“Your Grace, may I bring the next course?” a footman asked as he moved to clear the dishes.
“No,” she replied, too quickly. “No, thank you. That will be all. I shall not take anything further.”
He hesitated, clearly uncertain whether to protest, then bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
The corridor outside felt equally hollow, her footsteps barely making a sound over the carpet runner. Upstairs, a draught murmured through the doors, brushing her shoulders like a passing thought.
Beatrice paused halfway to her chambers. Pip’s old blanket was lying on a side table, folded neatly by Mrs. Hart before they left for the wedding. A soft cream wool, the corner worn slightly from being gripped by tiny fingers.
Her throat tightened.
She reached out before she could stop herself, brushing her thumb over the hem. The texture was familiar enough to summon a hundred small memories: midnight pacing, whispered nonsense, Edward’s quiet presence hovering just beyond the lamplight.
She exhaled, long and steady.
“You are ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, though her eyes burned.
She could not sit in her chambers and think. Not tonight. The quiet would be unbearable.
With a decisive inhale, she descended the stairs and called for the butler. He appeared promptly, his hands folded, his expression neutral—the one constant in a house that seemed to have shifted overnight.
“I…” She hesitated. Her mind felt too full, her chest oddly tight.
“Your Grace,” he asked carefully, “is there anything else I might assist you with this evening?”
There is.
“I need information on the nearest orphanage.”
The butler blinked once in discreet surprise, before bowing slightly. “Of course, Your Grace. May I inquire as to what kind of information?”
“How many children it shelters. Their ages. Their needs. Any records of recent conditions. If they keep records, I would like to see them. If they need funding, I want an honest account of the amount. And…” She paused, taking a steadying breath. “And I want to know whether they accept visitors.”
He regarded her with polite surprise. “Of course, Your Grace. May I ask—purely for clarity—when you intend to visit?”
“As soon as possible,” she answered. “Perhaps next week, after adequate preparations.”
He nodded gravely. “Shall I prepare a list by morning?”
“Yes, please.” Her voice came out softer than she had intended. She cleared her throat, adding firmly, “I would like to be… useful. If there is anything the children lack, I want to know about it.”
The butler’s expression softened. “Very good, Your Grace. I’ll have the information ready.”
When he retreated, Beatrice remained at the bottom of the stairs, her fingers curled lightly around the banister.
Useful.
The word clung to her.
Her marriage felt like something she was failing to mend. Edward had left with polite finality. And she—she had no idea how to fix what she barely understood.
But children… children she could help. She had held Pip through sleepless nights. She had soothed colic, read stories in a hushed tone, and steadied trembling little limbs.
She knew how to offer comfort when it was needed.
Perhaps, she told herself as she climbed the stairs again, if she could not fix her own marriage, she might fix something else.
In her chamber, she got ready for bed slowly, deliberately. She unpinned her hair, folded her gown, extinguished one candle and then another.
