Chapter Four

"Thank you for meeting me," Lucas said.

"Of course," Beatrice replied, batting her eyes.

Lucas suppressed the urge to tug at his collar. Although the weather was warmer than usual for late October, a sudden flush of heat hit him, and the air was still cool. "I thought we could have a picnic." He grabbed the basket he'd set down when picking her up.

"Sounds lovely." She hooked her arm through his.

They strolled to the greensward and found the perfect spot between two vibrant red maples.

As Lucas laid out the blanket and the items he'd procured upon his arrival in Toronto, he smiled at the sun in all its splendor. "If it were summer, I'd opt for the shade, but this sunshine is too pleasant to pass up."

Beatrice took a seat on the blanket. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble, but it's much appreciated."

"It's no trouble." Well, mostly, he thought. "I had to go with grape juice, as I couldn't purchase wine." Lucas set out an assortment of cheeses, crackers, sausages, and pastries.

"I could have snagged something from a friend, if I'd known," Beatrice replied.

Lucas frowned. "You're drinking at school?"

She giggled. "Oh, don't be so provincial, Lucas. Everyone has a drink now or then. How is it any different from when we're at home or visiting friends?"

He pursed his lips. "Well, some provinces are completely dry."

"Thankfully not Quebec or Ontario." Beatrice laughed as he filled her glass.

Lucas followed suit with his own glass, then set the bottle aside. "Shall we toast?"

"To us?"

"All right. To us."

They clinked glasses.

Lucas took a sip and offered her some food. "You understand my concerns about drinking on campus, though, surely. At home, it's…different."

"You mean under our parents' noses?" She scoffed. "I thought you were happy to be free from your parents?"

"Well, yes, but don't you think there's a place for their authority?"

Beatrice frowned. "Why are you putting a damper on our picnic, sweetheart? I thought we were supposed to enjoy our weekend together. I even thought that might mean a little…uh, fun. You know, the liquid kind."

Feeling his irritation rise, Lucas said, "Perhaps we can talk about something else? How are your studies going?"

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Dreadfully boring. So you can see why I need to unwind, have some fun."

He smiled slightly. "Well, I guess that's understandable. I wouldn't know yet." Lucas couldn't help but remember her letter saying that college life was "thrilling." He knew now she hadn't meant her classes, and that thought saddened him.

"Have you thought about where you'll go? When you'll start?" she asked.

"I thought in the spring, but it's already nearly November. My parents will be home in time for Christmas. My mother will likely want my decision by then."

"And your father?"

"He would be fine with taking me under his wing in business, but attending a university and taking a few business classes wouldn't be amiss. I think it would be enlightening."

Beatrice laughed. "You would, Lucas."

His brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" His mind drifted back to all those years ago in the library when Beatrice had teased him about reading so much and being dull. No, she doesn't see me that way anymore. Why would she want my company otherwise? Still, the little boy inside questioned if she really loved him for who he was, all of him.

Beatrice seemed to sense she'd offended. She took a sip of juice and set the glass aside. "I'm sorry." Taking his hand, she said, "Can I be forthright?"

Lucas stared into her eyes, suddenly lost in them, yet finding himself. Everything else disappeared: the din of conversation and the rustle of leaves, the smells of crisp air and chimney smoke, the slight chill in the air, the lingering taste of sharp cheddar on his tongue…also his parents' expectations and Lucas' concerns for the future. "Yes, please do." He held both her hands like they would dissolve at any moment and slip through his fingers like sand…and he'd never be able to reclaim that moment if he didn't completely immerse himself in all that was Beatrice Bordeaux.

"I'm attending school because it's what my parents expect. They want me to have an education that exceeds secondary school, even though it's completely unnecessary in my circle. They say it will enhance my appeal. I don't wish to be a teacher or a nurse or anything, really. As a woman of high society, my first priority is to find a man of equally high standing and continue the family line."

"Understandable." He swallowed and shifted closer. Lucas pushed a lock of hair from her cheek and caressed the supple skin there with his thumb. "But what do you want?"

Beatrice was inches from his face. The scent of grapes wafted up his nose as she spoke. "I should think that was obvious."

His heart hammering, Lucas closed his eyes and kissed her. Their foreheads touched as he said, "Then I feel the same."

They shared a tender kiss.

When it ended, Lucas said, "I've been doing some soul searching while my parents have been away."

"Ooo, that sounds serious." She mock-pouted.

He grinned. "It's not like that. I mean, I've been giving a lot of thought to what to do with my life, and I have no idea!" Lucas laughed. "All I know is I'm smitten with you. From everything I've read about love, this is it. I've nothing to compare what we share to, but I'm sure of this one thing: We're meant to be together, Beatrice. You and I, up against whatever the world throws our way."

The more Lucas spoke, the more bravado entered his voice. He was flying above the clouds, feeling invincible, like a hero. Nothing and no one could stop him. Why, he was a man of his own making, his own destiny!

Beatrice stared in awe. "You really are quite the dreamer, aren't you?" She laughed and kissed him.

"Dreams are what ambition is made of," he said. "Beatrice." Lucas sobered, hands clasped between them again. "Please tell me you feel the same."

She giggled, kissed his nose, and said, "Silly man, I thought what was obvious."

He loved her teases. Loved her little pert nose. Loved the way the lilt in her voice lingered when she giggled and spoke. Loved her rosy cheeks and rose-laden scent.

"Beatrice, I love you," Lucas declared.

She gazed at him, perhaps a moment too long, then replied, "And I love you."

Lucas chalked up her delayed response to shock. His own body trembled with anticipation as a question, as the question of questions, hovered on the edge of his lips. Am I crazy? Should I wait? But why wait? Wait for what? The right time? What is the right time?

Too many questions! There's only one question that matters.

Taking a deep, measured breath, Lucas steadied himself. His palms sweaty as he still grasped her hands, he willed himself to be his own man. Nothing else matters. Only this moment. Don't overthink it. Don't think at all.

"Beatrice, will you marry me?"