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And this time, she didn’t think she’d be able to say no.

She wanted to say yes. Of course, she did. She wanted to scream it from the rooftops.

She just needed to tell him how she felt. She needed to tell him that she’d fallen in love with him and that she wanted him to want her for her. Not because they’d made love. Not because she might be carrying his child.

Oh, God! I might be carrying his child!

Beatrice walked over to her writing table and flipped open the journal to the page with her list. She dipped the quill into the inkwell and generously crossed out the last item on her official list.

To bid at an auction.

Her quill hovered over the other item: To fall in love. But she didn’t have enough courage to cross it off yet. She needed to tell Adam how she felt first.

And she needed to do it tonight. Because in less than three days, she’d be gone to Northumberland, and he would hop onto the ship and leave to travel the world.

She should have done it earlier, but her emotions were a jumbled mess.

In books, when heroes realized they’d fallen in love with someone, everything usually became so clear. They knew exactly what to do and how to do it. Yet, here was Beatrice frightened out of her mind and anxious about what was the right thing to do. All the terrible thoughts invaded her mind.

What if he rejected her? What if he found out about her feelings and still decided to leave her behind? Or worse? What if he decided he didn’t want to marry her anymore?

How did anyone think straight in situations like this?

The rumbling of a carriage boomed outside her window, and she leaned forward to see an old hackney cab stop before her temporary home.

Then the door swung open, and her father stepped out onto the street.

“Papa!” Beatrice jumped out of the seat and dashed downstairs.

She didn’t even realize how much she’d missed her family until she saw a glimpse of them.

They were finally here! And as she flew into her father’s arms, the weight of the world left her shoulders.

All was suddenly going to be fine.

Her little sisters Anna, Lizzie, and Clara, who were fifteen, twelve, and eleven years old respectively, surrounded her and squeezed her tight before jumping around and tittering happily.

“Is London wonderful?” Clara asked.

“Have you been to Vauxhall Garden?” Anna chimed in.

“Have you tried ices?” This from Lizzie.

“Girls, let us come inside and settle down before you pester your sister with questions,” their father said and shooed the girls inside. He didn’t let go of Beatrice, though. He framed her face with his hands and looked at her with tears in his eyes. “How are you, my little bee?”

Beatrice grabbed his wrinkly hands and squeezed his fingers. “I am so happy to see you, Papa. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

She smiled a wobbly smile, before tilting her head to the side. “Come inside. Let’s have some tea, and we can exchange news.”

They settled into the three spare rooms, Lizzie and Clare occupying one room together. Beatrice helped them unpack a few things and was blasted with millions of questions she mostly had no answers to.

The things she’d done in London weren’t exactly the kind she could share with her little sisters. She did tell them about the ball and the theater. She even confided that she’d snuck into the masquerade. But mostly, she tried to keep her stories vague. At least for now.

She was too close to the memories, and she wanted to hold them close to her heart without letting the rest of the world get a glimpse.

After spending some pleasant time with her sisters, her father called her to have an audience with him in the library. He had rested after the journey and wanted to speak to her about the upcoming wedding.