What the Marquess Sees (33 page)

An overabundance of flowers were in full bloom and freshened the air with a fragrance so pleasant she wished she could bottle the smell so she could enjoy the scent the year round. She would have to see about drying the blooms and creating a potpourri.

The house itself boasted no more than one room off the main room—a bedroom—within which was a bed just large enough for two, a clothespress, a wash stand, a ladies vanity, and a small, black, single-drawer table beside the bed. One leg might’ve been a tad shorter than the others, but it was functional and it was all hers so she didn’t quite care. It even boasted a fireplace, unheard of for a cottage of this size, and a screen behind which was a copper bathing tub. She didn’t think that was original to the house, yet she couldn’t imagine how it came to be there.

Well, it was hers now. And she was thrilled to have it.

In the main living area, she had a dining table that seated two, two club chairs by the hearth and a kitchen with all the basic necessities she needed to prepare her meals. A giant rug warmed the floor.

Outside, she had a small lean-to behind the house for a horse, should she ever decide to acquire one, and enough split firewood to last her two years, at least.

In all, it was the perfect home for a simple lady living a quiet, unassuming life.

So perhaps there was a touch of loneliness in the air…but it would pass. She was sure of it. It had to.

Most importantly, she was free. Free from society. Free from her past. Free from everything she had ever feared in her life.

She was tired, sure; she hadn’t slept solidly in a week. But without servants, there was no rest for the weary. And if she didn’t tend to her chores, they wouldn’t get done. That’s all there was to it.

Bea stepped off her stoop, her skirts brushing the tops of her bare feet. She’d taken to going about unshod since she’d discovered how much fun it was to do so. She walked along her garden path, her destination the little kitchen allotment on the side of the house. Today, she needed to begin preparations for her fall vegetables.

She’d read everything she could find about kitchen gardens back when she’d lived at Beckett House in London. Her father had owned a surprising amount of books on the subject, and she had devoured every one at the time, never realizing that the knowledge would become so useful to her one day.

Yes, that understanding was proving worth its weight in gold now that she was living on her own without assistance.

She rounded the side of the house and lightly rubbed her stomach. She was feeling somewhat nauseated and it gave her a moment’s pause. She wasn’t with child, she knew that much for certain. But the feeling had been there, humming in the background like an annoying fly, for the past week. Today, though, the sensation was intensifying. She couldn’t quite explain exactly how she felt, only that she felt off. Wrong. Different. Empty?

She tried to shake it off. She didn’t have the luxury to ignore her responsibilities. She looked around with more purpose in a desperate attempt to ignore the feeling of abject…wrongness…that seemed to be barreling down upon her and threatening to weigh her down until she could no longer stand.

She looked down and saw, there before her, a single dandelion. A simple, lone dandelion. And that was all it took to bring back the memory of Cliff—his love for the weedy, yellow and green plant.

And like a balloon that burst, that was all it took for her pent up emotions to completely overwhelm her…to flood her mind and drown her soul. She fell to her knees right there in the garden and began to weep.

She’d tried to push away thoughts of him, but his memory was damned persistent. She didn’t want to feel. She didn’t want to think about their separation because she was afraid that once she gave it a moment’s consideration, she’d become overwhelmed in a grief from which she would never recover.

Ah, but it was too late now. The gates were open and she could no longer deny that her heart had been ripped in two with their separation.

She loved that man. Completely. Thoroughly.

She tried to take in a breath, but breathing had become as difficult as if she were attempting it under water. Or buried beneath the ground.

And she knew she’d been right. She would not recover from this. She loved him too much. Dansbury.

Ah, God, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t spend her life without him. Even if it meant returning to society. Even if it meant giving up everything. Even risking her sisters. And that was a painful thought to admit. It made her feel selfish.

But he was hers…and she would do anything to remain by his side forever. Here. There. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but being with him…being his partner. Hadn’t they shown how well they worked together? How they complemented each other as if they were two sides of the same whole?

Without another thought, she wiped her tears on her sleeve. And pulled herself to her feet.

And then she ran.

Just up and left it all and ran with the wind. Not across fields of grass and wildflowers, but down the main, well-traveled road. Not in the dark, when the odd carriage or horseman would be practically nonexistent, but in the bright of day, where any person traveling through the countryside might see her.

And not in the normal male garb she usually wore for her exercises, but a proper, practical day dress for puttering about in her garden. It whipped about her legs and twirled about in her wake, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting to Bloomfield Park and him.

And yes, she still wasn’t wearing shoes, nor did she take a moment to grab a pair before sprinting off down the road.

She didn’t care. She ran as fast as she’d ever run in her life.

No, faster.

But this time, she wasn’t running from her emotions or trying to suppress them. Rather, to them. To her future.

Ten minutes passed. Then thirty. Before long, it was noon and she’d already covered five miles. She had five more to go and she was still running. Five more would see her returned to the arms of the man she loved. And would have her running farther than she’d ever run before in one go.

She didn’t have a carriage. Or a lot of money to rent one. Or even an acquaintance she could call on to borrow a horse. Or dash off a note. All she had were her feet and her knowledge that the love of her life was only ten miles east of her little cottage in the country.

So she ran on. And on. Dodging ruts in the road and kicking up dirt that no amount of washing would ever remove from the bottoms of her skirts.

She didn’t care. She just ran.

The ground evened out to a smooth, better-maintained patch of road, with no immediate ruts visible to her eye, so she looked ahead for as far as she could see. On the horizon, she could just make out the shape of a horse and rider headed her way.

Her heart beat that much faster if such a thing were possible. It might be a mirage. But it might be…

It might be him.

She ran even harder. Even faster. Her smile widened with each pounding step until her cheeks hurt and she could barely see from squinting. And from crying. Crying tears of joy.

Her lungs sawed in and out. She got a stitch in her side that needled her angrily.

But she kept on running.

She was three hundred yards away from the rider.

Then two hundred.

A few yards more and he literally leapt off his horse.

She put on one final burst of speed and flew into his outstretched arms.

“Cliff…”

“Bea…”

They spoke at once. And they laughed at once. She worked hard to catch her breath while he squeezed the daylights out of her and refused to set her down.

He spun her until she thought she’d be dizzy.

She had to speak first. It was imperative. Yet she couldn’t catch her breath to utter more than the single syllable of his name.

She tried to force her breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. To slow her breathing. God, it wasn’t easy. She’d run five miles as fast as her legs could carry her. In the midday heat. Without a hat.

She undoubtedly sported unfashionable freckles.

She didn’t care.

A million years passed in a second while she caught her breath. And all the while he held her off the ground. Which was fine. She didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.

When she could finally speak, she said, “Cliff, let me down. I have something important to say.”

“No. I’m not letting you go. You’ll just have to talk like this.”

She laughed. This man. This crazy lovely man. And then she kissed him instead. His lips melded with hers and she tasted heaven in a moment of pure bliss. This kiss was frantic with need. So many words were spoken without uttering a sound.

I love you.

I miss you.

I need you.

I want you.

Don’t ever leave me again.

Eventually, their enthusiasm slowed as their hearts began to recognize that the other wasn’t about to leave. This time. Or ever again.

She grabbed his shoulders; she could barely move within his embrace, but she managed to pull back enough to look in his eyes. It was all he’d allow her. She reached up, grabbed his face, and directed his attention to her. “Clifford Ross, 7th Marquess of Dansbury, you were right. You were so very right. I love you. More than anything in this world. And I need you like I need air to breathe. You are the love of my life and I cannot live another day, another hour, another moment without you. Will you…” She swallowed past the lump that suddenly filled her throat and started again. “Will you marry me?”

He didn’t appear to think. Nor hesitate. He didn’t prevaricate at all. He simply swung her around and shouted to the sky. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“It is the one of the great secrets of life that those things are most worth doing, we do for others.”

―Lewis Carroll

Bloomfield Park…

One Month Later…

It was supposed to be a small affair. Stonebridge and Grace, MacLeod, Aunt Harriett and The Umbrella, the Priest, the servants, and of course, the bride and groom.

Beatryce waited, with only a smidge of anxiety, for the ceremony to begin. She’d been here before, after all. But this go round was far more important. And, hopefully, far less likely to be called off.

Still she’d feel better when it was over, and her man was all hers. For better or for worse. Forever.

Dansbury walked out of the drawing room and into the hall where she was waiting. He wasn’t supposed to do that.

“What are you doing? I am meant to enter the drawing room and you are supposed to wait for me in there.”

“I know, but Bea, I have a wedding gift for you that I need to give you before we make our vows.”

Leave it to Dansbury to break all the rules.

“A gift?”

He nodded his head. “One I think you’ll enjoy.”

“All right…”

“Follow me…”

He led her to the library. She grew more and more curious. She’d expected something smaller; something he might carry in a pocket or already have in his hand.

He stopped at the door and turned to face her, placing the door behind him. “You are the world to me, Bea. My heart. My love. My soul. I’ll care for you for the rest of my days. And…And I’ll care for your family…our family now.”

Then, he turned and opened the door.

Bea stepped through and there before her stood her sisters. Adelaide at six, Sylvia at twelve, and Hetty at sixteen all lined up before her, dressed in their wedding finery. All of them were holding handkerchiefs. And all of them, like her, were crying.

She nearly fell to the floor and would have if Cliff hadn’t been standing there beside her. Sharing his strength.

For a moment, she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to grab up the girls and hug them for an hour or bury her face in Dansbury’s shirt, her heart overflowing with love. Either way she’d be crying. She was crying.

Dansbury squeezed her hand, and she looked up at him, letting all of the joy and love in her heart shine through her eyes and speak for her. At the moment, she could not form words. She could barely see his smile in return through the copious amount of tears blurring her vision.

Then, she looked at her sisters, fell to her knees after all, and opened her arms wide.

They ran as one into them.

“Oh, Hetty, Sylvie, Addie…Oh, how I’ve missed you. How I’ve wanted to tell you so many times how much I love you all.”

It was Addie, the youngest, who spoke for them. “We know it. We know everything. Lord Dansbury wrote to us and told us aaaaalllll about it.” She looked down at her feet a moment, then back up at her. And in a quiet, almost shy voice, said, “You are very brave, Sissy.”

Bea closed her eyes a moment and held on to the sound. To hear her sister refer to her with affection—she’d called her Sissy!

She was so overwhelmed with joy at that moment. She had never, ever experienced the like. She swallowed, put her hands on either side of Addie, and touched her sister’s forehead with her own.

“So are you, my love. So are you.”

Addie giggled. Then, pulled away and looked back at a woman standing apart and behind them. For a moment, Bea didn’t recognize the woman.

Then, her eyes widened with surprise. “M-Mary?”

Her stepmother dipped her head in acknowledgement and smiled. “Yes, dear.”

It was a smile Beatryce had not seen in over fifteen years, if ever. La, Mary had changed dramatically. And for the better. She looked happier. Healthier. Kind.

The world momentarily felt upended.

The sight gave her hope and brought her joy.

Dansbury cleared his throat and everyone turned to look at him.

“I’m happy to see you all reunited…but I am also quite anxious to marry my bride.”

No further words were necessary. They turned as one and headed for the drawing room. Everyone bursting with excitement.

Dansbury on her arm.

*

It was a small, simple ceremony. With swaths of bold jewel-toned fabrics draping the room and bunches of wildflowers gracing every horizontal surface in the space. And the closest of friends and family.