Beth gazed at the carpet. “I’m sorry I didn’t join you for breakfast—”
“Or dinner,” Anne added, a slight frown creasing her brow.
Beth turned away, adjusting the contents of her bag. “I have a train to catch, as you can see, and my toilette is not complete.”
Anne settled onto the edge of the bed, hands folded over her light blue gown. “You’re leaving? And Boyd—”
“Anne,” Julia cut in, moving closer. “If Beth needs to go, she needs to go.” She reached for the stays. “Here, let me help with those laces.”
“No, I think Dora will—”
“Allow me.” Julia’s hands were already on the hooks, her touch firm where Dora’s had been gentle.
“Nice corset. Parisian, I assume?” Julia’s tone was light, her fingers steady.
“It’s the Fleur de Lis model. Dependable.” The kind of armor that kept foolish impulses in check.
Julia clucked her tongue. “Can’t stomach them myself. Too hard to breathe, don’t you think?”
Beth’s grip tightened on the bedpost. “Not everyone has the luxury to go without.”
Their eyes met in the mirror. Beth’s face was pale, ringed with shadows, while Julia’s gaze held a probing intensity.
“Luxury? Or courage?” Julia’s voice was soft but unwavering.
Beth lifted her chin. “I came here, didn’t I?”
“Barely two days, and you’re already leaving?” Julia’s voice was edged with irony.
Anne stepped forward, her hand resting on Beth’s shoulder. “What Julia is trying to say, Beth, is that Boyd can be difficult, but he’s a good man. Truly.”
Beth’s gaze dropped to her packed case, the folded dresses, the satchel only half-filled. The corset squeezed tighter, memories of Boyd pressing against her—his forbidden kisses, his haunted gaze, his secrets.
“I tried, but it wasn’t enough. A lady should know when it’s time to retreat.”
Anne’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “Not everything worth having comes easily, Beth.”
“What would you know? You have the perfect family and—”
“Perfect?” Anne’s tone softened. “To accept Pedro, I had to let go of everything I thought I knew. I learned that love isn’t the stuff of fairy tales. It takes effort. And sometimes, it hurts.”
The corset pinched tighter, its familiar hold now suffocating.
“For women who can’t risk their hearts, a sturdy corset does wonders.” Julia sighed, pulling the strings. “Less chance of bruising.”
Beth’s fingers curled around the bedpost. “I gave him more than I’ve ever given anyone, and it wasn’t enough.” Her voice wavered, unused to such admissions. “A lady should know when to walk away.”
“She’s right, Anne,” Julia said, tightening the laces again. “A bride will need a tougher spirit to deal with Boyd Sandeman. Perhaps Lady Moira will suit him best.”
Beth tried to pull in a breath, but the corset held her too tightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“She’s eighteen and very pretty, I hear.”
Moira... A porcelain-faced beauty at Boyd’s side. A hot, unbidden ache rose beneath her breastbone. Could a lady commit bodily harm to another? Was that even in the book of etiquette? If it weren’t, she would add an entrance. A lady might, under exceptional circumstances, be permitted a single, well-placed shove to remove insipid rivals from her gentleman’s side.
Beth’s jaw tightened. “I trust Boyd will value substance over mere prettiness.”
Julia’s eyes sparkled. “Perhaps. But you won’t be here to see it, will you? Poor Boyd, trapped by a pretty face. Do you think she’ll enjoy his kisses?”
