Sometimes strength was painful.
Sometimes she wished she could just run back to Will and tell him that yes, of course she would do whatever he wished. Love was indeed a preposterous thing, and it was ludicrous that she’d even consider it.
But she knew she couldn’t do that. It would be a lie and disservice to all of them.
She trudged on as they neared the towering facade of the cathedral and sprawling old palace. Her feelings continued to match the gloom of the gray clouds.
A vast crowd milled before the palace, and she hesitated.
There was something different transpiring this day.
Usually there were vast amounts of people making their way along the bank, but today there were hundreds, and they all seemed gathered, waiting for someone to speak.
They were gathered around a temporarily erected stage, the type usually used by parliamentarians when speaking to their voters. The smell of fresh-cut wood played in the air—a much nicer aroma than London’s usual scent of so many living cheek by jowl.
She blinked as her booted feet slowed on the cobbles.
Atop the stage stood a rather imposing figure in a long black coat and top hat. Fawn breeches clung to hard legs, and a sapphire pin winked in his black cravat. The jewel matched his brocade waistcoat.
And today, it matched his eyes, too, for they shone with determination…and an emotion she couldn’t quite identify. He did not seem like his confident self. Oh, he was strong, and his presence dominated the gathering, but there was something else.
She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat.
Will.
He stood, shoulders back, coat swinging about his long limbs as he called out to the crowd that had clearly gathered to watch the famous Duke of Blackheath.
Those raucous Londoners from every walk of life, united in their desire to listen to the duke, might have come to see him, but Beatrice knew that stage was a promise he had made to her.
The pace of her heart increased, and she couldn’t draw breath. Did she dare hope? Or did that make her a greater fool?
He’d been so emphatic in his denial of love. Did he think he could win her back with mollification? She could not endure empty gestures.
In fact, dread began to pool in her stomach. For surely a man as powerful as William was certain she would give in and yield to a marriage of convenience in which he could deny vulnerability and love.
As she listened, she caught snippets of the importance of supporting the Ladies’ League of Rights. His deep voice boomed in the air, and people applauded.
It was refreshing to hear a duke defend the cause of women, and it filled her with a melancholy so deep, tears stung her eyes.
He was a wonder. She only wished that he was her wonder.
The duke caught sight of her, and he stilled. For several seconds, he held her gaze across the crowd. For a moment, the cacophony of the rowdy audience dimmed, and there was no one and nothing but the two of them before the old palace on the bank of the mighty Thames. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to shed them. Oh, how she had missed him. But she couldn’t have him. Not like this. For she felt deep in her heart, after all he had said, that this would be naught more than a grand gesture to appease her.
Grand gestures meant nothing without love. Such a thing would prove as rotten as the decaying palace that held Parliament.
“I have an announcement,” he declared in a voice that soared easily through the din. “So, if everyone could please listen.”
One man piped loudly, “Oh, governor, we’ll listen to you all day. You talk good things, you do.”
Will grinned at that. “Thank you, sir. Thank you. I shall count on your vote in the next election when my man stands for a seat.”
“And you shall have it,” another voice cried from the crowds.
“And the ladies will vote, too, when we have a chance,” a lady shouted, her bonnet bobbing.
Will bowed to her. “I shall fight to make that happen,” he announced.
And there was a great cheer and round of applause.