He had taken her by surprise, that was the trouble, and then she had blurted out all manner of infelicitous things. If only she could curb her instinct to say the first thing that came into her head! If only she were more ladylike, more like Mama…
Poor Mr Fielding! What had happened to him since their last encounter? Was he quite well? Or worse, had he decided he could not face her at all, and quit Landerby altogether? But no, she would certainly have heard if he had left. What could she do? She would not be easy about him until she had seen him again, and heard that merry laugh of his. Most of all, she wanted to know that he had forgiven her.
A letter! That was it… she would write to him. That way, she could choose her words carefully and not burst out with one of her honest but not very polite remarks. And although it was not entirely proper to write to an unattached man, surely shecould be permitted to write a note apologising for her dreadful behaviour?
Scrambling down from the high bed and hastily lighting a candle, she crossed to the window where a small table was laden with writing equipment. Sitting down, she pulled paper, ink and quill towards her and began to write. As soon as she began, the pen broke. When she had mended it and begun again, she discovered the ink was lumpy. With a sigh, she retrieved her own travelling writing box from a drawer, and began again.
‘Mr Fielding, I am consumed with guilt for the discourteous way in which I responded to your very generous sentiments yesterday. It was unpardonably rude of me, and I would like to express my sincere regret. I do not expect to be forgiven, but I know your kind and open-hearted nature will permit me to say now all that I should more properly have said to you at the time. Firstly, may I thank you with all my heart for the compliment you paid me in wishing me to be your wife. I am deeply sensible of the honour you do me, and could only wish that my answer might today be different. But it cannot. I am very, very sorry, but I cannot marry you, not because of any defect in you or your character, for you are all that a man ought to be, and more, and your circumstances are respectable, and despite my adverse comments regarding your parsonage, upon reflection I believe it was quite wrong to dismiss it so forcefully. I am sure it is a very pleasant parsonage, and one may always hire an assembly room if one is in need of a ballroom. Nevertheless, I cannot marry you because—’
Here she stopped and laid down her pen. Why could she not marry Mr Fielding? She needed to give some explanation for her refusal, and not a frivolous or selfish reason, like the lack of a title or his snug parsonage, but an honest and respectable reason. What had her stepmother told her to say? That she was much obliged but she did not think they would suit.
But in many ways, Mr Fielding would suit her perfectly. He was respectable, he had his living and parsonage, and enough money to defend himself from the charge of fortune hunting. And she liked him very well, if she were to be completely honest. He was, until her careless rejection of him, always cheerful, he admired her and they even had a mutual interest in Latin.Hewould not forbid her from learning the language!
Yet she knew beyond question that she could not marry him. He was like Lord Brockscombe and Lord Thomas — he sparked no flames within her, and that settled the matter beyond question. She took up her pen again.
‘I cannot marry you because I do not feel for you that deep regard that a woman should feel for a man who is to be her husband, nor do I believe I could ever come to feel such a regard. I shall always consider you as my very good friend, and I hope you would see me in the same light, but we can never be more to each other. I am very sorry. With every good wish for your future, and the hope that you will in time find a woman worthy of you, yours in friendship, Beatrice Franklyn.’
She folded it and sealed it with a wafer, then tucked it safely in a drawer. As soon as she dared, she summoned Harper to dress her. Then, when the lady’s maid had withdrawn, sniffing at such an early start, Bea retrieved the letter, crept from her room and through the dusty passageways, still in the gloom of early dawn, until she reached the room where Bertram and his friends slept. Outside was a bench where their valets would wait at certain times to be summoned, since there were no bells connected to the kitchens two floors below.
Here she sat and waited patiently, amusing herself by listening to the distant snores, until one of the valets — it was Bayley, Bertram’s man — appeared bearing a ewer of steaming water.
“Good morning, Bayley. I have a commission for you, if you would be so good. Will you see that Mr Fielding gets this letter?”
“Of course, madam. Is it urgent? Do you want me to wake him specially?”
“No, not urgent. It is only an apology. But if you have to go off and do other things, you can leave it with Mr Atherton.”
“Very well, madam.”
He was too well-trained to do more than raise his eyebrows very slightly, for a lady writing to a gentleman was not at all proper unless an engagement was in effect, but Bea hoped she had forestalled him by talking of an apology. That could be taken as nothing but the polite response to an invitation, perhaps, and would attract no opprobrium, and it was true, as far as it went.
He bowed, and Bea walked away, feeling that she had assuaged the worst of her own guilt and, she hoped, made Mr Fielding feel a little better, too.
Then she went to the old schoolroom, which had become her retreat in times of worry, where she could consider her options and decide what to do next. For now she knew what she wanted in a husband, above even a noble title — she wanted a man who sparked flames inside her, and in her entire life, only one man had ever done so, and that was Bertram Atherton.
But there was still Lord Grayling, who drew her to him in a multitude of ways. And he wasexciting, as Bertram was not, for there was an edge to him that challenged her, as if he were saying,‘I am dangerous… do you dare tangle with me?’
Dangerous… an odd word to attach to a gentleman and a baron, no less. Certainly there was risk in pursuing him, for if, as Bertram said, Lord Grayling is not looking for a wife, then she would have wasted her time at Landerby and would have to begin again. On the other hand, the triumph if she could manage to attach him, if so accomplished a flirt could be caught by MissBeatrice Franklyn, the daughter of an attorney. That would be something!
But dangerous? She frowned. What danger could she possibly be in, except to her heart? Not even that, for perhaps Bertram was right, and she did not have a heart at all. What a lowering thought.
17: Defiance And Obedience
Bertram was barely awake when Bayley shook him.
“Good morning, sir. Your hot water, sir.” He spoke in a low whisper, so as not to wake the others.
Bertram groaned. “Is it morning already, Bayley?”
“I’m afraid it is, sir. Your big day. Shall I lay out the burgundy today?”
“Whatever you like, Bayley. No one will care what coat I wear.”
“Of course, sir.” He coughed discreetly. “I have been given a letter to deliver, sir.”
“A letter? Have you? Then you had better hand it over, Bayley.”
“It is not for you, sir. It is for Mr Fielding, from Miss Franklyn.”
