Beatrice thought about what her sister had said as she peered past the bed-canopy roof at the circle in the center of her ceiling that framed a painting of Samuel anointing David as king of Israel. Emily was not her oldest sister, but she always saw the more practical side of things. Even before Emily had married Lord Duval, she had a natural sense of poise under pressure. Beatrice hated the current situation in which the poor people of London resided, but she realized the wisdom of her sister’s advice.
Beatrice knew her problem was that she could never control herself when any situation escalated. Her temper was her biggest flaw. She was well aware that the only way to be the voice of the lower classes was to be a part of society. How else would she teach the upper classes about the commoners’ suffering?
After a quick prayer asking for help with her temper, she sighed. “I guess I did go about my plea rather shabbily. But Emily, babies are lying dead in the street!”
Emily rested a hand on her shoulder. “Honey gets more flies to it than vinegar. If you shout at and insult our guests, you will close the door on your chances of marrying. If you don’t make such a cake of yourself, you could find a husband who supports your efforts and has a seat in Parliament.”
“But I don’t want a husband!” Beatrice fumed. She wished finding a spouse were not such a tradition among young ladies. Her trip to London to be placed on the marriage mart had not been her idea. Between her mother and Emily, she could not decide who was acting worse about it.
“A single woman has little social sway. Consider how much better you could further your cause if you had a man to defend it with you. Why would you want to limit your ability to make changes? You’ve only been in town a few days. You haven’t even begun to explore all the wonderful parties and social events. Take your time, and enjoy your chance to find a perfect helper. You don’t have to choose someone this year, but don’t secure your heart against those men you have not yet met. Believe me, the Good Lord has someone planned for you, and I am praying hard you will meet him.”
“Or, perhaps, the Good Lord prefers for me to be an old maid,” Beatrice countered.
“If you keep on like you did today, there will be no question of that. Although I don’t think the Lord would be pleased about it if He presented you with the perfect husband and you shouted the poor man away.”
“I highly doubt the Lord wants me to marry an old baron. He evidently didn’t have such narrow plans for you. However, I suppose I did let my anger get the best of me today.”
“You forget that it was in the Lord’s plan that I first marry a dying baron before I could have a living Earl. Now, you need to make your apologies. Hopefully, all will be forgotten with only a simple act of retribution. I know Marcus needed this vote in Parliament for the project on which he is working.”
“But that man should apologize to me, too! You should have heard—”
“—What I have heard is enough!” Emily interrupted firmly. “I know you. I know that you probably took something he said out of context and went off on a rant without listening to him. I know you must learn to control your temper. That is your greatest flaw. Now, you need to come with me and apologize, if it isn’t already too late.” Emily arose and walked toward the door. “And, Beatrice?”
“Yes?”
“You need to make this a heartfelt apology. I don’t know all the details, but I do know this meeting was important to Marcus. After all my husband has done for me—for us—you should at least take his feelings into consideration.”
“I will,” Beatrice murmured as she followed Emily out of the room. She could already tell this was going to be a very long London season. She wanted nothing more than to make a difference here in the city, but being hindered by social events and apologies would not help her cause.
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