His port wine eyes were steady.She did not know if she had ever seen him look at her with such steadiness.Usually, his eye contact had a heady, tremulous quality to it.But not now.
“I meant what I said.I do love you.But I don’t expect you to say it back.You have not known me for very long.Indeed, in the carriage yesterday, when I spoke with you and Sally, I realized how much more you know about me than I do about you.”
She supposed that was true.She had been in his world, but he was only now about to enter hers.
“I just didn’t want you to think that I didn’t mean it.Because I do.”
“Thank you,” she finally managed.“I appreciate—the clarity.”
She had not considered, in truth, whether she loved him.And as of now, she did not know the answer to the question.Love was not something she had ever expected to feel for a man.And she did not know what love signified, anyway.What would it mean for her to say it back to him?
A longer stint as his mistress, assuredly.That was a pleasant thought.Once she had settled this matter with Mr.Gordstone, she imagined living as the mistress of his St.James’s town house.The simple, elegant life that they might lead together.A life that would be both pleasurable and allow for her to save her family estate.
But what happened when he tired of her?A man in love would claim that he could never tire of his mistress and, of course, eventually, he would.Or duty would call him.One day, he would be besieged by the realization that he needed to create an heir with the appropriate woman, one who could bring him riches and a fine pedigree for his children.
She would open a door to happiness, yes, but also to the day when, inevitably, she would be discarded.
Not long ago, she would not have cared about such a prospect.The money would have been good enough and the pleasure, so unexpected, would have been an added benefit.
Now, however, it didn’t seem like nearly enough.Not with him.
In short, the prospect of admitting such feelings for him—even to herself—made her feel wildly out of control.
No, in this moment, returning the words to him were out of the question.
“I will leave you to your breakfast,” he said, with a smile, seemingly unperturbed by her paltry response.“Our carriage will leave in a quarter hour—will that be long enough for you to eat and dress?”
She nodded.Then he kissed her on the forehead and strode from the room.
Soon after, they departed from Mrs.Bercine’s and began their long ride.
The ride quickly felt interminable.While she was sure she could have passed the time pleasantly enough with only Leith or Sally, their presence together made many topics unbroachable.
The scenery offered little by way of distraction.It was spring, but neither bright nor clear.Instead, all the world outside the carriage appeared ringed in a greenish gray.
In fact, as far as Beatrice was concerned, the only thing worth looking at around her was Leith, who couldn’t help but look handsome, even on such a gloomy day as this.
But with Sally in the coach, she could only admire him.And if she admired him too much…well, she began to grow uncomfortable.And she had to look away.
With so little to distract her, Beatrice could not help her mind straying to her mother and brothers at Parkhorne Hall, and her anxiety of what they might face from Mr.Gordstone.
Yes, she knew Malcolm would do all that he could to keep her mother safe, and that his abilities were considerable.But even Malcolm could not be everywhere at once.
From Mr.Gordstone, she feared the worst.She was certain that if he found the right moment, there was no violation he would not visit on her mother in order to get what he wanted.
Leith bore the journey with remarkable composure.She had the distinct sense that under usual circumstances he would complain about the uncomfortable pace of their travel.But he was maintaining a remarkable appearance of good humor.
“How large is Parkhorne Hall?”he inquired at one point that afternoon.
“Not large,” Beatrice said quickly, feeling conscious of how modest her home must appear in his eyes.“It is little more than three hundred acres.And the house is not modern.Although it is larger than many of its type.”
“It is a beautiful part of country,” Sally added.“The finest in our parish.I can say it because I own naught of it, even though I live there.”
“In Somerset, I have never been anywhere but Bath.But I have heard raptures about its beauty.”
“Our estate is very hilly, which makes it exquisite to the eye, but not ideal for farming.There is an apple orchard and a spring pond, however.”
“It is the loveliest pond,” Sally added.
