He clapped his hands together. “Well, we can be grateful that it was Margaret who caught us in such an embrace. Anyone else would have thought we were about to cause a scandal. Forgive us, Lady Margaret.”
She beamed at them. “Oh, not at all. You both looked most happy, and I shall never need apologies when witnessing…such happiness.”
Beatrice groaned. “We best go. I don’t wish Uncle barging in.”
She turned to him.
And for one brief moment his world hung in the balance. Had this ruined their friendship? He might not be able to bear it if it had.
Beatrice gave a quick curtsy. “Until our next lesson…William.”
With that, she bustled toward Margaret, her pale yellow skirts swooshing playfully about her slippered feet.
The ladies rushed through the door and left him standing there, relieved and agog.
Beatrice was, without question, the most interesting person he’d met in his entire life.
He found himself wondering what else he could do to assist Lady Beatrice in her pursuits. Surely there was something more a duke like himself could do than just lend his name?
A young lady of such determination should be rewarded for her desire to change the world.
He turned and headed for the hall, then to the foyer. Heaton gave him a nod, which he returned, and a bow as William exited to the pavement.
He stopped, London rushing by him.
And a thought struck him. One that went into his heart and hit home so hard he almost couldn’t breathe.
He desperately wished someone had been around years ago to assist his mother in her endeavors. No one had, not even his father, who should have been the first person to support her.
The Bolter.
That was how she’d be forever remembered.
The scandalous lady who had left her marriage and bolted for the continent.
He sucked in a ragged breath as a wave of melancholy crashed over him. Every day, he carried the memory of that loss with him. The darkness of it. The suffering of finding oneself alone. It was as if she had died, and none of them had been allowed to grieve her. He’d done everything he could to be strong for his brothers, to not show them the extent of his pain.
Yes, he would assist Beatrice in her cause. And he would use all his skills and his power to lead the way.
Chapter Twelve
Every week, as another set of banns was read, Margaret all but bounded about the breakfast room, unable to sit still to eat her toast.
Beatrice could understand her cousin’s enthusiasm.
For whilst she had no intention of marrying, she, too, had trouble keeping herself still over the rasher of bacon and pots of steeping hot tea at breakfast.
After all, Beatrice could not shake the memory of the kiss that had happened a few days before.
She had not seen William since, but he had written her several—several—detailed letters on how he believed he could help the Ladies’ League of Rights and also involve himself with some of her other endeavors, such as funds for women without homes in the East End, homes for women and their babies where they could be safe together, and schools so that ladies might learn viable occupations that were not just in service, where they would not be able to keep their children.
William was a whirlwind of energy, ready to dictate the projects. He was certainly thorough with lists of estimated costs and the amounts he would allocate.
The letters filled her with so much hope, even if he was moving at such speed he wasn’t consulting the women he hoped to help. She would make him see that would backfire in the end. She could see he wanted to be successful, but men hardly knew anything about the trials of women. If he did not seek out the testimonies of those he wished to help, much of it would be for naught. But she believed with a little correction, he would adapt.
After all, she’d done more research and discovered the extent of support he’d lent the endeavors of the Clapham Sect. The amount of funds he’d donated toward the printing of antislavery pamphlets was astonishing.
And if she was honest, she could not forget how not only their minds had met…but their bodies, too. That kiss…