“Are you still waiting for Harrison to propose?” Bianca asked, the side of her mouth twitching into a grin.
Bea pulled her gaze away from Harrison to stare guiltily at Bianca. “I’m afraid that at this point, it’s not going to happen.”
“Nonsense,” Bianca snorted. “That man has been besotted with you for at least two years.”
“Perhaps.” Bea lowered her eyes, wanting to believe it but not letting herself hope.
Bianca stared at her like she had spit on her mother’s grave. “You can’t possibly tell me that you think the man would do anything but propose,” she said.
“It hasn’t happened yet, so I despair of it happening at all,” Bea said.
Bianca shook her head. “And here I thought you were intelligent.”
“Bea is intelligent,” Diana said, back to glaring across the room as Harrison and John took the new boxes of donations to a table that was already overloaded with various crates, sacks, and parcels of clothing, toys, and necessities. “It’s men who lack basic intelligence.”
Again, Bianca laughed. “You’re not wrong,” she said, then laid a hand on Bea’s shoulder. “He’ll propose, ducky. I know it. A man doesn’t look at a woman the way Harrison looks at you without marriage on his mind. And besides, it’s nearly Christmas. What better time to ask a woman to spend the whole rest of her life with him than at Christmas?”
“If you say so,” Bea said with a wistful sigh.
She tried to return to tying bows, but her heart, her thoughts, and her eyes flew back to Harrison at the other end of the room. She would have given anything to know if he planned to marry her or if she’d been imagining his regard for her. She only wished she would work up the nerve to let him know that, if he asked for her hand, her answer would be a resounding yes.
“I’m merely saying that the moment has to be perfect,” Harrison said to John as he wedged the box filled with musty-smelling clothes and old shoes onto the table that was already overflowing with donations. “A man only gets once chance to propose to the woman of his dreams, and I’m determined to get it right.”
John laughed at him, of course, slapping him on the back as soon as he’d found a place on the crowded table for the load of old coats in his arms. “You’re the most maudlin man I know,” he said. “I swear, you should have been born a poet, not a peer.”
“No man is born a poet,” Harrison said with a grin, pushing a few boxes around on the table to make room for more. “Poetry is inspired in a man by the beauty and perfection of his subject.”
He pivoted to glance across the room at Lady Beatrice. Bea really was the most extraordinary woman he’d ever met. She was kind and gentle while still being strong and passionate about the causes the May Flowers stood for. Where Lady Diana and some of the others waved their fists and bullied the audiences they spoke to about women’s rights and Ireland, Beatrice spoke reason in a quiet voice, convincing even the most stubborn old men that she might have a point. And she was gorgeous, though he suspected she didn’t know it. Her hair was the most enticing reddish-blonde color, her lips were rosy and full, and her eyes were a unique shade of blue-green that he’d found himself lost in on more than one occasion. He couldn’t count the number of nights he’d lain awake, tossing and turning with desire for her to the point where he’d had to take care of things on his own just to put himself out of his misery. And yet, with all the pent-up desire he had for Bea, he would never in a million years have importuned her honor by putting her in a position she might not have been comfortable with.
“You’re a besotted fool,” John laughed, shaking his head. “Why torture yourself waiting for the perfect moment to come along? It’s not the proposal, or the wedding, that matters, it’s the life you two were meant to have together. Get on with it.”
“I intend to,” Harrison said, excitement shooting through him.
He glanced around to make sure as few people as possible were close enough to listen in, going so far as to nudge John’s arm and gesture for him to walk to the end of the table where fewer people were milling about. Once they were separated and in relative privacy, Harrison reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out a small, old, velvet box. With a proud look and a flutter in his overly-sentimental heart, he opened the box to show John the ring inside.
“Why, Harrison,” John said, his mouth twitching into a grin as his eyes danced with teasing. “I had no idea you felt this way. Yes, yes, I’ll marry you.”
“No, you dolt.” Harrison let out an impatient breath, knowing full well his friend was ribbing him. “It’s a family ring,” he went on in a whisper. “I had a formal audience with my grandmother just the other day to inform her of my intentions to ask for Lady Beatrice’s hand. Grandmama presented me with this ring, which belonged to her mother, one Lady Caroline Herrington.”
“Well, there you have it,” John said with a shrug. “So get over there, go down on one knee, and propose.” He nodded across the room to where Bea and Diana had taken a handful of red bows to fasten to a pine garland that was draped over a tall, wide fireplace.
“Not here,” Harrison said, closing the lid of the box. “And not now.”
“Then when and where?” John asked, crossing his arms.
“Christmas Eve,” Harrison said. “After the party for the orphans is finished. I’ll offer to take Bea home, but I plan to whisk her off to a particularly beautiful spot overlooking the Thames. I’ll propose there.”
John shook his head. “You’re making things overly complicated. You don’t need family rings and picturesque backdrops. Bea would marry you if you’d tripped in a mud puddle, splashed her favorite gown in the process, and asked the question while still wallowing in the grime.”
“But why be cavalier about something so important when you can make an impression?” Harrison asked. “Or are you just cynical because Diana would laugh in your face if you proposed to her?”
John’s brow shot up with mock offense. “I would have you know that if I proposed to Diana right now, she would—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish his boast. A crash sounded from the other end of the room, along with a yelp that Harrison knew in an instant belonged to Bea. He rushed forward, depositing the ring box on the edge of the table as he went, and rushed to Bea’s aid, John right behind him.
“Bea, are you all right?” he asked, heart pounding with worry, as he and John reached the fireplace. A small stepstool lay on its side, and the pine garland Bea was attaching bows to was half torn off, the end trailing on the floor, too close to the fire for comfort.
“I’m fine,” Bea said, the most gorgeous blush on her porcelain face as she straightened and brushed pine needles from her skirt. “I simply lost my balance on the stool is all. It’s silly really.”
“Here, let me help you.” Harrison bent to set the stool upright. Bea watched him, her eyes lowered fetchingly, her shapely mouth stretching into a smile as she did. “Now, just allow me to fasten this bough to the mantle again and you’ll be able to hang your bows.”