…
Beatrice forced herself to dress as she did every morning. She went through her rituals of bathing her face in cold water, of dressing her hair, of putting on a simple gown, of writing in her diary.
The words she wrote in it did not please her.
I dared to hope and told Will I loved him. I have never tasted the ash of such defeat. I cannot express how it feels. Perhaps, it would have been better, as he said, to have never fallen in love at all. But I cannot believe it to be true. I cannot feel as Will does. He claims it is nothing. But I know he lies. His heart is dark with mourning and has never shed its black weeds. He feels, oh, he feels so very much. If he would but let himself love, I know he could step into the light again.
Those words had been incredibly painful to scratch out in jetty ink.
In fact, her entire heart and soul felt as if it had been cut open, left to twist in pain with no recourse. In this moment, she almost wished a heart could break, for then she might not have to feel this deep dread that her life was going to be unbearably hollow now.
Much Ado About Nothing and all its joys seemed long gone. Hamlet came to mind instead. For she was no longer in a comedy. Tragedy had seized her up. There would be no happy endings, no merry weddings.
Only bitterness and grief.
How was it that but weeks ago she had been as content as one could be? But now? Having love and lost it was so full of discontent that she could scarce tolerate her own shadow.
Man delights not me, she thought to herself. She understood the doomed prince in a way she never had before. There was nothing to delight in man.
Everything they worked for… What would become of it? Oh, she did not doubt he would keep his promises, but the joy of doing it together? Of building something with him? That was gone now. And the grief of it tore through her with merciless force.
Still, she would not give way. That was not the kind of person that she was. There was still much to be done. People to help. And wrongs to be righted.
In fact, she realized as she drifted down the hall, attempting to walk with purpose but feeling leaden, those pursuits were all she had left. Luckily, they were valuable.
But her heart… Her dratted heart.
Beatrice swallowed, unable to think on it another moment lest she turn and go back to bed.
She headed down the stairs and into the foyer, wondering if Kit had woken yet.
When she came into the green salon, her brother-in-law pushed himself up onto two hands and stared blankly.
He swung his gaze to Beatrice, confused. “What the blazes happened?”
Beatrice folded her arms under her bosom. “The entire world has erupted in catastrophe.”
“Has it, by God? My head certainly feels as if it has.” And then his face crumpled. “Margaret…”
“Yes,” Beatrice said, her heart sinking for him. Everyone was unhappy. She couldn’t think of a single joyful soul at present. “Margaret.”
“Whatever will I do?” he lamented.
“I do not know,” she replied honestly, hating to see him like this but wishing he had chosen actions over such grand melancholy. Perhaps if he had, she and Will would—
No. This was not Kit’s fault.
She gave him a sympathetic look, even as she felt her own sadness lacing its tight bands around her. “I do hope you’re not going to sit here and wail away the rest of the day. Such a thing will not aid you.”
She drew in slow breaths. Her own hopes for a great love were over now, but Kit’s didn’t have to be. After all, he was pining for it.
And Margaret did love him; she knew it. But her cousin needed to understand her new position before she could give herself to anyone again.
Kit eyed her warily. “I thought you might be a touch sympathetic. I always liked you, you know?”
“Yes,” she returned, trying to be kind. “I do know. And the reason why you like me is because I am not silly and I will treat you as an equal and tell you the truth. Even if you don’t like it.”
He flinched. “Don’t hold back.”