She was taken aback. If Papa did not believe her, what hope did she have of escaping this marriage? “Didn’t you mean what you said? About wanting me to be happy and true to myself?”
“Of course! But you will be happiest within a contented marriage. The marquess has a sincere affection for you, and he will not chafe you, of that I am certain. You may learn Latin or whatever hobby takes your fancy, and be as true to yourself as anyone could be, as a marchioness. Bea, you said you wanted to be respected, and so you shall be — as the Marchioness of Embleton, and in time as the Duchess of Bridgeworth. Believe me, you will have all the respect you could wish for, and that will make me very proud. You will never get a better offer than this, and it will be disappointing if you throw away this opportunity for some frivolous reason. That is all.”
The evening was endless. Mama was cock-a-hoop at the prospect of her stepdaughter becoming a duchess in the fullness of time, and although she was too proper to discuss the matter before the servants, whenever they were alone she exulted, and began making plans for the grand wedding that Bea’s new status demanded.
Her father, by contrast, talked of everythingbutthe presumed forthcoming wedding, and watched Bea uneasily. That, more than anything, brought home to her the gulf that had unexpectedly opened between them. She had thought they understood each other pretty well, she and her father. Always he had taken her side against Lady Esther’s wilder ravings, and even when he was not minded to speak out, he had thrown amused glances at Bea, as if to say,‘Don’t worry, I won’t let her eat you alive. It is still the two of us against the world.’
Now he had abandoned her, loading her with the weight of his own expectations, and walking implacably away.‘That will make me very proud.’What daughter could hear those words and not want to obey the ambition behind it? But neither the marquess himself, nor his future dukedom, appealed to her, and she had no idea what to do about it.
She felt trapped, like a duck hiding in the long grass listening to the guns in the distance, hoping to escape notice, but knowing that, sooner or later, the beaters will come and she will have no choice but to fly up in terror and be shot down. Just another dutiful daughter of the gentry, falling, falling under the guns of society’s expectations.
As soon as she had drunk her tea after dinner, she asked if she might retire.
“Of course, dear,” her stepmother said. “You have an important day ahead of you, so get some sleep, if you can. It will be difficult, when you must be so excited. I have already asked Harper to press your new Indian muslin for tomorrow. It is a little fine for ordinary day wear, but for such a momentous occasion, one would rather do too much than too little.”
“Thank you, Mama. Good night. Good night, Papa.”
“Good night, Bea,” her father said, looking searchingly at her. “If you have any concerns about this step, your prayers will bring counsel, I am sure.”
“As well as the Sixth Commandment,” her stepmother said smoothly.
“Yes, Papa. Yes, Mama.”
Bea curtsied and escaped to her room, but there was no relief there, not in prayer nor in the commandments.‘Honour thy father and thy mother,’indeed! As if she did not do so. As if she had not always done so. As if she did notwantto be a dutiful daughter, and make her father — both her parents — proud of her.
But she also wanted not to have to marry the Marquess of Embleton, and it struck her now how odd that was. Surely every young woman wanted to marry, and to marry as well as she could, not just for her own sake, but for the sake of her entire family. She had no sisters to benefit from her ennoblement, not yet, but her young brothers would find their lives made easier by a duchess in the family. Her father could visit her at Bridgeworth and not be a despised outsider as he was at Marshfields. Even Aunt Betty and all the Newcastle cousins could visit, because she would be the duchess and no one could doubt her right to issue the invitations.
Yet that was no reason to marry anyone.
Harper came to help her undress, but instead of blowing out her candle, Bea propped herself up in bed and contemplated her dilemma. If she were to marry the marquess, she would please her parents, certainly, and naturally it would be gratifying to hold such high rank, but…
But what?‘Do not throw away this opportunity for a frivolous reason,’her father had said, but what reason did she have? How could she possibly object to the marquess? Ralph, that was his name. He was sweet and gentle and kind, and there could be no conceivable objection to his person. And yet she did not want to marry him, and she knew the reason — he did not set her on fire. There was no warmth inside her when she looked at him. Not even when she had kissed him.
His poem! Perhaps his Latin verse, tucked away in a drawer of her desk, would engender the proper warmth in her. Sliding from the bed, she snatched up the candle and made her way in some excitement downstairs to the library, where the shadows danced about grotesquely. How odd the room looked, when so poorly illuminated! So alien and unlike its usual welcoming self. But she lit a candelabrum and sat down at her desk. Where was the poem? There it was. She began to read.
Almost at once, she saw the problem. As she sounded the words in her head, arranging them in what she hoped was the correct metre, it was not the marquess’s voice she heard, or even her own — it was Bertram’s. His clear tones filled her mind so that the marquess was driven out. All that remained was Bertram, and a Latin poem.
And there, deep inside her, was the warmth she sought. Even the thought of his voice made her smile and brought her great delight. What was it, this curious warmth, the fire that his kisses lit, the wonder of his touch? Then she remembered Walter and the way his face lit up when he spoke of Winnie… good heavens, was shein lovewith Bertram? Was that what was the matter with her?
But she had promised not to pursue him. She had given her solemn word and she would not break it, but she could not in all conscience marry the marquess while she was in love with another man. That was not fair to Ralph, not fair to herself and not fair to Bertram, who might one day come to love her, just as Walter had come to love Winnie. And just as Winnie had waited ten years for Walter, so Bea would wait for Bertram, without any real hope of success.
Still, she could wait… she could wait forever. She would dedicate her life to Latin and perhaps Bertram would one day turn to her in love, and perhaps he would not, but she would always be his friend.
Whatever happened with Bertram, however disappointed her parents might be, she could not marry the marquess. And with that thought, her confusion finally cleared. Blowing out all but her own candle, she returned on swift steps to her room, and calmly settled down to sleep.
27: A Betrothal
The whole house was in uproar by the following morning. Even the maid who brought Bea her early morning chocolate twittered and giggled, and nearly tripped over her own feet as she backed out of the bedroom. The prospect of a betrothal affected everyone. Except for Bea herself, who rose unhurriedly, and went to the library, as usual, only to be summoned back to her room by an irate Harper.
“I’ve to do your hair special this morning. Milady’s orders.”
Bea sighed, but there was no point in arguing. There would be a far greater argument later, so she would conserve her strength for that one. Occasionally she quailed, knowing that her father would be disappointed, but she could not marry the marquess and that was the end of the matter.
Meekly she submitted to Harper’s ministrations, then endured breakfast with her parents, Mama dizzy with excitement and Papa inscrutable, watching her quizzically. After that, she was obliged to sit in the Gold Saloon, awaiting the moment when the marquess would return and her refusal wouldbring the wrath of her parents down on her head. But she was insistent on not wasting the whole morning on useless stitchery, so, despite her stepmother’s protestations, she took a Latin book into the saloon with her.
Eventually, the distant sound of carriage wheels was heard, drawing nearer and then pulling up before the door. Mama had better control of herself today, so there was no rushing to the window. How amusing it would be if it were only Lady Strong or Mrs George Atherton or the Cathcart ladies! But no, for within moments the door was thrown open, and Hobbs was announcing the marquess.
He crept in, with Mr Franklyn behind him, and stood twisting his hands together, an anxious expression on his face. Clearly, Bea was not to be allowed to speak to him alone. It was better so, for that way her parents would know everything that was said and there could be no misunderstanding. It would have been dreadful to refuse him in private and emerge to find her parents full of congratulations. What an awkward explanation would then be needed!
