grew misty with remembrance. Claire heard the wistfulness there even now with ruin facing Beatrice and it surprised her, knowing the perfidy this lover was capable of. Then she saw the dilemma in Beatrice’s eyes. Bea wanted to hate him but she couldn’t, didn’t. It was not a dilemma Claire could understand. The cad had left her pregnant. Ruined her. Destroyed her, in fact, and Beatrice could not bring herself to hate him, not quite, not yet.
‘Listening turned out to be far more seductive than I could ever have imagined, especially when that listening was accompanied by a pair of grey eyes the colour of a winter storm. I was convinced he valued me in the most important of ways.’
Claire put a hand over her mouth and suppressed a sad sigh. In return for that false respect, Beatrice had given him the most important thing she possessed: she’d trusted him with her reputation. To her detriment, it turned out.
Beatrice looked down at her lap, a wry half-smile on her mouth, her tone part self-reassurance, part self-deprecation. ‘The awful thing is, I tell myself surely it wasn’t all illusion. Surely he found me interesting to some extent. Even now, with disaster staring me hard in the face, I’m not convinced he’d felt nothing for me. Surely one can’t fake that depth of emotion. I guess I’ll never know.’ Instinctively, her hand moved to the flat of her stomach.
Claire’s eyes caught the motion. ‘How far gone are you, Bea?’
‘Eight weeks.’ Two months. Long enough to be sure. Long enough for the announcement not to be a mistake. Then again, Claire had never known Bea to make mistakes. Unlike her, Bea was always certain, always sure of her direction.
‘And the father? How far gone is he?’ May asked, characteristically honing in on the heart of the issue. Clare exchanged a nervous look with Evie. May might have gone too far. But May would not be deterred. ‘Well, we have to know,’ she said resolutely. ‘Will you be marrying him?’
Bea gave a pretty shrug. ‘The question is hypothetical only. Perhaps I would, if he was here, if our affaire hadn’t been a pretence to him.’
Claire’s heart swelled with admiration for her brave friend. Even with a baby on the way, Beatrice would not stoop to marry a man if it had all been a game and nothing more. As always, Beatrice’s ethical compass faced true north and would not be compromised. It was an enviable commodity, one that Claire had once possessed herself: to be herself even in the face of great social odds, but somewhere in the last three years she’d lost it, ironically perhaps in an attempt to protect it. It was hard to say when it had started to slide. Maybe it had begun with Rufus Sheriden and refusing his proposal on the principle that she was a unique individual and as such deserved his unique regard, or perhaps it had been the Cecilia Northam incident. It had certainly been a slippery slope since then. She was no longer sure who she was, or what she was capable of.
May’s cheeks were in high colour, her quick temper rising on behalf of their friend. ‘The gall of the man to leave you pregnant and alone, unwilling to do right by you!’
Beatrice shook her head, her tone a soft contrast to May’s outrage. ‘He doesn’t know, May. He left before...well, before I knew. Please do not despise him out of hand.’ She took in the whole group with her gaze, perhaps guessing the direction of their thoughts. It was easy to vilify the absent father. ‘It was the most delicious, exquisite week of my life. He brought me flowers, he smiled at me in a way that wiped away all reason. He did not seduce me, I went willingly into this folly. We had a winter of long walks in the cold and a week of illicit loving in abandoned cottages and warm haylofts. He told me he had business in a town a day’s ride away. He didn’t come back.’ But he would always be among them. With a baby on the way, he’d never truly leave them. Ever.
‘We have some time. That is good,’ Evie said encouragingly, still holding Bea’s hand. Thank goodness for Evie, always willing to put a cheerful outlook on things. ‘It will be a Christmas baby. You shouldn’t be showing until the very end of the Season. Fashions are fuller this year. I can start altering gowns right away.’ Evie was at her best when she had a needle in her hand and fabric to transform. But her words spoke for them all. They would not desert their friend. Claire glanced around the circle. They were all smiling at Beatrice now; smiling their support, their approval.
Tears prickled obviously in Beatrice’s eyes. She swiped helplessly at them. ‘Dash it all! I wasn’t going to cry. All I’ve done this past week is sob. Thank you, thank you, all of you. I didn’t expect this.’
‘What did you expect?’ Claire couldn’t keep the sense of betrayal out of her voice. ‘Did you think we’d desert you at the first sign of trouble? After all we’ve been through, certainly you know we’re made of sterner stuff.’
May took Claire’s lead and leaned forward, her hand joining Evie’s. ‘You were there for me when my family forgot my birthday. You made me a cake and stole a whole bottle of brandy out of your father’s liquor cabinet.’ Claire remembered that. May’s brother had got a prime government appointment and her parents had gone to London to celebrate with him, leaving May home. Alone. For her seventeenth birthday, the last birthday of her childhood.
‘We got rather drunk that evening, I recall.’ Beatrice managed a small smile.
‘You were there for me through both of my sisters’ weddings,’ Evie added quietly. ‘I had so much work sewing lace and pearls on to their gowns I hadn’t time to see to my own gown. But you stayed up all night to help me finish my own dress for the wedding.’
‘I think my fingers are still reluctant to pick up a needle again to this day!’ Beatrice laughed.
Claire added her hand on top of the pile. ‘And you were there when I refused Sheriden. And other times, too.’ Her voice broke a little. Claire cleared her throat. ‘Bea, you’ve always been there, for all of us, our glue holding us together in our time of need. We wouldn’t dream of losing you now.’
It wasn’t just a rescued birthday, or a stitch in time on a dress. They’d been there for each other when no one else had. They understood how much it hurt to be left behind by their families, no matter how unintentional, and how much it hurt to face the reality that this was a foreshadowing of their future. They’d been left behind by the dashing gentlemen of the ton.
There would be no gallant matches. Those gentlemen had looked right through them for years in London’s ballrooms either purposely or accidentally choosing not to see them in lieu of seeing some other dewy-eyed, innocent miss. The world they knew had moved on, leaving them behind because they were too smart or too mousy, too anonymous or too outspoken for the ton’s tastes.
May pulled her hand out of the pile and broke the silence that had descended on the room. ‘Beatrice is going to have a baby! We should be celebrating. This is a joyous occasion.’ May reached beneath her chair and pulled out the basket she’d brought. ‘I know just what to celebrate with. Cider and Cook’s chocolate cake squares.’
Claire felt a smile of gratitude for May overtake her face. Leave it to May to know exactly what they needed, what Beatrice needed; not the chocolate, although chocolate helped quite a lot—the celebration. This baby might be a bit unorthodox in its beginnings but it was clear Beatrice was prepared to love the baby, that she already loved it. May passed around chipped cups and the cider jug. She passed around the cake squares, too, until there was only one coveted square left on the plate.
‘Hmm.’ May tapped a long finger on her chin. ‘How shall we decide who gets the last square? How about a game of misery?’
Beatrice laughed, already reaching for the cake. ‘That’s easy. I’m the most miserable. I’m pregnant and the
