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‘What sort of father is he?’ Eleanor asked.
‘Lovely,’ Beatrice said, a silly smile crossing her lips.
‘Lovely?’
‘He is. I don’t know how else to say it.’
‘It is hard for me to imagine him as a father. Given all I know about his reputation,’ Eleanor said.
Beatrice thought about that for a moment. ‘I’ve thought about Briggs’s reputation. His reputation is both severely under-and over-exaggerated.’
It was true. Briggs was not a rake in the way that she had once imagined him to be. With her limited understanding of what that meant. He was a man of great intensity, and the desire that burned between them was anything but simple. It was the sort of thing that many people would find objectionable. Depraved even.
But it was theirs. It was theirs and it was not for anyone else to understand. Not for anyone else to approve of.
It was different, even, than the way that high society flaunted and enforced the rules they created at their own whims. For this was not about taking joy in debauchery, or in rebellion. It was about being what the other needed. It was about his honour of her strength. About her showing how safe he made her feel.
‘I’m happy you’re happy,’ Eleanor said.
‘I am not happy that you aren’t,’ Beatrice said.
‘I will find a way,’ Eleanor responded. ‘You know, a woman such as myself... I have been very lucky to have been taken in by your family. It is... It is dishonourable of me to be so sad because I cannot have the impossible. I can no more take the stars down and hold them in my hands than I can aspire to be with your brother. My heart is foolish. I can go on loving him just fine married to another man.’
‘You would be content with that?’
‘I would be resigned to it,’ she said.
‘What of your husband?’
‘I dare say very few men expect love from their marriages.’
Beatrice thought of that. ‘I did not expect love from mine. But he is the very dearest thing in the world to me. He is so strong, so... Hard and remote. And yet I find I want to hold him in my arms and protect him from everything that has happened.’
‘Does he grieve his wife?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s...’ She realised it as soon as she said, ‘He is angry at his wife. Deeply and bitterly angry.’
‘Oh,’ Eleanor said.
‘I know him better than I have ever known another person. I have let him do things that... And yet there is still so much I don’t know.’
‘I guess that is the fortunate thing about marriage being a lifetime.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose that’s true.’
‘I can only hope I find that a remotely fortunate prospect when I’m faced with my own.’
‘Let us hope a gallant and handsome man catches your eye tonight,’ Beatrice said.
‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘Let us hope so.’
* * *
Briggs had not simply failed at what he had promised, he had jumped head first into an affair with his own wife.
He could not stay away from her.
Philip. Please.
