Chapter Nine – My Little Beth
We shall speak later.
The dowager’s words echoed in Beth’s head for the next two days as she continued to revisit the scene that had unfolded before her eyes in Lady Adelaide’s chamber. The expression of shock on the dowager’s face. The soft smile that had come to her lips. The whisper of her mother’s name.
What did it all mean? Beth wondered as she slowly moved around the drawing room, dusting every surface one last time before the masked ball the next day. Why did the dowager remember her mother when no one else did? And the look in her eyes, it had spoken of…affection.
Confused, Beth shook her head, once more glancing out the arched doorway into the foyer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman who seemed to be her only connection to her mother’s past.
Over the last two days, she had barely seen the dowager from a distance, let alone found an opportunity to speak to her. And yet, in those rare moments when their eyes had met, she had sensed an equal desire in the dowager’s gaze to speak to her as well.
While the family was tending to the last preparations regarding their wardrobe, the servants were busy putting the house in order. Even understaffed, it bustled with servants running back and forth, carrying candles, linen, flowers as well as anything else needed for the following night, while others stood rooted to the spot, polishing glasses as well as silverware.
As footsteps approached, Beth didn’t think anything of it. Only when the door closed, drowning out the familiar sounds of activity did she turn around.
Beth swallowed, and her hand holding the feather duster sank down as she stared across the room at the dowager, who appeared equally shaken by their encounter.
For a long moment, the two women simply looked at each other, and Beth could feel the dowager’s eyes roam her face, taking in her pale blue eyes, the soft dip of her nose as well as her pronounced cheek bones. Self-consciously, Beth brushed a blond strand from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
Then the dowager approached her. “I still cannot believe it,” she whispered in awe. “Is it truly you?”
Beth frowned, unable to make sense of the dowager’s words. “Did you know my mother?” she asked instead, the need to know burning in her veins. “Did she work here? I must know what happened. Can you tell me about her?”
A confused frown settled on the dowager’s face. “What do you mean?”
“I came to London to−” Suddenly feeling uncertain, Beth stopped. Ought she truly share her mother’s story with a stranger? A stranger who was a dowager countess no less? Was there not an impenetrable wall between the two classes? Why did the dowager care?
“Please tell me, Child,” the older woman said, her voice pleading as though it meant the world to her to hear about Beth’s mother. “Please.”
Swallowing, her heart hammering in her chest, Beth nodded. “I came to London because I wanted to learn about my mother’s past. Her…her diaries…I believe she kept something from me. Something important. And I found a letter, addressed to this house. A letter she never sent. I believe she worked here and wanted to send the letter to someone named Clementine. But I couldn’t find out who that was.”
Again, a soft smile came to the dowager’s face, relief and joy playing over her features as she clasped her hands together. “I am Clementine,” the dowager whispered. “Your mother didn’t tell you about me?”
Beth’s eyes widened. “You?” Then she shook her head. “Did she truly work here? How…? Why…? I don’t understand. What happened back then? How did you know my mother? Please, I need to know.”
At her words, a cloud slowly moved over the dowager’s face and the light in her eyes dimmed. “If you wish to know about your mother’s past,” the dowager said, apprehension in her voice as well as a reluctance to go on, “why do you not ask her?”
Beth swallowed, and her heart ached with the loss still too acute to be ignored. Her throat constricted, and she pressed her lips together to keep from crying.
Instantly, the dowager’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at Beth’s face. “Ellen?”
A lone tear rolled down Beth’s cheek. “She died.”
The dowager gasped before clasping a hand over her mouth in shock. Then she closed her eyes, pain marking her features, and allowed her tears to fall freely.
“You mourn her,” Beth whispered, uncomprehending.
Meeting Beth’s questioning gaze, the dowager nodded, brushing the wetness off her cheeks. “I am,” she whispered. “She was like a daughter to me.”
“What?” Gawking at the dowager, Beth shook her head. “Why? Please tell me what you know. Why did she lie to me? Why didn’t she tell me?”
The dowager shrugged. “I do not know, but I assume she hoped not knowing would keep you safe. Maybe she was afraid that if you knew, you would come here and seek us out, revealing your identity to us.”
As the thoughts tumbled around in her head, Beth stared at the older woman. Nothing she said made sense, and yet, the emotions that played so openly on her features rang truer than any explanation Beth could have conjured. “My identity? What do you mean? Who…who am I?”
Taking a deep breath, the dowager took a step toward her, then reached out a trembling hand and gently cupped it to Beth’s cheek. “You’re my granddaughter.”
Almost toppling over, Beth swayed on her feet as she stared at the woman before her. “What? Your granddaughter? Are you jesting? How can I be−?”
“Your mother was married to my son,” the dowager explained, grasping Beth’s shaking hands and pulling her down onto the settee beside her.
Beth’s eyes bulged. “Your son? The…the earl?”
The dowager nodded.
“But…how? The…the countess, she…” Unable to form a coherent thought, Beth slumped down.
“Your mother was his first wife,” the dowager explained, gently squeezing Beth’s hands, making her look up.
“Then why…why did we not live here? Why did−?”
The dowager clenched her jaw, then inhaled deeply. “Because your mother left to protect you…from him.”
Still staring at the dowager, Beth didn’t even know what to ask.
“I don’t remember when he changed or how,” the dowager said, incredible sadness in her soft eyes. “Once, he was such a good-natured little boy. However, by the time he had reached maturity, he was…different. Easily enraged. Unpredictable. Even violent. I tried to make him see the error of his ways, but by that time, he cared very little for my opinion.” She swallowed, guilt marking her features. “His marriage to your mother was arranged. She was the only daughter of an untitled man who had gained his fortune in trade. While he wanted his daughter well-married, my son needed her dowry as well as her later inheritance.” She sighed. “Although theirs wasn’t a love match, the first few months of their marriage passed reasonably well, and I allowed myself to hope that he had changed. But then you were born, and his anger returned…slowly…day by day.”
“What? Why?” A jolt of pain shot through her heart, and Beth gritted her teeth as anger overtook her at the thought of the earl’s cold and calculated face.
“Because−like many men−he wanted a boy, a son, an heir,” the dowager explained, disapproval in her voice as she shook her head. “Only a few months after you were born, your mother was with child again. This time it was a boy, but he was stillborn. After that she miscarried two times early in her pregnancies.”
With each word, Beth’s anger toward the earl−her father!−grew, and she wished she could wrap her arms around her mother and hold her. Never would she have thought that the life-affirming woman her mother had suffered such tragedies. If only she had shared them with her!
“My son was enraged,” the dowager continued. “He blamed her, saying she was unfit to be his countess. He cursed and yelled, and one day, he struck her. At first, your mother tried to hide it, and I’m ashamed to say that I did not see it until the night she came to me.” The dowager took a deep breath, her hands trembling with emotion. “I tried to speak to him, to make him see that this was not the way, that she needed to be well to bear him children, but he didn’t listen. His anger grew and exploded whenever he was displeased. It didn’t matter what angered him or how insignificant the reason was. There always was one.” She met Beth’s eyes, and another tear rolled down her weathered cheek. “I’m convinced that at least the last child was lost because he attacked her again.”
For a moment, Beth closed her eyes, picturing her kind and sweet-tempered mother at the mercy of such a man. “And then she left?”
The dowager shook her head. “No, she left when his anger turned toward you.” Beth gasped. “You were two years old when you escaped your nurse and decided to play in his study. When he found the mess, he lost his temper, yanking you out of there by your arm.” Closing her eyes, she shook her head as though trying to rid herself of that awful memory. “Sometimes, in my dreams, I can still hear you crying.”
As hard as Beth tried, she could not recall that day. She had absolutely no memory of the earl other than since her arrival in London a mere few weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime though! “I do not remember that.”
“You were very young.”
Beth nodded, and still it felt terribly disconcerting not to recall such a traumatic event. Although her mind could not recall that day, was there a part of her that did remember? Somewhere? Deep down? Was that why she had disliked the earl−her father!−on sight?
“How?” Beth asked. “She couldn’t simply have walked out the door.”
The dowager shook her head. “No, my dear. We planned her escape for weeks when we were out in the country at Beechworth Manor, and my son was here in Town. To my great relief, we were successful. Although he had search parties comb the countryside, he never found her…and you.” A soft smile came to the dowager’s face, and once more, she gently cupped her hand to Beth’s cheek, awe shining in her eyes. “Ultimately, the two of you were declared dead, and so my son married again.” She sighed. “All those years, I could only hope that the two of you were safe. I prayed for a letter, but I knew that it would be foolish of your mother to send one. I suppose she knew that, too. But it feels good to know that she wanted to tell me.”
Staring at the dowager, Beth whispered, “You’re my grandmother.”
“Yes, my dear,” her grandmother said, holding her gaze, “and you’re my granddaughter. My little Beth.”
Her lower lip quivered as Beth smiled, overwhelmed by the emotions that rushed through her. “And Lady Adelaide…”
Her grandmother nodded, “She’s your half-sister.”
Beth closed her eyes, remembering the protectiveness that had come over her at the sight of the earl−their father!−dictating his daughter’s life as though she did not matter. It had confused her at first, but now, Beth knew why. Lady Adelaide was her sister. Her little sister.
“Please understand that you cannot speak of this to anyone,” her grandmother warned, concern in her voice.
“What? Why?”
“Because the truth would have disastrous consequences. After all, your mother was not dead when my son remarried, which would make his second marriage invalid and his children bastards.” She shook her head, fear in her eyes. “Believe me, they do not deserve such a fate. Especially not Adelaide. She doesn’t have your strength.”
“My strength?” Beth whispered, suddenly feeling exhausted. “How would you know? You don’t even know me.”
A gentle smile came to her grandmother’s face. “You’re your mother’s daughter. Believe me, you’re strong.”
“What if I don’t want to be strong?” Closing her eyes, Beth felt her head sink down between her shoulders. All the lies and secrets still weighed heavily on her, and she wondered if she would ever feel at peace again.
“You lost your mother,” her grandmother said, and Beth looked up to meet her eyes, “but you’re not alone, and you never shall be. You’re my granddaughter as is Adelaide, and I promise I shall look after you.” She nodded her head, her gaze steadfast and determined. “We will find a way. A safe way. I will not lose you again. I could not bear it.” Then she pulled Beth into her arms and held her tightly, her hand brushing over her back as she whispered, “My little Beth. You’ve finally come home.”