Beatrice was determined. To demand nothing of Philip. To not push. Because she thought deeply about what he’d said. About the ways he had felt like he must change. And she did not wish to do that to him.
She wanted to accept him. Just as he was. She wanted to be a gift to him. Not a burden.
She was sitting in the morning room when he came in.
‘Beatrice,’ he said. He was wearing the clothes he had been wearing the night before, the neckline of his shirt open. His beard was overgrown. He looked tired.
‘Will you come with me?’
‘Of course I will.’
He held his hand out, and she took it. He led her outside into the garden, but she had the sense he was not leading her down the garden path.
Not the way that he had done the night of the ball. No. He was leading her to his greenhouse.
‘I want to show you.’
And he did. Every plant. Every name. Latin and English. All the ways that they were taken care of. Trivia about how they were discovered. All of it was in his brain.
‘Which is your favourite?’
‘I do not have a favourite. They are all of equal fascination to me.’
‘You were brilliant.’
‘There is nothing useful about orchids.’
‘But you love them. That is why they are fascinating. It is the way that you see them that’s extraordinary.’
‘Beatrice...’
‘Philip, thank you for showing me this.’
‘I did not know how else to say... Except to say... I love you. I love you, and I am very sorry that I could not say it when you needed me to. Of the two of us, you are the stronger.’
Her chest burned. With joy. The satisfaction. With love.
‘It is my joy to be a warrior for you.’
‘I do not deserve you.’
‘If there’s one thing that I learned from being ill, it is that life is a gift. It is not about what you deserve or don’t deserve. Bad things happen. The glorious things too. And what if we had not stumbled into each other’s arms by the fire? That was a gift.’
‘We both fought very hard to become something we were not in the end.’
‘Did we?’
‘Yes. You to become James’s wife. Me to become Briggs. I think I will let the rest of the world continue to call me that. But as for you... I will be Philip. Only for you.’
‘And I am Beatrice. And it makes me happy.’
‘You are mine,’ he said. ‘And I care for what is mine.’
‘I know you do.’
‘I have some sweets for you.’
‘Why do I feel as if I’m being tempted?’
‘Because. You are. Now my darling wife... I feel that you should adequately show your love for me.’
‘Of course, Your Grace.’ She looked up at him, and their eyes met. ‘Philip.’