Page 32 of The Governess and the Rogue (Somerset Stories #6)

Chapter Twenty-Five

J ack sat back in his chair on the edge of the polished wood floor as the village musicians brought another country dance to a close.

Jack had always been in demand.

He still was, much to his chagrin.

Despite the lure of the dancing, there were many who had chosen to remain in the chairs around him.

Local gentlemen talking his ear off, and scores of Maidenbridge ladies bringing him punch as though he were an invalid.

As the evening progressed, some of them had dissipated, leaving only the village’s balding, middle-aged doctor and his kindly spinster daughter in attendance.

“A welcome home dinner might have been wiser,” the doctor remarked from his chair beside Jack for what must be the tenth time. “You could have sat through the whole of it.”

“Oh, but a ball is so joyous,” the doctor’s daughter declared. “And you don’t mind not dancing, do you Colonel Beresford?”

Jack forced another smile. The truth was, he minded like the very devil. But not enough to damage his leg just as it was making a recovery. And not enough to embarrass himself, clinging to Bea in place of his cane as they shuffled through an approximation of a waltz.

She had been dancing since the opening set. First with Ivo, then with Charles, then with James. Even Jack’s father had partnered her for a dance.

Jack couldn’t tell if Bea was enjoying any of it. It was difficult to see her clearly in such a crush. He was grateful when the musicians played their final notes and the dancers at last withdrew from the floor.

Bea was among them, looking flushed and pretty in her low-cut fitted bodice and profusion of amber lace skirts.

Jack rose from his chair, resting his weight on his cane. “If you’ll excuse me?” he said to the doctor and his daughter. “I’ve just spied my intended.”

Taking his leave from them, he crossed the floor to meet Bea halfway.

Bea opened her fan as he approached, wafting her heated face. “It’s rather close in here.”

“Shall we repair to the terrace?” Jack asked. “Hannah’s had the torches lit.”

“That would be lovely,” Bea said.

He offered her his arm and she took it. Together they made their way through the crowds toward the row of glass doors that led onto the ballroom terrace.

Jack caught sight of his parents as they passed, along with James and Hannah.

His mother and father had a knowing look in their eyes, and James was wearing the same smug smile he’d sported in the hall.

Jack’s stomach coiled into a knot. Did all of his family know how he felt? What he intended? Was he that transparent?

Or perhaps it was only that James had learned where in the village Jack had gone today on his mysterious errand. And told the others too by the looks of it.

Yet, Bea didn’t appear to have any inkling whatsoever. She walked through the terrace door ahead of him when he opened it for her, going straight to the stone rail. The rose gardens lay below, the winding paths through the beds lit with torches of their own. And above…

“An excessively starry night,” Bea murmured.

Jack came to stand at her side. It was a cool evening, the darkness kept at bay by the flickering light of the torches that had been placed at opposite ends of the terrace. “More than the skies we saw from the Pera?”

“The stars seem brighter here.”

“Everything does,” he said. “I’d say our visit has been a success.”

“Yes.” She set her hands on the rail. A painted fan dangled from one slim wrist. Her bare shoulders rose and fell on a sigh. “But all good things must end eventually.”

Jack didn’t believe it. Not this good thing, anyway. “Meaning?”

“We have our amicable breakup to consider.” She turned to him, one hand still resting on the stone railing. Her face was solemn in the torchlight. “We could do it publicly.”

Jack wrinkled his brow, affecting to give the matter his due consideration. “A public breakup? Here?”

The strains of a waltz drifted from the ballroom.

“A quarrel or something,” Bea said.

“What would you and I have to quarrel over?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose I could accuse you of meddling with village girls like you used to do.”

Jack stifled a smile. He had mentioned that, hadn’t he? It had been that day by the stream. He’d marked her reaction, albeit after the fact. “You’d have a difficult case to make.”

“Would I?”

“They were meaningless stolen kisses,” he said. “The last one I pilfered was from the blacksmith’s daughter when I was one and twenty. There’s been nothing since.”

“Oh.” Bea’s forehead creased. “In that case?—”

“You could claim indifference,” Jack said.

An unidentifiable emotion crossed her face. “What?”

“You know, say you’ve fallen out of love with me. Or—even better—that you never loved me in the first place.”

Bea’s gaze slid from his. She resumed looking at the sky, her lips pressed in a frown. “I wonder,” she said quietly, “how many more lies I must tell before all this is over?”

Jack’s chest tightened. It was a lie, was it? To say she never loved him? That she didn’t love him still? “Where is the lie in that?” he asked.

She cast him a bleak look. But she made no reply.

Jack’s pulse quickened on a ridiculous surge of hope. He hadn’t realized until this moment how anxious he’d been all evening. How dratted uncertain as he’d watched her dancing, all the while fearing that she was slipping away from him. That he’d lose his chance for happiness. That he’d lose her .

No battle he’d fought had been more worth winning. No stakes ever so high.

“It doesn’t have to end tonight,” he said abruptly.

Bea betrayed no reaction. “You propose our fake engagement continue? Until when this time? Until the end of your parents’ visit? Until you move in to the Priory?” Bitterness crept into her words. “Or is this ruse to go on indefinitely? To save you from future pursuers, perhaps?”

“Don’t be daft,” Jack said. “I’m not that selfish. And I’m not proposing any of that. I’m simply…”

She looked at him fully. “What?”

He offered her a brief, lopsided smile. “Proposing.”

* * *

Bea stared at him, frozen where she stood. The cool evening breeze whispered over her bare arms and throat, making gooseflesh rise on her skin. Her heart beat so heavily it was in her ears. She thought she hadn’t heard him correctly.

Jack looked back at her steadily. A lock of blond hair had fallen forward over his brow. “By the way,” he added, “it hasn’t been a lie. None of it. Not since we docked at Southampton.”

She shook her head. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

Jack continued, explaining, “You asked me then if I meant to make my proposal in earnest.”

“And you didn’t answer,” she reminded him. Her voice seemed to catch somewhere in her throat.

“I did,” he said. “Not in words, perhaps but in the next moment, I was introducing you to my brother and sister-in-law as my fiancée. If that wasn’t an answer?—”

Her hand fell from the rail. She took a step back. “Don’t do that. Don’t make it out that you felt this way all along.”

Jack caught her gently by the wrist, arresting her step. “Not all along,” he said. “Not at first. It wasn’t until after we formulated our plans that my feelings started to change.”

Bea didn’t understand him. Indeed, she didn’t understand any of it. “Why?”

“ Why? Because you’re brave, principled, infuriatingly sensible, but with a keen sense of the ridiculous. Because you’re beautiful?—”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said with a trace of fierceness. “With your hair in its crown of plaits. With your gown muddy. With your eyes blazing as you faced down Mrs. Dimsdale and the rest of them.”

Her throat convulsed on a swallow. “Jack…”

“I bought something for you today,” he said. Releasing her wrist, he reached into the inner pocket of his tailcoat.

Bea watched, stunned, as he withdrew a small jeweler’s box. He opened the lid to reveal the engagement ring within.

And her heart stopped. It simply stopped.

“This is where I was when my parents arrived,” he said. “At a jeweler’s shop in Maidenbridge, hoping against hope that the village would have something that might do you justice.” Taking her hand, he slid the ring onto her finger.

It was a delicate band of gold, with a single, rose-cut diamond at its center. A large diamond.

“Oh my,” Bea breathed.

Jack’s expression softened. He cupped her face with his hand. His thumb brushed over the curve of her cheek. “Would it be so terrible to be Mrs. Jack Beresford?” he asked. “To give up your ambitions for a new position and throw in your lot with me at the Priory? As my wife?”

Tears stung at the back of her eyes as she lifted her gaze to his. “Not terrible,” she whispered. “It would be a dream come true.”

Jack’s eyes blazed. “Then?—”

“But not if you don’t love me as I love you.”

“I do love you, Bea,” Jack said. “What do you think all this has been about?” And bending his head, his mouth captured hers.

Bea’s eyes fell closed as her lips yielded to his. She brought her hands to his chest. They slid up to his shoulders as she kissed him back. Her pulse was surging, and her heart was as full as it had ever been. Full of hope and possibility. And love.

Never in her life had she dared to let herself feel so much.

It hadn’t been safe, during those long years on her own.

To yearn for something—for someone —so specifically.

Even her wishes had been general. All those lonely entreaties made on various evening stars.

She’d only ever asked for something more.

But the stars had known the desires of her heart.

Someone up there had known.

Because here it was.

Here he was.

At length, Jack pulled back to look at her, his color high. He was smiling. “Shall I take that as a yes?” he asked.

She nodded, smiling back at him, even as her vision blurred with another prickle of joyful tears. “Yes.”

Jack kissed her once more. “You will marry me?”

“Yes,” she said again, laughing. “I will.”