Marrying The Rebellious Miss. Bronwyn Scott

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       Chapter Two

      It could have been worse, Preston mused an hour down the road, the little village on the Firth firmly behind them. He could have actually had to bodily carry Beatrice out of the farmhouse. He’d more than half-expected to after their conversation the day before. He was glad he didn’t have to. His shoulders were up to it, but his mind wasn’t.

      If it was up to him, he would have left her in Scotland. He knew all too well how it felt to be forced into an unwelcome destiny. Wasn’t the very same fate waiting for him upon his return? Hadn’t it already begun years ago when he’d been denied the chance to go to war for his country all because of his birth? He keenly felt the hypocrisy of being sent to retrieve Beatrice to resume a life she no longer wanted and force her to it if he must, when he, too, railed against such strictures. Would her rebellion be as futile as his had been thus far?

      Preston studied her, her dark head bent slightly as she read, the baby quietly asleep in his basket on the floor. She was still the Beatrice he knew. There was still in her the girl he’d grown up with who romped the hills and valleys of Little Westbury with long strides, carrying a basket to collect herbs and plants during their hikes. But there was a difference to her now.

      Motherhood had changed her, Scotland had changed her. Freedom had changed her. There was an air of serenity about her, moments of softness, and yet there was a fierceness to her that hadn’t been there before. Beatrice had always been a strong personality, always the first to speak up against injustice, sometimes too rashly. He remembered the butcher in the village and the time Beatrice had caught the man cheating a poor woman out of fresh meat. That strength had permutated into something even fiercer than it had once been. Of course, she had something, someone, to protect now.

      He’d seen that fierceness on display yesterday. She’d been formidable in her defence and he’d seen her point. Life in Little Westbury would be financially secure, but it would be difficult. She’d deduced correctly that her parents were eager to put the past year behind them, not necessarily by embracing it, but by erasing it.

      Beatrice looked up from her reading and smiled tightly, acknowledging his gaze but nothing more as her eyes returned to her pages. She hadn’t spoken to him since she’d set foot in the carriage. She was still mad. At him. He understood. She blamed him for this disruption in her life. But there was something else he more rightly deserved the blame for.

      Preston felt the guilt return. It had plagued him since he’d ridden away yesterday. It wasn’t his fault she had to come home. That decision lay firmly at the feet of her parents. However, it might possibly be his fault she was in the carriage under somewhat false pretences. He’d told the truth. He and May had advocated the baby be raised at Maidenstone and there were no plans to marry Beatrice off to anyone specifically. He knew the conclusion Beatrice had drawn from that last piece of information: she’d be allowed to stay in Little Westbury, in seclusion. She wouldn’t be forced to go to London and endure a Season. That was where he had not bothered to correct her assumptions.

      There was always the chance she wouldn’t mind. That was the balm his conscience had fallen asleep to last night. Once she got home, she might want to go to London. Evie and Dimitri would be there. May and Liam would be there. There was Liam’s knighthood ceremony to look forward to. Surely, London’s allures would be too appealing to resist. The baby stirred and he watched Beatrice’s gaze go directly to the little bundle, her expression soft as she looked at her sleeping son.

      No. Preston knew instinctively his hopes were futile. London had no allure that could compete with the contents of that basket. There was no question of the baby going to London. It was hard to catch husbands with babies clinging to one’s skirts. The baby would have to stay behind and Beatrice would never forgive him for that.

      The thought of earning Beatrice’s enmity sat poorly with him. He’d argued against being sent on this mission from the start. He’d not wanted to do the Penroses’ dirty work, but neither had he wanted someone less sensitive to Beatrice’s preferences to come in his place. In the end, it was that which had persuaded him to accept, although he’d feared this duty would risk Beatrice’s friendship. That, and the idea this trip was one last reprieve from the new responsibilities that waited for him. If it hadn’t been for this journey, he’d already be at his grandmother’s estate in Shoreham-by-the-Sea, picking up the reins of his inheritance, СКАЧАТЬ