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“Arthur—Osborn! What are you about?”
He answered by drawing his nose up over her cheek, by pausing before her mouth, by rubbing his hand over her neck. “Your Grace, what in the world?” Her voice wavered, her blush a conflagration on her cheeks.
He stood and fled the way he had come, Ben close behind. A roar and the sound of tearing and Ben returned with an armful of shredded garments. Another roar and then a ringing silence.
All present gaped at her; Charlotte’s face bore the frustrated expression that conveyed she had news to impart that fell outside her remit.
Beatrice’s hand shook as she took up her tea. There was little in this world a hot drop could not bolster. She gave Charlotte a meaningful look and took a sip. “As I was saying. Let us continue.”
***
Mate, mate, mate, mate, sang his bear as they tore back to the sanctuary of the wood. It was rare he took precedence over his creature when in his essential shape, but at that precise moment, they were equal in power as never before. Perhaps that was the way of things when one—
When he…
When he met his…
Vera amoris!exulted his bear, who took them for a roll into a dell of bluebells.
It was incontrovertible. Where there had been no scent signature, there was now, in full force: of water flowing over the stones of a streambed on a hot summer’s day, of long grass lightly touched with morning dew, of salt on the tongue, of sugar on the lips. Of stubbornness, were it possible to scent such, of industriousness as well as softness…
And there was an additional note, an essence that sang between her heart and his, unlike anything in his experience. Not surprising, considering he had not known how hisvera amoriswould convey to him, considering he had kept himself away from any situation in which he may find her, but this, this was unexpected, that each of their elements would be matched by its opposite.
His bear rolled back and forth in the flowers.There was a scent that was not a scent, and it is gone, and we can scent her, and now—
Yes, yes,Arthur scolded,your meaning has been taken.
His bear snarled and tore at a fallen tree.How is it you are so…
So…?
Unmoved?Arthur made them run and run around the far perimeter, the bear’s joy turned to impatience and anger. They ran and ran until Arthur knew the bear, even with his great strength and stamina, could run no more.
I am not unmoved, he said as they sat on a hill and looked out over Arcadia’s lands.I am perhaps too moved.
Poxy humans, his bear huffed.
Bloody bears, he retorted.Snuggling a mate is not the only thing that matters.
Is it not?
The very fate he had hoped to avoid was now without question unavoidable. He knew not what happened next.
Do you not?his bear demanded.Next, you do your duty and, in your duty, find your joy.
Would it be a joy to do his duty? Would the fulfillment of his responsibilities be not arduous but ecstatic?
There was only one way to find out.
***
During the hours between breakfast and tea, Beatrice reviewed ongoing improvements and gave praise or direction. It was time she had to herself while the family did whatever they did to school and divert the children.
On this day, all five followed her everywhere until she determined it was time for refreshments in the den. The children were staring at her with the same fascination they had when they’d first met. Charlotte was tending to her correspondence without her usual focus and gossipy asides, and Ben was pacing around the edges of the room.
The servants had been incandescent with joy, Morag even going so far as to give her the belated welcome the mistress of the house ought to receive from its housekeeper. Beatrice caught Conlon weeping in the footstool room, which nearly set her off into gales of tears, for what reason she could not discern. To keep herself occupied, she directed several footmen to remove the furniture from the awkward reception room Morag had referred to as the Beta’s office and instead instructed them to install a sturdy but elegantly carved rosewood desk, a pair of very comfortable chairs and a tea table, and two bookcases decorated with whimsical figures capering around its edges. She thought to use it as a room in which to deal with her correspondence, as undemanding as it was at the moment. Though that may change as time marched on. There were titles in the locality who would welcome the Duchess of Osborn.
Her breath caught in her chest. For that was she. The Duchess of Osborn.
