A Heirs Trap
Naomi watched her friend closely, unable to hide her astonishment. Beatrice was behaving so peculiarly tonight! Every few moments she would dart back to her wardrobe, pull out one dress then another and yet another, holding each one up to examine, purse her lips in dissatisfaction, and stuff it back in place. Her collection of outfits was impressive, but it seemed nothing met her expectations tonight. She sifted through her clothes as if the fate of England itself rode on her selection. And all the while, she hummed a soft tune under her breatha tune constantly interrupted as shed lean into the mirror to study her own reflection with mounting scrutiny.
Finally, Naomis curiosity overwhelmed her. She arched a brow, her arms folded.
“For whom are you dressing up tonight?” she asked, the question casual but edged with intrigue.
She caught Beatrice in the act of swiping a slick of ruby lipstick across her lips. Beatrice replied with a feigned indifference, voice carelessly light. “For Victor,” she said, her tone almost dismissive.
Naomi hesitated, as if deciphering a riddle. “Victor? Waityou mean the Victor you split with five years ago? The one you said was hopeless, do you remember?” Her incredulity was clear.
Beatrice dabbed more colour to her lips, considered her own reflection, and then smiled with smug satisfaction. She looked the picture of confidence.
“Thats the one,” Beatrice confirmed, stepping back from the mirror to admire herself from every angle. “Turns out, I misjudged him rather spectacularly. Its not his older brother set to inherit the family firm at allits Victor.”
Naomi could barely process this. She gawked as her friend, radiant and thoroughly self-impressed, preened before the mirror. Five years ago, their breakup had knocked walls downcross words, flung accusations, rank resentment. Some scars, she thought, didnt fade. And yet here was Beatrice, plotting her comeback, as if she could enchant him all over again by sheer force of will.
“After all that, you truly believe hell go running back to you?” Naomi pressed, barely bothering to mask her own scepticism. “After the spectacular row you two had back then?”
Beatrice didnt bother to turn. She set one perfect curl in place and grinned, anticipation burning in her eyes. “Hell be mine. You shouldve seen his face when we ran into each other recentlyhungry, eager. The little girlfriend with him faded right out of his world the moment I walked in.”
Naomis brow climbed higher. “He had someone with him?”
Beatrice shrugged, dismissive. “Some girl. Emily, I think her name was. Absolutely nothing remarkableI doubt shell be a problem. She understood, trust me; she was practically in tears watching Victors attention dissolve into thin air.” She looked directly at Naomi now, clearly seeking approvalor at least admiration. She found only Naomis silent, arms-crossed stare.
“Victor couldnt look away from me,” Beatrice continued, her confidence unshakable. “I barely had to tryit simply happened.”
Naomi shook her head in mute disbelief. She remembered a colder, more distant Victor from their last encountera man utterly uninterested in drama. But Beatrice was lost to vision, dreaming up her future: Victor, disarmed by her beauty, open doors, endless potential. In her mind, resistance was impossible.
Beatrice eyed her reflection, every detail curated: spiked heels, whisper of expensive perfume, hair pinned in the latest fashion. She would notcould notfeel guilty about undermining some other girls relationship. All is fair in love and war, as she thought. So what if she wasnt the first to play by these rulesnow it was her turn. Victor was no ordinary catch: clever, poised, impeccably mannered. Combine that with his bank balance and the prospect of taking the helm at the family firm? Worth every calculated move.
Once more, she smiled at herself: a trophy wife for the modern ageelegant, clever, supportive, capable of dazzling business partners and running a fine household. Who better than Beatrice?
Her mind wandered for a heartbeat to Emilythe so-called girlfriend, as plain as a Sunday roast and just as unremarkable. Three years with Victor and nothing to showno ring, not even a proper talk about the future. Clearly, Beatrice reasoned, that was on Emily.
Beatrice checked her styling one last time, determined that no small thing be overlooked. She was certain: tonight would mark the beginning of something grand, and nothingcertainly not another womanwould stand in her way. For happiness, sometimes rules were made to be bent.
*****
One month later, Naomi encountered Beatrice quite by chance in a coffee shop. Shed been meaning to ask how things were going, but hadnt found the right moment. Beatrice sat by the window, clutching her cappuccino and positively glowing.
“So, how are things with Victor?” Naomi began, trying to sound nonchalant. “I heard he left his girlfriend. And it all seemed so civilif it were me, Id have dragged it through the tabloids.”
Beatrice flashed a smile, brimming with pride. “Were splendid. Ive already moved into his flat. You should see itpenthouse, city centre. Views to die forall of London laid out beneath you when the city lights come up.”
She paused, briefly lost in memory, then continued even more animatedly: “Every morning, I wake up and almost cant believe its mine. Everything inside is sleek, stylishabsolutely luxurious.”
Naomi stirred her tea absently, masking the hint of envy that came and went behind her polite smile.
“You do seem happy,” she offered, striving for sincerity. Who wouldnt want a flat like that? It just wasnt in her nature to be so bold, so entirely shameless. The idea of barging in and becoming someones world seemed foreign.
Beatrice, oblivious, went on, “Ill be even happier after the wedding.” Her gaze went dreamy, scanning the ceiling. “Ive already been dress shoppingsomething unique, yet traditional. I want jaws to drop when I walk in.”
Naomi leaned back, half-narrowed eyes sizing her up. This entire plot with Victor seemed almost like a game to Beatricea chess match, every move anticipated.
“Already chosen the date, then?” she asked. “Quick work!”
Beatrices smile faltered. She fidgeted with her now-cold coffee. “Not quite. First, I need to meet Victors grandmother and make an impression. Can you imagineshe still runs the company, even at sixty? She wont step aside for anyone.”
Naomi smirked but tried to hide it. Shed heard of Edith Levingtona formidable force, all iron will and insight, unaccustomed to sharing control. Naomi doubted Beatrices pushy, take-charge approach would win Edith over.
“And if youre not welcomed?” Naomi probed softly.
Beatrice lifted her chin, her grin almost defiant. “Then Ill inform her that Im expecting the heir. Whats she going to dothrow out her future grandchild? Shell have no choice.”
For a heartbeat, Naomi was speechless, stunned by the audacity.
“Youre serious?”
“Deadly,” Beatrice nodded, utterly self-satisfied. “Victor doesnt know yet. Ill announce it at the family gatheringand well settle on the wedding date then. The dress, the venueIve got it all lined up. And this way, nobody can accuse me of rushingitll simply be the right thing to do.”
Naomi shook her head, a blend of awe and genuine anxiety. There was no stopping Beatrice, marching forward with the unwavering conviction that everything would fall into place.
“Well,” Naomi said dryly, “good luck. Though Lady Levington isnt known for making things easy. If you think itll all go your way”
But Beatrice waved away any doubt, eyes agleam with certainty. Shed handle whatever came, as long as she pressed on without hesitation or care for others approval.
*****
Emily sat in the expansive drawing room, nervously twisting the hem of her dress. Shed doubted whether she should accept Lady Ediths invitation, but to refuse was unthinkableEdith Levington meant the world to her.
Edith entered with grace cultivated by years of impeccable breeding: she wore a tailored suit that signalled polite severity without a hint of unnecessary warmth. She came to Emily, took her hand.
“Emily, dear, Im so sorry for my grandsons foolishness,” her voice was soft, sincere, edged with quiet disappointment. “After all this timehe wronged you dreadfully.”
Emily nearly lost composure, the pain fresh and raw. She forced a brittle smile. “You cant command the heart,” she murmured, striving for steadiness. “Victor and that Beatricewell, they suit. You know I avoid attention, all of this fuss. Im hurt, I admit it. But theres no sense in making a scene. We never even got as far as an engagement. Just as well, really.”
Her words werent sharp with bitterness, but coloured by gentle resignation. Emily had always shied from the limelightgrand social dos and endless small talk felt like punishments. She and Victor, in the end, had simply grown apart.
Edith listened intently, eyes flooded with genuine compassion. She remembered, years ago, when shed first met the self-effacing, kind Emilya warmth and authenticity that drew her in instantly.
“Youve always been so wise,” Edith whispered, holding Emilys hand firmly. “A pity, truly, that Victor couldnt see the value in that. His father knew the meaning of quiet happiness.”
Emily dropped her gaze. Thered been good timesbookish evenings, gentle walks through Hyde Park, conversations that mattered. But then Victor became engrossed in work, image, and statusand Emily simply couldnt play those games.
“Im grateful for your kindness,” Emily managed, her voice trembling. “You treated me like family”
Edith nodded, reading between the lines. What a loss for her grandson, she thought. But fate had spoken. Now all that remained was to watch Beatrices attempt at stepping into the family fold.
Emily resolved: tonight, dignity must prevail. Victor had shattered her trust, and his swift leap into Beatrices arms hurt her more than shed admit. But she would not be seen as fragile. It was, after all, just a family gatheringa performance she could endure as long as she kept smiling at Victors brother, James, whose irreverence always lightened the mood.
The Levington familys country estate was a grand affairoak-panelled rooms, ceilings high as the old county court, antique furnishings passed down through the generations. The family and their guests drifted into the lounge, where drinks and hors doeuvres waited on crisp white linens. Emily arrived earlybetter that than attracting stares.
The first half hour was surprisingly bearable: polite chatter, mild compliments on her dress, and James spinning one of his merry tales from boarding school days. He always made her laugh, stress dissipating for a brief moment.
But then, something in her gut twisted. Victor arrived, hand in hand with Beatrice on his arm. Emily froze, watching them enter, though she knew Beatrice hadnt been invitedthis was Ediths house, and Edith had made it clear she tolerated no rash choices. Still, Beatrice acted as though she owned the place, head high, taking stock of the art, the tapestries, the stately bookcasesevaluating what would soon be hers.
Emily could hardly suppress a bitter smirk. The audacity was galling. Technically, Beatrice was merely Victors new flamethe ink not yet dry. And still, she held herself like the lady of the manor.
Should she ever marry Victor, Emily thought as Beatrice trailed elegant fingers over the carved chair, shell never be mistress here. This house has its ways, its hierarchyand Lady Edith will never permit a daughter-in-law to call the shots.
Then, as if sensing scrutiny, Beatrice shot Emily an icy, triumphant smilea declaration: I am here, and Im staying. Emily returned the look with careful neutrality, mentally applauding her own composure.
Determined not to crumble, Emily turned back to James, focusing on his easy humour. She would not validate Beatrices power by looking threatened. Tonight, she would be the congenial, calm guestthat was the true mark of strength.
Guests settled as the food was served and conversation fell to a hush, the aroma of rich coffee drifting through. Victor, visibly nervous, approached his grandmother for the announcement that, in his mind, would change everything.
“Granny,” he declared, “May I present my fiancée, Beatrice.” He drew her forward, hand entwined with hers, determined to display his resolve.
Edith looked up, impassive. Her face betrayed no joy. The room stilled as she fixed her imperious gaze on Beatricestudying every detail.
“So youre in a hurry,” Edith said quietly but clearly enough for all. Her tone was ice-cold. “But you do not have my blessingand you will not have it! Our family does not welcome fortune-hunting.”
Stern, unwavering, Ediths words filled the space. The power of her voice silenced the room.
Beatrice held firm, raising her chin. “Its not your agreement that matters. In a few weeks, Ill be a Levingtonand Im pregnant. This child will be the next heir.”
A heavy silence fell. Someone let out a gasp; others exchanged wary glances, but none spoke.
Emily felt the floor tilt as if beneath her. She yearned to flee, to vanish, but forced herself to remain, steady and unyielding.
Victor looked as if the ground had disappeared beneath him. He stared, wordless, torn between grandmother and fiancée as the cold reality dawned: this was not the reaction hed bargained for.
Edith, face unreadable, merely gripped her teacup tighter, then recovered her composure.
“Heir to what?” she asked mildly, the hint of mockery unmistakable. “Victor owns nothingnot even his flat. I arranged all of that.”
Beatrice stiffened, her bravado faltering as her hand dropped to her side. She looked helplessly at Victor, but he simply stared at the floor.
“But the company Hes meant to be managing director” Beatrices arrogance wavered, voice trembling.
At that, James let out an enormous, genuine laugh. He slouched in his chair, delighted. “Victor, managing director? Thats me, darling. Victor just moves paperwork. Hes a good lad, but couldnt run a whelk stall.”
Colour drained from Beatrices face. She spun on Victor, her voice rising to a shriek. “You lied to me, Victor! How could you?”
He finally met her eye, then looked away, shamefaced. The silence that followed was completethe only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Edith sat impassive, the faintest trace of victory at the edges of her lips, as if to say, “I warned you.”
James, seeing the moment sour, tried to soften the blow. “Dont take it personally, Bea. We all know how things stand. Victors not director material.”
But Beatrice was lost. She stepped back, eyes darting from Victor to James to Edith, looking for any denial.
“I I cant believe it,” she whispered, wounded and lost. “You said you had it under control”
Victors reply was feeble, desperation tinging his words. “Bea, I wanted you to think well of me. I thought I could”
“You thought? Did you spare a thought for me? For our child?” she almost screamed.
Even Jamess grin faded. Edith watched, cool and detached.
Victor, smarting now, tried one last desperate plea, “So, you only want me for my title? Is my job not good enough? Emily didnt care”
His words hung in the air, heavy and awkward. All eyes were on Beatrice now.
“You shouldnt have lied!” she threw over her shoulder, grabbing her handbag and storming out, heels clattering across the floorboards, past ancestral portraits and heavy curtains. The front door banged shut behind her.
Again, silence. Victor stood, crumpled, unable to process the sudden crumbling of his world. James poured himself a glass of water, while Edith seemed perfectly serene.
Emily exhaled, finally allowing herself a bitter smile. Never again, she thought, would she trip on the same stone twice. Shed learned her lesson the hard way.
She collected herself. Sympathy for Victor was out of the question; shed survived the heartbreak, the restless nights, the endless “what if”s. It wasnt her faultnever had been.
She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and looked at Victor, still marooned at the rooms centrechildish, lost. But she felt nothing. No regret, no yearning.
At last Edith broke the silence, voice level, not unkind. “Well, that was eventful.”
James nodded, helping himself to a biscuit. Victor remained rooted to the spot, a statue among the breathing.
Emily stood quietly, picked up her simple clutch, and walked to the door. No one stopped her; no one called out. She stepped into the bracing evening air on the manors stone steps and smileda real smile, light and bright.
It was over. And that was, by all accounts, for the best.
