“Ah, I believe the carriage has arrived, My Lord,” Barclay said, coming away from the window and looking over Callum once more. “Fear not, as I’ve said, I can hardly tell there’s a bandage beneath your shirt. And I should know, as I’ve been your valet for nearly ten years.”
“Thank you, Barclay. I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Callum stood up slowly and got his feet planted beneath him, then made his way to the door and down the stairs.
Outside, Peter greeted him warmly, but the sentiment quickly turned to jest when he asked, “Good heavens, could you perhaps walk slower? I was almost afraid we’d arrive at my aunt’s house today.”
“You know, since the accident my memory sometimes fails me. Tell me, were you always this ugly to look at?” Callum returned as he tried to climb into the carriage.
“Me? You should have a look at yourself!” Peter teased. Callum froze, certain he would remark on the way his coat sat awkwardly over his chest, but he was relieved when his dearest friend retorted, “That mop of hair you’re so proud of looks like a pirate that’s been in the brig for a week.”
“It’s good to see you too, Peter,” Callum said genuinely as he settled against the seat. “Though I fear this trip will be a waste of time.”
“Nonsense,” Peter answered, waving to the driver to hurry on. “When my cousin—gads, how I adore saying ‘my cousin!’—sees you at Lady Miriam’s home, she will remember all over again that your personality is what matters, not your lack of good looks.”
Callum laughed in spite of his low spirits. He had not been prepared for the dark sentiments that would invade his mind over the course of the past week. He’d nearly died, not only once but more than that, and now found that he’d let slip the one best thing he’d ever encountered.
He would do anything to win her back, any objections be damned.
* * *
“Miss? We’ve arrived,” the carriage driver said gently. He actually turned to look over his shoulder at Beatrix this time, since there had been no response or movement either of the first two times.
Instead, Beatrix sat looking up at the house, envisioning which of the gleaming windows had been her room. After all, surely her mother had decorated a nursery for her in preparation for her tiny arrival. Perhaps a nurse had already been hired to tend to her while her mother recovered. No doubt some funds had been put to use creating a layette for her, one that she never wore.
Where was it now? Where was the cradle that she had barely lain in, the clothes that she’d surely never worn? Had someone disposed of the things quietly in an effort to soothe her mother’s broken heart?
“Yes, I see,” Beatrix finally whispered, though she still failed to move.
“Shall I carry your things?” he hinted kindly. “Or I can go and ring for the footman?”
“Of course,” she answered, still making no move to climb down.
The driver gave her an odd sort of look, then climbed down and began the long walk up the wide stone steps. Beatrix still looked down at her hands, struck by a sudden bout of nervousness.
She who was always so confident, who’d had no problem hurling accusations and even insults at a Marquess the day she met him, was now terribly fearful of disappointing a woman who’d already suffered a great deal.
“It’s as Peter—I mean, the Viscount of Dewham—has said,” she remembered, smiling as she thought back to the day he’d attempted to outline her noble lineage. “The loss of her only child was pain enough for any woman to bear, but to now know that her brother had a nefarious hand in it has destroyed her.”
Her cousin had also attempted to impart some sense of decorum in families such as this… such as hers, Beatrix corrected as she cringed. Had this unfortunate thing not happened and she had been raised here in this household, would she truly have been expected to see her mother only in passing? To wait to be acknowledged and curtsy before speaking to “her Lady Mother?”
Callum had been so cavalier about his own cold upbringing, referring to it simply as the way things were done. But Beatrix had longed for a mother she could run to for affection when she was sad or hurt, a mother she could laugh with and play silly games with. A mother who doted on her and called her silly names and played pretend games as much as…
…as her father had done.
These people are no equal to my father. I should very much like to meet my mother and any other family members who may be here, but they are but a poor substitute for the best family anyone could ever have, small and humble though it may have been!
Beatrix reached the ground just as the front door of the enormous house flew open and a shrill cry of delight sounded. She looked up in alarm, wholly unprepared for the sight of a well-dressed lady throwing herself forward and down the steps.
Before Beatrix could register that this must be the Lady Miriam she had been told about, the woman had her in her arms, holding her tightly even as her tears soaked Beatrix’s shoulder.
So much for reserved and dignified.Beatrix was pleasantly surprised, but unnerved just the same.
“Oh, my child! My daughter!” the woman said, stepping back but keeping hold of Beatrix’s hands. “Let me look at you!”
The woman squinted through her tears, her hands shaking as she held Beatrix’s. She smiled repeatedly, only letting go of the younger woman when she needed to retrieve her handkerchief.
“Please don’t think me a strange old bird!” the woman said, hiccupping a laugh as more tears poured forth. “I’d practiced so hard for this moment, ever since I was informed that you were alive! I’d meant to be so dignified and greet you properly, but I find that I simply cannot!”
Beatrix laughed gently too, and said only, “So I am to assume that you are my mother?”
