him to speak.

“Sorry,” he spat out, glaring furiously at Justin, hands scrabbling to no avail, trying to loosen his hold.

“Not to me, to her, you cretin,” Justin bellowed, giving the man a shake that must have rattled his teeth. “You will say, ‘I am sorry, my Lady Rutherford.’”

“S-Sorry, my Lady R-Rutherford,” Worth managed, though his eyes blazed with rage.

“Sweetheart?” Justin called over his shoulder.

“I heard, thank you, Justin. You may let him go,” Beatrice said coolly.

Justin did, stepping back as her uncle slid down the wall, sitting on the marble floor with a thud, panting. Beatrice came to stand beside him and took his arm, gazing down at her uncle with disgust.

“I do not forgive you, Uncle Charles. I never shall. Come, Justin, take me home, please.”

“With pleasure, love,” Justin said, smiling at her. They walked to the door, arm–in-arm. Justin opened it, calling for John to come and take the chest. He accompanied Beatrice outside and helped her into the carriage. Justin watched her anxiously, but she said nothing until they were halfway up the drive.

“Justin?” Her voice was quiet, a little unsteady, and he turned, wondering if she was angry with him for what he’d done.

“Yes?”

She gave a choked sob and threw herself against his chest. For a moment he was too stunned to move, to accept that she was turning to him for comfort, but then his scattered wits returned to him, and he put his arms around her, holding on tight.

“There, there, darling girl. Don’t upset yourself. He’s a wicked man. An unhappy, wicked man who does not understand what it is to love or be loved. You must pity him if you feel anything at all. Do not dwell on it, do not let the past taint the future, for that is the biggest mistake you will ever make. Take it from one who knows, love. As far as we understand, we only get one life, and there is too little time to throw any of it away on revenge or regret or dwelling on the past. Look to your future now. You won, and you’re the better person, a kind and clever, lovely and wonderful person,” he added, his own voice growing a little unsteady as he spoke.

Beatrice stilled, sniffing, and Justin searched his coat anxiously, making a mental note to thank John when he discovered a pristine white handkerchief. He handed it to her, and she wiped her eyes, giving her nose a very unladylike blow that made him smile.

“I beg your pardon,” she said thickly. “I did not mean to weep all over you.”

“I rather enjoyed it,” he admitted, hurrying to qualify the remark as she gave him an odd look. “Not that you were upset and crying, only—only that you turned to me. I am glad you turned to me. I only want to do that for you, Beatrice. I shall always be here, to chase problems away, to offer clean handkerchiefs, to strangle obnoxious men or… or just to offer moral support. If you will allow it.” He watched her anxiously, hoping he’d not ruined everything by making an ill-considered remark.

Her mouth turned up at the corners. “I hope I shall not need you to strangle anyone else. At least, not for a day or two.”

Justin gave a bark of laughter, delighted by her. “You just let me know, eh?”

She nodded, sniffing, but it seemed the storm had passed, and she was in control once more.

“Do you really think your cousin will put people straight if they speak ill of us?” he asked, curious about what she really thought of Dorothy. Justin considered himself a fair judge of character and, personally, he would not trust the girl an inch.

“Of course not,” Beatrice said with a laugh. “Dorothy has no backbone, the poor dear. She will agree with whomever she speaks with and then contradict herself if the next person disagrees. It is only that she wishes to be liked so desperately, but of course it becomes impossible when one realises she is never sincere, even though she may believe what she says when she says it. She is not a bad person, only a weak one.”

Justin nodded, having surmised as much. “Do you mind very much that people are gossiping about you, about us?” he asked quietly. He had never before wished to undo everything he had done wrong in his life so much as he did now. It had been many years since he had enjoyed his dreadful behaviour, if indeed he ever had. Looking back, he was not sure it had ever brought him anything close to happiness.

To his surprise, she shook her head. “Not at the moment. I suppose I will if I ever go to town. If people stare and point and cut me in the street, I may mind very much indeed, but I shall never regret my decision, Justin.” She turned to look at him and Justin’s breath caught as he gazed into her lovely green eyes, wishing he were worthy of the woman beside him. “I wish you to know that,” she added, her voice firm.

Justin swallowed, his throat absurdly tight. “Beatrice, if I could change it, change the past, every bit of it, I would do so,” he said, hoping she could hear how desperately he meant the words.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” she said with a wry smile. “A wise man once told me not to waste time on regrets.”

Justin laughed, nodding. “Not so wise as all that, I fear.”

“Wise enough,” she said with a smile, and they made their way home together.