Meant to Bea

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

"Forgive my interference, Mrs. Belington." She nodded her apology. Perhaps barging in her was indeed a bad idea.

"I- I had no idea," She glanced down nervously, taking in her appearance. "I am a mess. If only I was informed of your visit,"

Beatrice waved her off, entering the room fully. "May I?" She motioned to the couch.

Hesitantly, she nodded. "Please."

Muttering her appreciation, Beatrice settled on the couch, and waited until Bianca settled beside her. "I had to see about your welfare since the evening of... Well, what happened that evening, Mrs. Belington."

She nodded, glancing down at her hands that sat on her lap. "I must indeed thank you for defending me. It came as a surprise that you chose to stick up for me like that."

"Oh, it was obvious the bugger was lying."

Bianca turned sharply to the side, visibly surprised by her language.

Beatrice shrugged; growing up with a gambling, swindling father, helped garnish her vocabulary in a less than ladylike manner. She might have married into wealth eventually, but she was still the daughter of a less than reputable man.

Unapologetic for her use of language -for it was the only term suitable to describe Lord Wilson and men like him- she continued, "I can see through any liar, especially one intent on establishing a nonexistent relationship between himself and a woman. Any honorable gentleman would be smart enough to deny it and try to save his reputation. Obviously, Lord Wilson was determined to ruin yours."

Sighing, Bianca rose to her feet and shook her head. "Why?" Frustration laced her voice.

"I am uncertain, but perhaps if he is arrested-"

"No!" She turned around sharply, eyes wide. Shaking her head furiously, tears sprang to her eyes. "No, he cannot get arrested for what he tried to do."

"I understand your fear, but it seems to me a grave injustice to let him get away with it."

"Perhaps you can spot a liar from a mile away, your ladyship, but the world shall fail to. I shall be blamed and shamed for my role. Society-"

"Shouldn't matter." Beatrice rose to her feet as well, taking Bianca's hands in hers. Her fingers trembled in her grip, and she immediately knew she was afraid. "Lord Wilson is out there, walking the streets freely like a man guiltless of the crime you and I know he tried to commit against you. And you, his victim," She searched her teary eyes. "are seated here, locked up like a prisoner, bearing a guilt you shouldn't bear."

"And perhaps he did not just try to hurt me, my lady?" She whispered softly, shaking her head. "Perhaps he succeeded?"

*

The second Bianca's body touched the hard mattress that evening after the dinner in Camden's estate, her mind began to plague her with images of a different evening. It had been an evening such as this one, only, rather than go along with Race to the ball, she had been neglected and left to stay at home.

She had been upset. Her anger had pushed her to indulge in wine until it had robbed her of her senses, and she had chosen to go in search of Race in the middle of the night. The air had been cold, and she had forgotten her coat. Perhaps it was the coldness of the night air that distracted her from the sound of footsteps following behind? Perhaps it was her anger at Race for choosing to abandon her and take her sister along with him to a ball, that blinded her from seeing him standing right behind her?

She barely felt the object that struck her head, or the hands that clawed at her, but she felt the shame as he forcefully defiled her body.

Even now, as she stood before Lady Beatrice, she felt the shame. The memory was suddenly vivid, most likely triggered by what had almost taken place on the evening of Camden's dinner, for it was after the dinner, she remembered, the memory forcing her to withdraw from Race.

How could she tell him? How could she tell him she was raped, and by the same man who had almost done the same thing to her again, a week ago? How could she tell him it was all her fault, for she should have known not to go out that evening? She should not have been drinking! She should have stayed in bed when the Physician said she should. Everything was her fault! She was as guilty -perhaps more guilty- as Lord Wilson.

Her tears flowed freely down her face.

"Did he?" Lady Beatrice's gentle whisper drifted to her, as her finger swept her tears away.

Raising her gaze to the woman who stood before her, she searched her eyes. They were the oddest set of eyes she had ever seen, yet, while they were distinctly different colors, they managed to compliment each other -the green complimenting the blue. Her tan skin made her freckles stand out less, and her red hair framed her oval face, falling down to her shoulders.

She was nothing like Bianca was used to, but for some reason, she believed she could trust her.

Nodding slowly, "Yes."

Compassion -not judgement, or pity- filled Lady Beatrice's eyes, as she cupped Bianca's face. "Then you must begin by telling your husband."

Fear immediately washed over Bianca. "And if he doesn't believe me? If he blames me for it?"

"You'll know he loves you the instance he takes your hand in his, and does the walk of shame through a ballroom full of some of the most condescending eyes in all of England, by your side."

"What do you mean?"

Sighing softly, she stepped forward, her eyes searching hers. "If he loves you, he will be the one person who stands by your side no matter what."

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