Beatrice Bonus Scene

The late autumn sun was shining down on the Duke of Brandon’s estate. The grounds were full of happy, smiling faces, ladies in walking dresses, the men in their shooting coats. It was time for the annual shooting party, and the crowd milled about in groups.

One group, situated beneath an open pavilion, had arranged themselves on a thick rug, looking very much like a group of some of those Romantics one heard about in the newspapers. They all talked and laughed as old friends, sharing knowing looks and inside jokes that were lost on any who overheard.

“It is so nice to have all of us here together like this,” the duchess of Brandon said, smiling her subtle, gentle smile. A tow-headed boy sat on her lap, playing with a wooden horse, a gift from his uncle, Lord Chester.

The one-time dandy smiled and agreed. “It’s like the old days, isn’t it?” he asked the Duke of Brandon, who smiled and nodded at the memory.

“Just don’t challenge me to any tree-climbing contests,” the duke replied. “I think those days are behind me.”

“It’s not the going up that concerns me,” Lord Chester replied. “It’s the coming down that’s the problem.”

Everyone laughed at that. Kitty, Viscountess Cluett, leaned over to pat the soft head of the littlest one there, bundled up warmly in Lady Chester’s arms. A little fluff of chestnut hair peeked out of the swaddling. “I expect that is for the best—your lady wife doesn’t need two babies to tend to, after all.”

More laughter, and companionable silence for a moment. Beatrice, feeling happier than she could remember at any other time, leaned back against Gregory, and was rewarded with a kiss to the top of her head.

Lady Eva, such a contrast to her husband’s white-blonde fairness, smiled generously at the gesture. “Who would have thought, Beatrice Heart, infamous she-cat of London, would be so domesticated by marriage,” she teased gently.

Beatrice, feeling cheeky, stuck out her tongue, but laughed. “Who would have thought any of us would have wound up so happy,” she said, looking about the gathered faces.

There was a moment of silence as they all looked about at each other, thinking of the strange turns their lives had taken: Loves lost and found, defying society and the odds, finding happiness in their own ways and on their own terms. It was not to be believed, if they had not all had a hand in each other’s stories.

“I suppose we really are the new generation,” Lady Chester said at last.

“It is the turning of the decade this year,” Viscount Cluett agreed. “It shall be 1820 in just a couple months.”

“Is it to be believed?” the duchess sighed. “Then perhaps we should make a resolution.”

“It isn’t January yet,” Mr. Galpin protested, searching through a fruit plate for the last of the grapes.

“No, but when shall we all be together again?” the duchess replied. “You and Eva are so busy, and of course, Kitty and Seth are rarely in England now. And,” she added, turning a significant eye to Beatrice and Gregory, “I’ve heard rumour that you have accepted a posting overseas as well.”

Behind her, Beatrice could feel Gregory nod. “It was just…easier. We shall all have a fresh start, and this one—” He gave an affectionate nudge to Beatrice. “—longed to see more of the world.”

“You’re right of course, Annabella,” Lady Chester said, smiling gently at her sister. “We can’t know when we shall all be together again. What should we resolve?”

“To always remain friends,” Kitty, Viscountess Cluett, responded immediately, which made everyone chuckle.

“That’s a good start,” Beatrice agreed. “Perhaps we might also resolve to make the world more like how we wish it to be?”

“I must say, Mrs. Hillmot, that is surprisingly sentimental coming from you,” Josiah Galpin teased her.

“But a fine sentiment it is,” Tom, Lord Chester agreed. “We’ve all forged our own paths; maybe we can help others do the same.”

“It would be nice to think that our children might have an easier time of it than we did,” Kitty agreed, putting a hand on her belly. Though the fashionable dresses of the day hid it, it was no secret that beneath her hand, the viscountess’ belly was swelling.

Beatrice, catching the gesture, tilted her head back so that she might look up at Gregory. “Seeing as we are all together,” she said slowly, a cat-like grin spreading across her face, “perhaps this would be a good time to make an announcement,” she said, taking Gregory’s hand and wrapping it about her waist so that it rested on her own stomach. It was a familiar gesture, and she was promptly given another kiss, which was exactly what she wanted.