Page 19 of Becoming Wanton (Trade Wind 3)

Chapter Six

Beatrice made certain to feed Miriam before Harriet’s visit, lest her sister learn of the breastfeeding and be sent to an early grave.

“She has a most pleasant disposition!” Harriet enthused, gazing at her three-month-old niece. “You must have followed my advice to avoid sour foods during your confinement.”

Bea smiled sweetly, failing to disclose that she had craved—and consumed—great quantities of pickled vegetables during her pregnancy. “She is indeed sweetness itself.”

After kissing Miriam’s head, she passed her to Hannah to return to the nursery.

“You must be positivelydyingfor tonight. Oh,finally, to return to society after six months of purgatory! Tell me you plan to wear those rubies to the Royal Opera House!”

“I plan to wear the rubies,” Bea said agreeably. “I have missed going out, it’s true, but I wouldn’t call confinement purgatory.”

“Tell that to my Diana!” said Harriet, referring to her daughter, who was a year older than Bea and expecting her second child. “Stuck in the country, too.” She sighed. “In eighteen short years, you’ll know my suffering, watching Miriam face the childbed. Not knowing if you’ll be going to church to give thanksgiving for a safe deliverance—or for her funeral.”

“Harriet!” Tears and worry filled her sister’s eyes, the same cozy brown as Bea’s. She slid closer and took her sister’s hand. “Of course you’re fretting for her. Praying for her.”

“I’m sorry my words were harsh. But they’re true. Each time I gave birth, I worried about myself beforehand, believing there could be no greater fear or pain. Now I know better—thereis. Watching my own child face it. I would do this for Diana if I could. I would give my own life to spare hers!”

“I know!” Bea placed a hand over her heart, where a profound ache had grown as she felt not only her sister’s pain but her own at the thought of anything happening to Miriam, even far into the future.

The first outing Bea had made after she recovered from the birth—and the risk of childbed fever had passed—was to Grosvenor Chapel, where she had kneeled and given thanks that she and her child had lived. The Reverend Cassell had performed the Churching blessing over her, as directed by the Book of Common Prayer. “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God, of his goodness, to give you safe deliverance, and to preserve you in the great danger of Child-birth; you shall therefore give hearty thanks unto God…”

“I leave next week to attend Diana, and I can admit this only to you. When she faces her trial, there is no other place I would rather be. Yet it is the very last place I wish to be!”

Tightly corseted, Harriet could not lean over entirely into Bea’s arms, but Bea embraced her nonetheless. After a minute, Harriet pushed her away and sniffed. “I am thankful for my children—but IprayI am not like Mother and find myself with child again. It was at this age she had you. I’ll be a grandmother—twice over—and I cannot abide the thought of going through all that”—she waved her hand toward Bea’s body—“again. However did she do it?”

An image of her sister’s husband, Viscount Tunmore, appeared in Bea’s mind; the frail man rarely left his chair by the fire in winter, or by the window in summer. “I suppose you are relieved indeed that the Viscount no longer…”

“Well, yes, of course,hewon’t be fathering any of my children at this point! Oh, look at your frown. I’ve shocked you. I’m speaking out of turn. I told you before your wedding night—come to me when you’ve birthed an heir and a spare, and then I shall advise you on taking a proper lover.”

Bea swallowed, the thought abhorrent. “I don’t think I’ll ever want to do that, Harriet. I—I have a husband, whose affection I enjoy.”

“That is very quaint and sentimental of you, my dear. We shall see. Now, speaking of marital affection, don’t allow youthful exuberance to put you at risk again too soon. The Marquess mustn’t visit your chamber for at least another nine months.”

“Thank you for your counsel, Harriet,” said Bea with a genuine smile. Whether she followed it or not, she was grateful to have a sibling who cared enough to share well-meaning advice.

Five hours later, however, those sisterly pearls of wisdom were the furthest thing from her mind as she sat next to William during the carriage ride to Clara’s, then to Covent Garden for a Rossini opera. Bea’s gown was as daring as she had ever worn, and William had clearly taken notice. The rich claret silk gown was designed specially to complement the Candleton rubies set in gold. Though modest in cut compared to what many ladies wore, its neckline bared not only her collarbone but displayed her cleavage, which was more ample than ever.

“I’ve never seen you in red before. It suits you,” William said quietly. “You look like a medieval queen. You are resplendent, Bea.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Her smile was as radiant as she felt. Though she had not unduly suffered during her absence from society, being in this carriage with her husband, away from the duties of the household, reminded her pleasantly of the beginning of their marriage. “On your arm, I will be the envy of every lady at the opera.”

Her boldness in offering such a forward compliment appeared to be for naught—William hadn’t seemed to hear her. His eyes were focused on the flesh beneath the ruby necklace. His desire warmed her; it was another reminder of the time before—and of the man who visited her at night.

Bea slipped her gloved hand into his and squeezed. “I’m delighted to be going out tonight, William. I welcome this time together.”

His eyes returned to hers. “As do I. It feels as though it’s been a long time.”

“I cannot believe that Miriam is three months old already! Time has flown by. Yet so much has changed, I can scarcely imagine life before her.” She sighed. “I’m not making sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. A great deal has changed.” He smiled warmly. “The changes are welcome…but I’ve missed you.”

Guilt assailed her. She had tried to balance her duties as wife with those of mother, but was she neglecting her husband? William had shown nothing but patience and understanding with her, including his continued support for her unconventional decision to nurse. “I have missed you, too, William.”

Until that moment, she had been too exhausted, her life too full, to feel the lack of anything. Sometimes the drudgery and commitment of motherhood overwhelmed her, but in those moments, all she wished for was an uninterrupted night of sleep—not a trip to the opera. Getting dressed for tonight, she had even wondered if she was ready to be out and all it meant. This would be the longest she had been away from her daughter.

William moved closer to her, again the man he had been those months past when, eyes darkened with yearning, he visited her bed chamber. His kiss against her forehead stole her breath. He lingered, his mouth warm against her skin, and she was transported—back to a version of herself. She reconnected to a time when this man’s attention was a boon she had coveted.

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