Beatrice smiled at her husband. “That would be wonderful,” she said, accepting the arm he offered.
“Do you need to change your shoes?” he asked.
Beatrice lifted her skirts to show him the warm boots Guinevere had helped her don that morning. “No need. I think she’s realized there’s always a good chance I’ll be heading outside and I shouldn’t be wearing slippers.”
Alexander as they arrived in the foyer. “I see she’s a smart one. You’re happy with her as a lady’s maid?”
“Very,” Beatrice said, nodding her head. “She suits me just fine.”
Jenkins was waiting by the door with her cloak in hand. Her husband reached for it before Jenkins could help her, and he wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and fastened it tightly, gently pulling the hood over her hair.
There was a tenderness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.
Perhaps he was taking her on a walk so he could kiss her without being interrupted?
The thought made her heart beat faster.
Jenkins opened the door, and Alexander led her out toward the gardens. The remnants of slush piles were scattered around the yard, and the sound of snow melting and running down the edge of the roof was familiar and comforting. Beatrice took a deep breath, drawing frosty air deep into her lungs.
“I see nearly dying in a snowstorm hasn’t dampened your enthusiasm for the outdoors at all,” her husband said as they turned the corner into a more secluded part of the gardens.
Beatrice looked up at him, the corner of her mouth turning up. “Are you teasing me?”
“Am I?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.
“I see nearly kissing me twice hasn’t changed your inability to smile,” Beatrice teased back. “Clearly I’m going to have to work on that some more.”
Alexander stopped walking, staring down at her. “Beatrice,” he began, before closing his mouth.
“Are you cursed to be unable to speak about matters of the heart?” Beatrice said gently, giving him a wink. “Because I’ve had some issues with that myself.”
“You find it hard to talk about too?” he asked.
“Of course,” Beatrice said, reaching for his hand. “This is new for me, just as it’s new for you. We have to figure it out together. I find it hard because of my parents, and I’m sure you do too, even if it’s for a completely different reason. But I believe that you and I have a chance at a long, happy marriage.”
“If we make it through tomorrow.”
The words were said quietly, but she heard them.
“We will make it through,” she said, reaching for his other hand. “I have to believe that.”
“Beatrice,” he began again, taking a step closer to her.
“Alexander,” she said softly.
“He has a betrothal agreement,” he said miserably. “He forced my father to sign it. I couldn’t tell you earlier because, well—”
“It’s invalid. You’re already married,” she said with a shrug. “The position of your wife has been filled.”
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess,” he said, his features crumpling. “I didn’t know—”
“I’m not,” Beatrice said firmly. “I’m not sorry at all. And we’ll figure it out together. Do you believe me?”
“I want to,” he admitted as she took a step closer and let go of his hands to grip the lapels of his coat.
“Then believe me,” she whispered.
Instead of answering, her husband cupped her cheeks with his hands, leaned down, and pressed his lips to hers.
