Page 7

Chapter seven

Beatrice

Beatrice woke several times during the night, which was unusual for her. But then again, so was sleeping in a bed that was nearly the size of her entire room back home.

More than once, she thought she heard sounds coming from the room on the other side of the door—the door that Mrs. Jenkins had nodded meaningfully toward when she had mentioned her new husband. It didn’t take much to realize that Lord Dunham probably lay in a bed much like this one on the other side of the wall…not that she had any interest in seeing for herself.

She was more than happy to pretend that she was not that close to his chambers.

When she woke yet again, there was light streaming into the room, and she hurried out of bed and made her way to the windows. What did the view look like in the early morning?

The warm glow of sunrise streamed in through the window, and she opened the window for a moment. The fire had died down and the room was already cold, but the fresh air was worth it. It looked as if it had snowed more, and the air was so bitter she had to close the window almost immediately, but she didn’t regret letting the breeze into the room.

She had only been married overnight, and she was already feeling a bit stifled in the new role that she had to play.

But perhaps learning more about the people of the estate would help her to feel more fulfilled in the role. If she had to give up her librarian job, she could at least learn how to help the people who relied on Lord Dunham, much like she had until yesterday.

That would be her task today—learning more about the Dunham estate. About Eldenwilde.

It was a beautiful name for a beautiful estate, and yet she still wasn’t sure if she would ever grow used to being its mistress.

The door opened with a bang, and Beatrice turned to see Guinevere entering, a grimace on her face. “I’m so sorry, my lady,” she said, her arms full of gowns. “Mrs. Jenkins sent me with these, and I didn’t realize the door would be so loud when I used my foot to open it.”

Beatrice laughed and hurried over to help the maid. “No need to apologize,” she said. “Goodness gracious, where did she find more gowns? I thought the wardrobe was full of more than enough.”

“It seems those were not all of them,” Guinevere said as she placed them on the bed. “I shall hang these after you go down to breakfast. What are your plans for the day, my lady?”

Beatrice gave her a little grin. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to call me Beatrice?” she asked with a hopeful tone.

“No, my lady,” Guinevere said with a grin as she went to the wardrobe and began looking through the dresses there. “I’m afraid we were told last night, in no uncertain terms, that you were the lady of the house.”

Beatrice raised an eyebrow. Lord Dunham had told everyone she was the lady of the house? When had he done that?

“What else did you hear?” Beatrice asked.

“That as the lady of the house, we are to afford you every respect due to your station, and to help you with anything you require.”

“Anything?” Beatrice asked, a million mischievous possibilities running through her mind. What she could do with the ability to do anything? Not that she would. She wouldn’t take advantage of Lord Dunham that way, even if the idea of being allowed to do anything she wanted sounded fun. “So, if I wanted to take a tour of the estate, I could do that?”

“Of course, my lady,” Guinevere said, coming back with a dress in her arms. “I would be happy to give you a tour if that is what you desire, unless Lord Dunham wishes to show you around.”

“Is that what a lady’s maid does?” Beatrice asked.

After thinking for a moment, Guinevere admitted, “I don’t know.”

“Me neither,” Beatrice said, and Guinevere let out a chuckle.

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” she said. “Is it true that you were the librarian in town?”

Beatrice nodded.

“I never made it to the library in town,” Guinevere added. “We have the books here, you know, and I only go to town a few times a year. I don’t know what it will look like now, though. Maybe I’ll go to town with you?”

Beatrice took a deep breath. She had changed more than her own life in the moment she became Lady Dunham.

“I don’t know how it works either,” she admitted. “But speaking of town, can you please confirm that Lord Dunham sent a message to my friends in town? If Thea does not hear from me soon, she will send out a search party herself.”

“Thea certainly wastes no time when it comes to her friends,” Guinevere said as she began helping Beatrice into the gown.

“Oh, you know Thea?” Beatrice asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the café.”

“I’ve seen you there before,” Guinevere said with a smile. “But I don’t go often, and you are usually laughing with your friends when I do go. Do you not have an agreement with the young man I often see you with?” Then she blushed. “I’m sorry, that was an impertinent question. Forgive me, my lady.”

Beatrice laughed. “Dietrich? No, he and I are good friends who grew up together, but nothing more. But he will also be concerned for me if he does not hear that I am safe, and I would not be surprised if Thea sent him out this way.”

“He sounds like a good friend,” Guinevere said as she led Beatrice to the mirrored table against the wall. Beatrice sat at the seat in front of it, and Guinevere began pulling her hair away from her face.

“You have beautiful hair, my lady,” Guinevere said. “Fortunately, I do know what to do with hair. It may be the only quality I have that lends itself to being a lady’s maid, though.”

Beatrice looked up at Guinevere and smiled at her in the mirror. “I am glad that you are by my side for this adventure,” she said. “We shall figure it out together, and I think you and I shall be good friends.”

“I hope so, my lady,” Guinevere said. “Friends have been in short supply for me.”

“I hope so too,” Beatrice said. “Otherwise, I’m afraid I would be very lonely here. And I am very much looking forward to you becoming my friend.”

It might be the hardest thing about her new position as Lady Dunham. She had grown accustomed to visiting the café every morning and meeting her friends there and seeing all the patrons of the library.

She gasped. “The library! I also need to know if Lord Dunham has found anyone to take over the library. I cannot leave it unopened for long. I would suggest Eugenia to take over the position, at least temporarily.”

“I shall speak to Jenkins about it as soon as I am done with your hair, while you are breaking your fast. I believe Lord Dunham is waiting for you,” Guinevere said.

At the mention of his name, Beatrice’s stomach was suddenly full of butterflies, or perhaps a more violent winged animal—crows, maybe. “He’s waiting for me?” she asked, and to her embarrassment, her voice cracked at the words.

Maybe Guinevere hadn’t noticed.

Guinevere noticed, though, and gave her a look that Beatrice couldn’t quite decipher. “Yes, I believe he wished to break his fast with his wife. Should I send your regrets and ask for a tray instead?”

“No.” Beatrice shook her head. “I am able to face my husband. I have no qualms about dining with him. I was surprised, that’s all.”

Her voice wobbled on the words, and once again, Guinevere said nothing, but swiftly finished arranging her hair before smiling at her in the mirror. “You look beautiful, my lady. Your husband will be in awe of you.”

Beatrice assessed herself in the mirror. She had to admit Guinevere was right—she did have a skill with hair. It had been artfully arranged in a woven plait from the crown of her head to the nape of her neck. The rest of the braided hair swept over her shoulder, making it easy to contain when she put a cloak hood on. The dress that Guinevere had chosen was warm, made of wool, and would make her trip outdoors to tour the estate much more comfortable than the simple cotton dress she had worn to walk to the estate the day before. Guinevere had also found a pair of warm and sturdy boots for Beatrice’s feet.

“Thank you,” Beatrice said.

“Of course. Do you remember the way to the dining room, my lady?” Guinevere asked.

“Yes,” Beatrice said. “Will you see about sending word to town for me?”

“Of course, my lady,” Guinevere said, before hurrying out the door.

Beatrice followed her and then realized that Guinevere was heading for the servants’ staircase at the other end of the hallway. She turned around, her cheeks heating, as she made her way toward the grand staircase.

She would get used to this eventually, right?

She placed her hand on the banister and began walking down the stairs, careful not to trip over the slightly too-long length of her dress.

“Which way was the dining room again?” she wondered aloud, trying to think back to the night before. All she could remember was that Mrs. Jenkins had led her there. Was it through the sitting room?

As she reached the bottom of the staircase, her toe caught on the hem of the dress, and she fell down the last step.

She lay on the floor, unsure if she should laugh or cry, when the sound of a door opening caught her attention, and a moment later, her husband loomed over her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, offering a hand to help her up.

“I am,” Beatrice said, feeling her whole face redden as he helped, his other hand coming to her elbow to steady her as she stood. “Doesn't everyone fall down the stairs on their way to breakfast?”

Lord Dunham's cheeks twitched. He might have almost smiled as his hand slid down her arm to take her other hand.

“I personally don't make a habit of that,” he said. He hadn't let go of her hands yet, though she was already standing, and the warmth of his hands felt so good.

Beatrice tried to tell herself it was simply because her fingers were cold.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling her hands out of his.

“Of course,” he said, offering his arm. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn't help my wife off the floor after she decided to fall down the stairs?”

“You’re such a gentleman, my lord,” she said.

“Alexander,” he reminded her gently as she took his arm.

“Lord Alexander,” she said, hoping her tone was enough to show that she was teasing him.

“Lady Beatrice,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

It wasn’t a smile, but it might as well be for him.

He might not smile much, but perhaps she would enjoy their conversations if this dry humor made more of an appearance.

Perhaps she could enjoy this marriage.