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Beatrice's life was significantly better before she got engaged.
As the oldest daughter of one of the more well respected families in union, it was her job to marry well, in order to set up a successful lineage. Daniel wasn't a bad betrothed, he was kind to her, he seemed to have little interest in her as a person, that was probably the best deal she'd get. He seemed more taken with using the ashes from the fires to draw, making paste out of the berries in the woods that tasted awful, using them to colour. Her life as a wife wouldn't be miserable, she'd rather him disinterested than cruel.
Except there was the issue of Isaac, the boy on one knee before her.
Beatrice's father and brother were away, out with the hunting party. Food had been scarce in the past months, so they had agreed to start searching farther away. They wouldn't return for days. Daniel was one of the men among them. Her mother was ill, resting in her bed down the other end of the small wooden house, Sylvia had been put to bed hours ago. And Isaac, her love, was bent at the knee before her in the middle of her bedroom.
"What in god's name are you doing?" She hissed, closing the door behind her. She didn't want to wake her mother or sister, not at this hour. "Isaac, I-"
"Bea," his voice was quiet, which she appreciated, and filled with love, which she appreciated less. "I love you. I've only myself to offer, but-"
"Isaac," Her voice was low but desperate, "you cannot be here, you... you know of my situation. Please,"
"I know that I am in love," he stood, reaching for her hand. She let him take it. Her hair, almost at the bottom of her corset top, was in her face - in his way. He lifted his hand to move it, the one still holding hers, but it seemed to move of its own accord. The back of her hand, her balled fist that held his middle and index fingers, was pressed against her own cheek. "I know- I know that I think of you more often than I draw breath, and that I cannot live with myself if I don't give myself to you."
"Isaac," she let her forehead fall onto his shoulder. "Please, you know of my position. I am to be married in days. Please do not make this hard for me."
Isaac stilled, bringing his free hand up to cup the back of her head. "Bea..." She sniffed. "I don't want... to cause you strife. I..." he struggled. "I'm sorry."
She wrapped her arms around his neck wordlessly and he pulled her close, much closer than was appropriate of a woman in her position.
"May I ask though," he said slowly, giving her time to object, "you love me?"
Beatrice shook against him, and he regretted asking. Isaac had known her longer than he'd known nearly anyone else in the village. She let out a breath. "I love you."
She revelled in the curve of his jawline, pressing her nose into him. Beatrice knew that Isaac wouldn't ask her to move until she'd managed to slow her breathing. She couldn't emerge from his embrace until she'd collected herself, and he wouldn't make her.
