Alice Beckett
 |
|
| Portrayed by Jodhi May | |
| Full Name | Alice Mary Beckett, nee Fortescue |
|---|---|
| Associated Noble House(s) | Barony of Wrotham |
| Date of Birth | 18 August, 1784 |
| Father | |
| Father's Rank | gentleman |
| Mother | |
| Mother's Rank | |
| Town Residence | {{{residence}}} |
| Year of Debut | |
| Dowry | 3000 pounds |
| Year of Marriage | 1811 |
| Spouse | William Beckett |
| Spouse's Rank | merchant |
| Issue | |
Mrs. Alice Beckett is a new bride and a new arrival in town, but she is not a stranger to everybody. She grew up near the village of Eversholt, and, being a member of one of the only families in the locality to socialize closely with the inhabitants of Wrotham Park, remains closely connected to the Sandeford-Wrey family...particularly as her younger sister Iris has married the sole son and heir of the barony.
Family
- Father: Mr. Charles Fortescue (57)
- Mother: Mrs. Elizabeth Fortescue (49)
- Sisters: Mrs. Iris Sandeford-Wrey (21), Miss Cassandra Fortescue (19)
- Brother: Mr. Jasper Fortescue (29), Mr. Elliot Fortescue (24)
- Husband: Mr. William Beckett (45)
- Brother-in-Law: Mr. Maximillian Sandeford-Wrey
- Sister-in-Law: Miss Tempest Sandeford-Wrey
Background
Alice had a happy childhood in the country village of Eversholt, as the eldest daughter of a healthy, rambunctious brood of children belonging to Mr. Fortescue--a country gentleman of reasonable means--and his good wife, Elizabeth. Her serious but kind-hearted eldest brother Jasper is set to inherit the pretty little estate, and her other brother Elliot has been mucking about with the law and a notion of one day entering politics, but he altogether prefers to indulge his own fancies and be lazy. The girls have each been given a modest dowry--nothing extraordinary, but nothing deplorable, either. Not enough to be prey to fortune-hunters, at any rate.
The family's long-standing acquaintance with their neighbours, however, was to provide at least one of their daughters with a fine match. Growing up in company with the young Mr. Sandeford-Wrey, Alice had always assumed it would be her. Sheltered and idealistic from a habit of reading many books, she had little opportunity to attach herself to anybody else. Though she was always an obliging and good-natured girl, she was not in the way of knowing precisely how to exert herself to draw male attention--and why should she learn, when her heart had already been given, piece by piece, over many years, to their handsome and charming young neighbour? Certain of his regard for her, Alice was content to oblige her mother and go to Bath for a Season--"you must at least TRY, my dear! You will never truly know yourself until you have met other gentlemen, and know more of the world."
And so Alice went to Bath, settled in her own mind that she was at no risk of having her affections stolen away by anybody else. She did meet many charming people, but none could hope to match Max, as he stood in her regard. While precise promises had not been made, there was such an accord between them that Alice had little doubt of their future together.
Her return to Eversholt was to be the end of many things--dreams of marriage, domestic felicity, and familial harmony. Her younger sister, scarcely out, was now most certainly engaged to Max after some incident which nobody would speak openly about, and everybody could guess the nature of, at least. Alice loved her sister, and never considered her a rival for a moment, but the youthful folly and superficial triumph of Iris' 'catching' such a husband drove a wedge between the sisters, and the gap has never fully been closed thanks to Iris' immaturity in her petty possessiveness, her stout refusal to admit she did anything wrong, and Alice's attempts to preserve what remained of her battered pride with cool civility to the pair. They were family, after all, and neighbours.
Since then, Alice has remained at home in Eversholt, avoiding her sister and her husband when she possibly could, and being vague and polite when she could not. Even more of her time was spent shut up in her room or wandering about the country, reading, and her mother came to despair of ever having Alice married, at all. Alice refused another season in any town, and her aloofness extended to any eligible gentlemen she happened to meet at the country balls around Eversholt, which lack of encouragement led to no other prospects.
So the years have slipped by. As the youngest sister Cassandra is now looking for her own match, and the boys are more or less settling into their occupations, Alice felt more and more the awkwardness of her position, but knew not how to begin to change her circumstances without changing her entire self. She was no giddy flirt, and had a horror of the vulgarity of chasing down any man, though that must be her aim, lest she settle even more firmly into spinsterhood.
Fate, then, (and her father's business,) brought to Eversholt a Mr. William Beckett, from London, not long after Iris and her husband had departed for the Season. He was an older man, in trade, though quite respectable in his way, who had lost his wife last year to a lingering illness, and had no children. Mr. Beckett and Miss Fortescue spoke quite placidly on inconsequential matters, and he decided that she might serve his purpose of fathering a son to follow him in his business. An offer was coolly made, and accepted with equal coolness. The Fortescues breathed a sigh of relief. Alice would have a respectable situation, and Mr. Beckett, hopefully before too long, a son.
Having no need to waste time, a licence was procured, and they were married as soon as the bride's trousseau could be made ready--and, after all, more wedding-clothes could be procured in London, where the couple was to reside.
All in all, it was a very busy and profitable month or so in the Fortescue household--busy enough that Mrs. Fortescue had not time nor energy to think how to word the news in a letter to her daughter Iris. Iris, not being in the habit of beginning any correspondence, and no doubt enjoying her time in town, did not initiate any exchange of letters, and so even the ability to reply was lost to Mrs. Fortescue, and she never seemed to find the time or fortitude to sit down and devote an hour to the letter.
And so it was that the news of Alice's marriage traveled, more or less, alongside Alice herself, in the company of her new husband, as they made their journey up to town, pragmatically combining their honeymoon with Mr. Beckett's inevitable return to tend to his business. He is a good man...good enough that he wishes his new wife to be somewhat contented in her position. (Though he figures a respectable and comfortable home--and children--must certainly give her that contentment.) And so in a nod to society, the Becketts have been at many parties since their arrival in town, though Mr. Beckett has much of his own business to attend to--he therefore escorts his wife where he must, before confining himself to the card-room or supper-tables to talk to his own people. A wife is a wife, and has her place, and he is happy to have a housekeeper and hostess (and one which is relatively young and prettyish,) but his truest affections were all for his deceased wife, and his present marriage is as much a contract as his business deals. Alice is not without sense, however, and their agreement is silently acknowledged and accepted--the rest is all civility.
Alice knew she would likely then cross paths with Iris and Max. The surprise of her marriage soon passed, and, as she has no likelihood of becoming a baroness, Iris seems generally content to continue lording her position over her elder sister, and is pleased that Alice is now taken care of, and has likely dismissed any lingering guilt she might have had about the whole unhappy history. (After all, Alice might have TRIED harder, long ago, to secure Max, if she really wanted him...or any other man...and so she must be satisfied with boring old Mr. Beckett.)
For her part, Alice presumed her new life in London would be distraction enough to guard her against any and all encounters with her sister and her husband. The freedom marriage has afforded her, however, has had the strangest effect of making her rather bolder than she used to be. Gone is the sweetly timid and clever girl of hazy, sunny Eversholt days. Hardened by her experiences and her sacrifices, Alice feels herself impervious to the weaknesses of sentiment that plague others, or the impulses that twitch her sister Iris in and out of humour in the blink of an eye. She hopes that her new position will enable her to move forward and forget the past.
And yet...the understanding between herself and Max is impossible to deny. Their mutual knowledge of one another's deeper feelings cannot be forgotten, nor can the attraction they once felt...or even still feel. Still, she is resentful of his weakness in his attachment, however brief, however foolish, however trifling, to Iris, which wrecked both of their hopes. She is sharp and cold to him, when she can be...and yet she sees how unhappy he is, too...and though it is all his own doing, part of her heart cannot help but break for him.
In this fragile balance of loathing and loving, they are still drawn to one another...and it was not long after Mrs. Beckett's arrival in town that she and Max found themselves talking...which led to arguing...which led to things being said which could not be unsaid...which led to a fervid kiss in the darkened walks of a garden.
The newlywed Mrs. Beckett is on the brink of something, and she knows there is no going back.
Physical Description
A little over five feet tall, Alice has brown hair, which curls loosely. Her dark eyes often stare coolly, and her expression is given more to solemnity than smiles. While she is pretty, her manner was often what was most off-putting for any gentlemen who might dare approach. She is slim, but well-proportioned, and though her complexion is pale, she has a healthy country-girl sort of look to her, though her new dresses are more sophisticated than much of what she used to wear for roving about Eversholt with a book in her hand. With her own French maid, now, her hair is more sleekly styled to fit fashions, and her appearance is altogether more urbane than it was before.
Personality
Alice was always a warm-hearted girl, and however much she tries, she cannot wholly repress that part of her nature. Time and heartache, however, have done much to give her an air of cool reserve which she employs often in company. She is kind enough, and civil in conversation, but she does not make deep friendships as easily as she once did, nor does she particularly exert herself to do so. She has no real gift for artifice beyond keeping her composure and saying the right thing, but she can be very easily pushed into saying or doing something rash if one knows how to go about making her do it. Thankfully, very few such people exist, and even fewer of them are in London at the moment.
Passionate in her way, Alice channels her frustrations into a sense of humour that is rather dry, in general, and can be cuttingly sarcastic when she dislikes someone, or feels herself being put in a defensive position. She has always read a great deal, and perhaps more than is desirable in a woman of her position, but there was no real way of stopping her. Her intellect, however, is largely theoretical at this point--and while she has years of experience in Eversholt society as well as her one ill-fated Season in Bath, she has never really ventured deeply into society, and certainly not London society. Her uncertainty and missteps (if she makes them) she covers with her habitual aloofness and dry wit.
Alice was hurt--cruelly hurt--by what passed all those years ago, and has permitted herself to indulge her resentment in private, though she knows she could never express it openly, for fear of creating a rift between the neighbouring families, and knowing that would be entirely too selfish of her, while giving no real relief to her feelings. Destroying her sister would not give Alice any pleasure, though her frustrations and resentments do sometimes lead her to think very uncharitably of Iris. Mostly, however, she blamed Max for his part in all of it, and so it was very easy to keep the lion's share of her ire for him. Immediately following his marriage, Alice refused to speak to him beyond the faintest civilities required of her. She would not let herself be pitied by anybody for his folly. Gone was the candour of their old conversations and habits. Alice was now a creature of ice, to him.
Until now--until they met in circumstances far removed from their families and Eversholt and its memories--until that kiss...that embrace that moved it very nearly beyond a kiss--and until the silent acknowledgement that something very real and very dangerous still existed between them.