“What is it?” Beatrix asked, still holding back her sobs.
“Lord Bellton’s father did not speak to him of rejecting you,” she said gently, brushing back a lock of Beatrix’s hair. “He chastised his son vehemently for thinking of marriage when the time for mourning his mother had not passed. The Duke was very displeased to learn that the rumors of his affection for you were true, not because of your station but because of the impropriety of the timing.”
Beatrix’s cheeks burned with a sudden sense of shame. She had been horrible to Callum, while mistaken in her reasoning! She looked to Lady Miriam in anguish.
“What must I do to make amends?” she asked. “How do I repair the hurt I intentionally inflicted?”
“You must go and make your apologies, dear,” the older woman said tenderly. “If he is receptive, then you will have made amends. If he is not, well… then you will also know perhaps what sort of husband he would have been, how he would have treated you whenever you were in the wrong.”
Before Beatrix could thank her for such wise counsel, Peter entered and kissed his aunt warmly on the cheek.
“Good morning, all. I see you’ve allowed me to use my very worst manners and make you wait on your breakfast,” he said, laughing at his joke.
“Peter, dear. Where is Lord Bellton this morning?” Lady Miriam asked gravely. Her nephew’s cheerful expression turned stony.
“I’m afraid he must be away this morning, some urgent business to attend to, I believe it was,” he replied, though he turned to Beatrix and cocked an eyebrow in her direction. After a quick jerk of his head, he turned back to his aunt to compliment her on the scones.
“Mother, if I may, I think I should need to… to step outside, I believe,” Beatrix said, standing and striding purposefully from the room.
Beatrix hurried to the front steps, thanking Peter silently for the clandestine word of warning. There, Callum’s carriage was already waiting, several trunks already loaded in place. The Marquess himself came from beside the house and approached the carriage, seemingly in a hurry.
“Lord Bellton, there you are,” Beatrix began breathlessly. “Where are you going?”
“I have obviously overstayed my welcome here, and I have been informed that my attempt at speaking with you is an intrusion on your time with Lady Miriam. I am returning home,” he answered gruffly.
“Would it matter at all if I did not wish for you to go?” she asked, trying to calm her racing heart.
“Why would you suddenly have such a distinct change of heart?” Callum asked without looking at her. “You were quite adamant only yesterday evening that I was not someone welcome in your company. Surely you have not becomefickle, have not changed your mind as the wind does.”
Beatrix’s chest ached at the sound of her own words thrown back at her. Still, she had to press on or risk never knowing if he could have forgiven her.
“I have come outside to beg your forgiveness,” she began, but she stopped when Callum froze. His back still to her, she added, “I treated you very unfairly based on my own assumptions. Now that I am better informed, I find that I was terribly wrong and I am sorry.”
“What assumptions were those?” he asked, his back still to her.
“That your father had somehow persuaded you to cast aside any feelings you had for me, all because I was a commoner. I wrongly assumed you had chosen your privilege over me.” Beatrix’s face burned with the shame of this confession, and she was grateful that Lord Bellton still refused to look at her.
“Oh. Fine, I forgive you,” he said firmly before striding to the other side of the carriage and continuing his preparations.
“So that is all? You forgive me, and yet you’re still unmoved. You’re still leaving.” Her words were more of an accusation than a question.
“What would you have me do?” Lord Bellton asked, finally turning to look at her. “Allow my own heart to be broken when you later decide that I am unworthy of you because I come from a life of… what did you call it? Oh yes, privilege.”
“No, of course not. Because that would not happen.”
“How am I to know that?” he demanded, coming to stand in front of her. Beatrix instinctively took a step back. “In all those moments where I professed my truest feelings and intentions for you, do you realize you have never once said that you love me?”
Her mind reeled as she thought back to every interaction, every stolen glance or moment, even to the decadent kiss they had shared in the stable. She was horrified to discover that he was right.
“I have told you that I loved you in countless ways,” Callum continued, his voice thick with a cacophony of emotion. “From every action, every apology, every offer, and even the very words I spoke, I have told you as much. But you have never before returned such a sentiment. I can only believe that you don’t feel the same.”
“That’s not true,” Beatrix protested adamantly, ignoring the tears that now fell. “I do love you. As much as I may have pretended otherwise, or even seemed otherwise, I have loved you from the very first moment you began to see me as a person instead of a common thief. When you began to truly see me, to talk to me and try to understand who I was, that is when all of it changed. I love you very much!”
Callum watched her intently, his expression softening measure by measure as he looked in her eyes. For a terrifying moment, Beatrix was certain that it was too late, that the harm she had caused was beyond redemption. Instead, his smile grew as he closed the small space between them.
“That is all I needed to know.” He drew her to him tenderly and kissed her, without the crush of a hurried stolen moment of impulse, but rather as the longing of a man whose heart was finally redeemed.
When he finally moved away, his hand rested gently on her cheek so that he might wipe away her tears. Beatrix held her hand against his, keeping it against her cheek and not wishing to let the touch of him escape.
