Page 22 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

T he letter from Aunt Elspeth was not entirely unsurprising. She had been too frail, she had said in her last letter, to return to see her niece after Papa had died, and Beatrix had for a while thought her austere aunt had washed her hands of her.

She had briefly considered visiting, when she had not known where to turn—but she had not wanted her aunt to quickly marry her off to whomever was most convenient.

Had her aunt heard of her betrothal? The question filled her mind as she opened the seal and sat in the window seat to read what her aunt had to say.

Beatrix,

I would like to see you in order to discuss your future. I am not strong enough to travel, and request that you attend me here at your earliest convenience.

Aunt Elspeth.

She reread the brief note more than once, trying to discern more meaning. Did her aunt think she had no plan in life? Or had she heard of the betrothal and disapproved? Or the contrary—did she wish to ensure the marriage went ahead?

She could of course have refused the invitation—although to call it such was a stretch of politeness, indeed it was more of a summons—since her aunt had no jurisdiction over her.

But as her only living close relative, Beatrix hoped she had her best interests at heart—and she really was not sure if she had made the right decision about her future.

Perhaps her aunt would have some words of wisdom that would help her see what she ought to do, or to make the decision she had made more palatable.

It could hardly be less so.

She knocked on the study door, knowing Thomas would surely be in there with his ledger and a large glass of whisky. She did not know why she felt nervous; she was not yet his wife, and so she did not really need his permission. And besides, she was a grown woman, not some child.

“Ah, my dear,” he said when she entered. The term of endearment made her skin crawl. “I have good news—my sister Sarah should be here in ten days or so.”

Beatrix forced a smile. “Excellent. I have had news myself—my aunt has asked me to visit her. It is quite a ride, but I do feel I ought to share our news in person, and see that she is well cared for…”

Thomas frowned. “How long would you be away?”

“A week, I should think.”

“If my sister arrives and you are not here…”

“I am sure I will return in time. The roads are good, and I shall only take Jemima, so there will be no inconvenience to you.” She refused to ask his permission. She was of age, and as yet a free woman. A penniless one, perhaps, but a free woman all the same.

Until she wed him. Then she would be his, to bid as he pleased. The thought sent an uncomfortable chill down her spine.

“Very well,” he said. “But make sure you only stay in respectable inns on the road. I do not wish my betrothed to have scurrilous rumors spread about her.”

Beatrix nodded her head. “Of course,” she agreed, and retreated from the room before her irritation showed.

She had been raised as the daughter of an earl—did he really think she would so easily throw away her reputation?

And he did not seem to have a care for her safety, should she choose disreputable inns to frequent… just her reputation. And therefore his.

The man really was an infuriating bore.

Still, she would take a week away from him, and when she returned, she hoped she would be able to accept her situation with more grace. After all, it was the only—and the best—option she had.

*

The journey to Aunt Elspeth’s was one she had always found long and arduous.

Although she had been happy to spend the time with her papa, she had always felt very judged when they arrived in the north, with her aunt ready to criticize at every opportunity.

And spending two days in a coach, when there were so many more interesting things she could be pursuing, had always frustrated her.

And yet now the hours in the coach felt like an escape. Alone with her maid Jemima, her sewing and a novel, she felt more at peace than she had done since before her dear papa had passed away.

Her heart ached for the loss of him, and yet she had more pressing concerns that she could not ignore: the cage she was about to lock herself in.

Marrying Thomas seemed like her only option, and yet she could not approach it with any joy.

This trip to see Aunt Elspeth would at least get her away for a few days, with time to think and breathe.

Perhaps her aunt would have a solution she had not thought of, and she would not have to marry a man she did not know, a man whose bed she did not wish share, a man who she did not think she could rely on.

If only the man she did wish to be her husband had suggested marriage. But alas, it was clear he only saw her as his friend, someone he would help if he could, but not a future wife.

She could not pin her hopes on a dream. She was too old and too alone in the world for that. Gone were the ideals of her eighteen-year-old self, who thought she would marry for love and enter a union as blissful as that of her parents.

That wasn’t real life—she knew that now.

But perhaps there was an option other than the new Earl of Haxbury. She could only hope.

“We should stop before it gets dark, milady,” Jemima said, glancing out of the carriage window at the setting sun. The day had quite disappeared, with Beatrix lost in thoughts, and she smiled at her long-time maid.

“Yes, of course. There’s an inn not far ahead.

” They travelled with a coach driver and footman, who Thomas had begrudgingly agreed ought to accompany them for safety, and Beatrix did not think being stopped by highwaymen was likely, but Jemima was right—it was far safer to be off the roads by nightfall.

As they stopped outside the inn, she could not help a fanciful notion entering her head. What if she was taken by a highwayman, and thrown into a whole new life—one where she did not need to marry a man she did not wish to in order to secure her life.

Romantic dreams are not a reality, she reminded herself as she alighted from the carriage. When she was younger, she would have lost herself in such daydreams, but she no longer had that luxury.

Life as a penniless, unwed woman would not be some romantic dream.

It would be an entirely different life to the one she had lived up until now.

She had no skills to fall back on, no education past what was required to be a young lady in society.

She might be able to find a position as a paid companion, or as a governess, if her knowledge could pass muster—but little beyond that.

And if she could not find a way to put a roof over her head, she had no one to turn to.

She would never have her own home, her own children, her own life.

And marrying Thomas offered that. Her childhood home as her own once more.

She would be the lady of the house, and she would have children to raise and love, and the life that she had expected.

That was not such a bad outcome, was it?

*

Dinner was a loud and long affair, and Spencer found he was very out of practice with socializing. He had been placed between the lady who had batted her eyelashes—who he confirmed was Miss Louisa Trentbridge—and James, and he regularly had to remind himself not to only converse with his friend.

“I do not recall seeing you in London this season, Lord Leighton,” she said with a smile when he turned to speak with her. “And I cannot imagine I would have missed you.”

He forced a smile. “I was in London, but I do not frequent many balls I’m afraid.”

“Oh that is a shame. Do you not like to dance?”

A memory of dancing with Lady Beatrix came to mind and he pushed it away. It was painful to think on such a perfect time, now that it was lost to him forever.

“Not particularly,” he answered, not wishing to discuss why he did not enjoy society. “But I trust you enjoyed the Season?”

Miss Trentbridge nodded and smiled over at her sister on the other side of the table. “Oh yes. It was my first Season out, and my sister’s second, and we enjoyed it more so for being together.”

“A sibling relationship is a wonderful thing,” he agreed, his heart aching at the words.

He and Jack had not enjoyed balls, but they had hunted together, drank together, played cards together.

Fought together.

“And then Mama was delighted that we were invited here, to continue the fun of the season. Lord Dalkeith has been most generous in his hospitality.”

Spencer glanced over at Montgomery, and saw the way he was smiling over at Miss Jennifer Trentbridge, and was sure he knew why the two sisters had been invited. He wondered if there would be a betrothal before the week was out. Far stranger things had happened at house parties, after all.

The ladies and gentlemen separated after dinner, but the separation did not last long, with the ladies claiming it was unfair to only have the three of them while there were five gentleman next door.

The other four men laughed and smiled and seemed very happy with the arrangement, but Spencer was sure Miss Louisa would make a beeline for him, and he had no wish to flirt, or give false hope.

If he was not fit to marry the only woman he had ever seriously considered, he certainly wasn’t going to marry any other.

“It’s good to see you here, Spencer,” James said, sipping his whisky beside him. “I’m glad you didn’t stay in London.”

Spencer nodded. “I think I am, too,” he said with a slight smile. The countryside was certainly quieter, which helped his nerves—although the peace also risked him having more time to think.

“Did something happen, to change your mind?”

Spencer paused and drank his own drink for a minute. Had it? Certainly no big event. He had not done something stupid like declare his feelings for Lady Beatrix, or called out the fools in the club for their callous talk over her.

“Just the realization, I suppose, that I need to decide on a path. I cannot wallow in London forever.”

James was saved the need for an answer by the rather expected arrival of Miss Louisa, with a pretty smile on her face and a glass of port in her hand.

“May I join you, gentlemen?” she asked, taking a seat before they had chance to reply. “My sister is trying to make up numbers for whist, and I am rather terrible at the game.”

“Of course,” James said, turning to include her in the conversation. “I have no love of whist myself.”

“And you, Lord Leighton?” Miss Louisa asked. “Are you fond of card games?”

“Not particularly,” Spencer answered honestly. “I do not like to gamble, and I prefer outdoor pursuits.”

Miss Louisa beamed: “Something else we have in common!”

Spencer inwardly groaned. That had not been his intention. The girl was clearly hunting for a husband, and he had no wish to give her false hope.

“You are fond of music though, are you not?” James said. “Do you play the piano, Miss Trentbridge?”

She beamed and fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh yes, I love to play. Perhaps I could play something now, since no one is at the instrument.”

As soon as she’d left, Spencer groaned. “Why are you encouraging the chit?” he asked his friend. “I do not wish her to think we have anything in common.”

James laughed, carefree as always. “It’s a house party, Spencer, romance is always on the cards. And besides, a little flirtation won’t do you any harm!”

Spencer gritted his teeth. He had no interest in flirting, and certainly not with Miss Louisa Trentbridge. He had come away to distance himself from Beatrix, it was true—but not by searching for another woman to replace her in his mind.

Or in his heart.

He did not think that would ever happen—as ridiculous as that was, since she was really nothing to him, and he was even less to her. A footnote on her life. A memory of a dance; a single kiss before she married.

In five years’ time, would she even remember his name?

“Well you are free to choose your own flirtations,” Spencer snapped, more harshly than was warranted. “But please refrain from encouraging any on my behalf.”

Miss Trentbridge began to play, and the company listened politely. She was fairly accomplished, but while Spencer did indeed enjoy music, he didn’t feel anything while she played.

Perhaps the war had washed away any ability he had for emotions.

Or perhaps he had just lost his heart…