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In the midst of her utter depletion, the marriage bed had become exactly what Harriet had predicted—boring. When William had last climbed onto her mattress, Bea had not only been awake for thirty hours, the nature of his visit held little appeal anymore. She didn’t resent him for it, but she couldn’t muster enthusiasm. She remembered him spreading her legs, and she had obliged…then promptly fell asleep. Only when Hannah had brought Ben to nurse hours later did she waken and realize her gown was clean. Apparently, William had ended the visit with as little zeal as she had begun it.
“You’re falling asleep sitting up!” Harriet said, urging her to her feet. “Go to bed straight away.I’llsend a maid upstairs to the children. Go while you can, before you have to dress for your guests!”
The lure was irresistible; she couldn’t stay awake any longer. After bidding her sister farewell, she dragged herself to her bed chamber. She had no idea how long she slept before Hannah woke her. It was close enough to the time that she needed to ready herself for the Robertsons’ arrival that she had to nurse Ben while her ladies’ maid brushed her hair.
“The diamond hair combs, my lady?”
“Yes,” she smiled and agreed readily, not caring. She was too busy enjoying Ben’s sweetness and the dimpled hand on her breast while he nursed. He, too, had napped splendidly. While she waited for her maid to return with the hair combs—a gift from William after Ben’s birth, kept in the safe chest in his study with her other valuable jewels—she sat at the dressing mirror and stroked her son’s round cheek.
The light rap on the door perplexed her. Was that knock coming from William’s chamber?
“Enter,” she said, watching avidly in the looking glass.
Her husband stepped in through the door connecting their chambers. Their gazes met in the mirror, but just for a moment before his roamed. Eyes widening, she realized she was sitting at her dressing table wearing an unfastened dressing gown! Her chestnut hair had been brushed out and remained completely loose, a curtain around her shoulders and down her back. She braced herself for him to depart or avert his gaze.
William took slow steps until he stood behind her. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down,” he said rawly. Moving gradually, as if to give her time to object, he reached for her, then stroked her temple softly.
With a gentle smile, she leaned into his hand. His fingers threaded into her hair, and she watched in the looking glass with almost disbelieving fascination as he gathered a handful of her silky tresses. He tugged at her nape until she leaned back and stared into his eyes.
It washim, the man he worked so hard to fight and keep hidden. Unleashed now, at least momentarily,thathusband stared down at her, breathing unevenly. “My wife,” he said, possessiveness and pride darkening his voice.
Love cascaded through her when he pulled her head back at the same time as he lowered his.
Ben squealed and reached up, waving his hand toward his father. William froze for a moment before letting go of Beatrice’s hair. “Hallo, old chap!” He took Benjamin’s hand. “My, how your mood has improved, eh?”
“He finally slept for several hours,” Bea murmured, helping the babe to sit up before pulling the flaps of her dressing gown closed.
“It’s welcome to see him so hearty.” His eyes met hers in the glass. “To see you, too. I came home to dress, and the housekeeper told me you were abed. I was worried about you, my lady.”
“I was only resting. We”—she kissed Ben’s cheek soundly, making him laugh—“did not sleep so well last night.”
He wiggled Ben’s hand. “Show me your tooth, Benjamin,” he encouraged in a playful voice, making the babe smile widely.
Bea gasped. “It’s broken through! Oh, Benny!”
She hugged her son close, and when he grasped painfully in her loose hair, William extricated his hands with care. “Gentle with Mama,” he encouraged. Catching sight of the maid standing in the doorway, he stepped back but didn’t leave. “Are you certain you don’t wish to cancel tonight? The Robertsons would understand.”
“No, but thank you, William. You’ve been meaning to speak to James about the fire brigade business. Let’s not wait any longer.”
They went on to spend a delightful supper with Clara and James, who, after nearly three years of marriage, were expecting a child. Recently, Clara had confided about her troubles and losses, confirming Bea’s brokenhearted suspicions, and it was reassuring that this was as far along as she had ever been.
It certainly hadn’t been for lack of trying. As had been evident since the night of the Duke’s ball, theirs was a match based on the most passionate of attachments. It had not taken long for Bea to understand how even Clara’s brother, the Earl, had given his blessing for Clara to marry a baseborn Scot, not to mention his former enemy. James would do anything for his wife, and though he harbored little respect for English society’s ways, he had a sharp intellect.
By marrying James, Clara had lost significant social capital, but if that bothered her, she hid it well. Bea had worried that her friend might be too hurt to continue their friendship in light of the changes Clara’s marriage required between them. For the first months after the ball and the wedding two months later, Bea couldn’t be seen with her for anything more than a constitutional in the park. With time, they found their way, eventually resuming their habit of attending concerts and plays together. Balls or major society events, hosted by dukes or otherwise, remained impossible.
It was worth it to her, Bea thought, observing Clara’s face as her husband shared ideas with William. A few years ago, James had lost his wool warehouse in a deadly and immense fire that had destroyed a swath of the commercial area near the docks. Not only had he spent days on site with the fire brigades battling the flames, he had participated on various industry fire committees before and after. In turn, William was drafting a bill to provide government funding for London to have a municipal fire brigade, rather than rely only on insurance company brigades.
After supper, the two couples were on their way from the dining room to the music room when the children’s cries echoed down the stairwell from the nursery. By the sounds of it, Ben was up again—and hungry—and Isabella was joining in as well.
Pausing in the marble-tiled hallway, Bea exchanged a look with William. She would need to excuse herself while Clara played the piano. Before she could explain, Isabella screamed.
“No! Ga-Bas! Ga-Bas! No!”
“Oh, dear,” Bea said, sighing. “The Ga-Bas have returned. Clara, your goddaughter’s boundless imagination, while charming, has a dark side. The Ga-Bas are green- and pink-pinstriped ogres who appear in her nightmares and eat unsuspecting English girls.”
Clara’s face twisted with worry as the cries renewed upstairs. “How frightful! Do you need to go to her? Of course we understand. I shall call on you next week, and we can discuss Mr. Liszt’s symphonic poems!”
“Please excuse me, I’m needed,” William interjected, shaking James’s hand quickly, then bowing to Clara before bounding up the stairs.
