“Right away,” Mira replied.
She threw another worried glance toward Beatrice as she reached the door then left.
Alone again, Beatrice pulled herself from her bed and slowly made her way to her wardrobe. Her muscles were stiff from being curled into herself for so long, and she needed to shake it off before Mira returned. The maid’s eyes were full of questions already, and she did not want to add any more.
From her wardrobe, she pulled out a clean shift, corset, and a dress and began to ready herself. By the time she was finished, Mira returned with a small towel full of ice, and while Mira went to work untangling Beatrice’s long locks and brushing them into submission, Beatrice held the ice to her eyes, once again trying to avoid her mirror.
“Finished, Lady Beatrice,” Mira said a few moments later.
Beatrice did not remove the towel of ice from her eyes until after she stood and turned away from the mirror.
“Thank you, Mira,” Beatrice said softly, handing the ice back to her.
Mira tentatively took it.
“Would you like to see the result?” Mira asked.
Beatrice shook her head, too afraid of what else she might see in her reflection.
“I trust you,” she replied, her tone weary. “Thank you, Mira.”
Mira curtseyed but remained quiet, as if she knew anything she had to say in that moment would not help.
Downstairs, Henry’s brow creased with worry as Beatrice walked into the parlor where he waited. He stood up from his chair the moment he saw her and hurried toward her.
“Beatrice, how are you?” he asked, his worry clear in his voice. “I heard you were feeling poorly.”
“I am fine.”
This time she forced the lie, and even accomplished a smile in the process, albeit a small one.
Henry’s sage green eyes continued to study her closely for a long moment.
“This is my fault.”
His answer surprised her. “I beg your pardon?” Beatrice asked, and Henry woefully shook his head.
“Your apparent heartache. I know it. I have felt it. It is because I broke my promise and abandoned you at the ball, is it not?” he asked worriedly.
A breath of shock punched out of Beatrice’s lungs that he had jumped to such a conclusion. Then she realized, why would he not? After all, her feelings toward Algernon had been a secret, and no one knew of the disastrous argument they had two nights ago.
“I knew it,” Henry groaned, going down to one knee as he reached for Beatrice’s hand. “Algernon just spent the last hour berating me for breaking such a promise. I thought he was being brutish with me, but now that I see you, I understand why. Oh, Beatrice, do forgive me. It will not happen again in our future. I swear to it.”
Beatrice’s thoughts swirled chaotically as she stared down at Henry, caught somewhere between using the opportune excuse he provided and telling him the truth to ease his guilt. Not that she had not been hurt that he’d abandoned her at the moment he had done so. She had been. What was wrong with her now, though, had nothing to do with his broken promise.
“I forgive you… but do we have a future, Henry?” she chose to ask.
Henry’s worried expression softened a little.
“That was what I was hoping to discuss with you today,” he answered, rising up to his feet.
“I was planning on asking you to promenade with me, but if you do not wish to do so, we can speak another time.”
Beatrice shook her head. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she had to move forward from the sad place she’d burrowed herself for the last two days. She could not remain in bed forever. Especially in Algernon’s house.
“We should speak today,” she replied. “However I would prefer that we just take a walk through our…” Her breath hitched as she heard herself say the wrong word.
Not ours. His.