“You think I am plain and stupid. That he cannot possibly want me. That something must be wrong. Is that it?”
“I never said—”
“You did not have to! I heard you. And I wish I had not.”
Mrs. Harcourt rose, going to her daughter with open arms. “Darling, pay no mind—your sister is only upset. Jealous, perhaps.”
Beth stared in horror. “Jealous? Of what?”
Deborah turned her face away. “Because you are orphaned and merely a cousin, not a daughter of the house? Because your mother died in childbirth while mine still lives? Or perhaps because your husband is only the heir to a modest estate, whereas mine will be an earl.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open.How dare she use my mother’s trauma like this?
They did not speak of her mother, but Beth had pieced together the narrative. Martha had been Gerald Harcourt’s younger sister who was imposed upon by an unknown assailant at a house party, and left with child. Mr. Harcourt’s love for his sister and guilt over what had occurred was the only reason Martha had not been cast out of the home when she delivered the surprise baby nine months later and promptly died.
“Enough!” Mr. Harcourt’s voice cracked like a whip, his palm slamming down upon the mahogany table. Everyone froze.
“I have had my fill of this foolishness,” he said. “The contracts are signed. The wedding is in two days. I rarely exercise my rights as master of this house, but on this, I shall. There will be no further discussion of Bartemius Fitzwilliam’s motives. He will be Deborah’s husband. That is final. If anyone here cannot abide that truth, they may take their leave.”
Silence reigned.
Beth swallowed her fury. “Very well, Uncle.”
That same fury rose inside her once again two days later as Beth sat next to her family in the chapel, her hands trembling as she watched her sister exchange wedding vows.
Deborah was radiant in light pink silk, a diamond necklace at her throat—likely a loan from the Fitzwilliam vaults. Bartemius looked smug, his smirk a poor disguise for boredom. He held Deborah’s hand as though it were a pair of gloves he intended to remove the moment he was free of witnesses.
Beth fought the knot in her stomach.
She wanted to believe she was wrong. That Deb would be happy. That Bartemius had hidden virtues yet to be revealed.
But as the vows were spoken and the kiss given, Beth’s stomach turned. She had watched Theodore look at her like the sun had risen in her eyes. Bartemius had not once looked at Deborah’s face.
And so, Beth wept—not for herself, not from jealousy—but for the sister she loved, and the chains that now gleamed like satin around her wrists.
As soon as the wedding breakfast concluded, she made her excuses. She had never missed Thomas and Frederick more in her life. She could scarcely sit still in the carriage as the gates of Longbourn rose into view two days later.
The green fields, the winding gravel drive, the tall oaks whispering in the breeze—it was home. And after the storm of Deborah’s wedding, she felt as though she were stepping into a warm hearth after a week in the rain.
She had scarcely touched the step when the front door burst open.
“Mama!” A mop of light-brown curls came hurtling toward her, followed shortly by another one.
Beth dropped to her knees just in time to catch Frederick and Thomas in her arms, laughing as their chubby arms wrapped tightly around her neck. “Oh, my darling boys,” she whispered, kissing their brows over and over. “How I have missed you.”
“Treat?” Freddy asked eagerly, followed closely by Thomas’s more plaintive, “Treat, please, Mama?”
She laughed. “Yes, I have brought you a treat.” She fished a small parcel from her reticule and presented it with a flourish. “Just do not tell your father.”
“Too late,” said a warm voice behind her.
Beth stood, heart leaping again at the sight of her husband. He looked every inch the capable landowner: tall, clean-shaven, with his waistcoat slightly rumpled from a morning spent in the estate office. His shirtsleeves were rolled back just enough to reveal ink-stained cuffs, and his smile—warm and crooked—was still that of the man she had fallen in love with three years prior.
They embraced, quietly and completely, as their sons rifled through the paper-wrapped sweets at their feet.
“I missed you,” he murmured into her hair.
“I missed you more.”
