Captive Duchess (The Devil’s Auction #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Beatrice, I will not ask twice!” Elspeth Cooper, Countess of Farhampton’s shrill voice echoed through the great marble hall.

Twenty-four-year-old Beatrice Cooper winced at the sharpness in her stepmother’s tone.

“I will attend, my lady!” Beatrice called back, her heart pounding with anxiety.

As she rose from scrubbing the floors, Beatrice wiped the back of her hand across her thin, chocolate brown brows and hairline, collecting droplets of sweat.

Knowing it would not do to go before the lady of the house as a sweaty mess, she drew her black kerchief from her black long sleeve and quickly cleaned her face as she scurried from the foyer to the sitting parlor.

“Apologies, my lady, I did not mean to make you wait,” Beatrice apologized as she bowed before Elspeth and her daughter Verity, slightly out of breath. “How may I serve you?”

Beatrice lifted her cobalt blue eyes just in time to see Verity wrinkle her nose in disgust. She then flicked open her ornate Chinese fan with a sharp snap! and covered her mouth as her brown eyes continued to stare at Beatrice judgmentally.

As usual when looked at such a way, Beatrice cowered in herself, wrapping her arms around her thin waist and drawing her eyes to the floor. She was not good enough. They had all made that very clear.

“You left smudges on my silver brush and hand mirror again this morning,” Elspeth said, her tone accusatory as she studied her cuticles, “They now need to be polished all over again.”

“Mine as well. You leave your greasy prints on everything!” Verity complained.

Beatrice felt her narrow cheeks fuse with heat and shame.

“My deepest apologies, Lady Farhampton, Miss Verity,” Beatrice offered, “I shall be much more careful from now on whilst handling your things.”

“You certainly will,” Lady Farhampton said with a bitter laugh. “You will be required to wear gloves at all times now. We cannot have you smudging everything. It is your duty to clean, not make more messes!”

Again, Beatrice felt her cheeks flush a deep red.

“Of course, I shall wear them when I clean your rooms if you wish—” she began.

Lady Farhampton cut her off, snapping her thin fingers and jutting her narrow chin toward Beatrice as her brown eyes glittered with rage.

“Did I say you were to wear them only when you cleaned our rooms?” Lady Farhampton asked with an icy tone.

Beatrice felt her legs begin to quiver as her stepmother and stepsister glared at her. She hated this. Hated everything her life had become since her poor mother had passed.

“My lady, I cannot wear gloves all of the time,” Beatrice said, trying to keep her tone calm and polite. “I not only take care of tidying your rooms, but I scrub the floors, tend to the laundry, assist the cook in washing the pans and dishes. My hands—”

“Your hands are none of their concern,” Simeon Cooper, the Earl of Farhampton and Beatrice’s father snapped, walking into the parlor.

Lady Farhampton and Verity smiled smugly as he walked over to them, and Beatrice felt her heart wrench as he took the time to lean down and kiss them both on the foreheads. A kindness he had not once ever shown her, not even when her mother was alive.

“If they request that you be gloved from now on, that is how you should be no matter the circumstances,” Simeon added, turning a disappointing eye toward Beatrice.

“Father, please—” Beatrice began to say.

She gasped, realizing the mistake she had just made, and cupped a hand over her mouth as she kneeled and bowed her head.

“Please forgive me!” she pleaded. “I did not mean to—Oh!”

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” Simeon gritted out as Beatrice felt his meaty hand wrap around the back of her neck and yank her to her feet.

Tears pricked Beatrice’s eyes as she twisted in Simeon’s grip, so she could look at him.

It had been a mistake, letting the moniker slip out, but now, as she stood so close to the man that was supposed to protect her and love her, Beatrice felt something foreign rise up through her usual fear—strength.

“I am your daughter,” Beatrice’s voice quivered. “I was your daughter long before you married Elspeth. Long before Verity became your stepdaughter.”

Simeon’s brown eyes narrowed as his lips pulled back into a sneer, but to Beatrice’s relief, he simply shoved her away and walked over to Elspeth. Beatrice looked at her father with disgust as he let the woman drape herself over his broad shoulders and coddle him as if he were no more than a babe.

“You wretched thing,” Elspeth hissed at her, and Beatrice, in another rare show of defiance, rolled her eyes.

She was not the wretched one in such a household, but her father was. The moment Beatrice had been born, a little over twenty-four years ago, he had irately accused his wife of being unfaithful. The cause?

Both of her parents had brown eyes, and yet Beatrice had been born with blue. A unique, cobalt blue that did not quite match anyone else’s. Her mother had found such eyes beautiful, God rest her soul, and had protected Beatrice from her father’s irrational thoughts for as long as she was able.

Which was, to Beatrice’s sorrow, only until she was nine. It was then that her mother became ill, and with Simeon’s refusal to take care of her or even call a doctor, the Countess of Farhampton passed a month later.

Two months later, the Earl of Farhampton remarried Elspeth, accepted her daughter Verity, and made Beatrice a servant in her own home.

Beatrice had fought at first with the new position, but after she discovered the harsh punishments that came with such disobedience, she quickly adapted and accepted her new life a best she could.

She had thought, for a time, that her friends or her mother’s friends would come looking for her.

That someone from the ton would notice her disappearance from society after her mother’s passing.

Yet as the years passed, no one came to check on her, and day by day she felt her passion for life slide away with each time her stepmother, stepsister, or father, scolded her for a chore not completed correctly.

“You should be thankful for all this man has done for you!” Elspeth hissed, snapping Beatrice back to the present.

“Not anymore,” Simeon stated before Beatrice could respond.

Everyone in the room grew quiet as they drew their questioning eyes to the patriarch. It was Beatrice he glared at though, looking at her as if she truly was the bane of his existence.

“I have grown weary of our arrangement and have made a new one,” Simeon stated, his frown lines etched deep within his cheeks and mouth. “You are leaving here this evening and will become someone else’s problem.”

Beatrice’s delicate brows furrowed as she braved a step toward her father.

“What do you mean?” she timidly asked. Her mind reeled with possibilities. He could put her on the streets. Accuse her of stealing and send her to prison. Could force her into a workhouse or—

“You will be married off this evening,” Simeon stated.

His words instantly ceased Beatrice’s spiraling thoughts, and she looked on at her father in shock. Even Elspeth and Verity looked alarmed at the news.

“A husband?” Elspeth whispered as she looked up at Simeon. “You have deigned to find her a husband before our dear Verity?”

Beatrice also looked at Simeon for an answer. While it was true that she was the oldest and only rightful daughter to Simeon, she had long suspected that her twenty-year-old stepsister was going to be first, possibly the only one of them, to be married.

“We will discuss this in greater length momentarily,” Simeon said kindly.

He reached up to stroke Elspeth’s cheek lovingly, and again, watching him be gentle and loving with someone else sent another ache through Beatrice’s heart.

Not once, in her entire life had she remembered him offering her a gesture or word so kind.

Simeon’s gaze hardened as he turned to Beatrice, and she immediately stood up straight and bowed her head as she tucked her heartache away.

“You may go,” Simeon stated, his tone gruff and commanding as he spoke to Beatrice. “Pack your things. The other servants can finish your chores. You must be ready to leave by the time I come to fetch you.”

“Forgive me, My Lord, but when might that be?” Beatrice timidly questioned.

She braved another look up at him and knew by the expression on his face that he was not going to answer.

She would have what she needed in her bags when he came to her room, or she wouldn’t.

It was that simple. He would not wait and would not explain himself.

She would just simply be expected to obey.

“Oh my days!” Mrs. Cleary crowed as Beatrice reached her attic room.

She startled a little as she found the housekeeper already waiting for her, a wide smile on the older woman’s face. Nervously, Beatrice smiled back and walked into Mrs. Cleary’s open arms.

“I heard everything,” Mrs. Cleary whispered as she squeezed Beatrice tightly, “I know you do not have luggage of your own, so I brought you one of my carpet bags. It is nothing fancy, but it will do. You are getting my married my dear, and you are getting out of here! I am so very happy for you!”

Beatrice’s smile was small as she hugged Mrs. Cleary back, but in truth, she was still apprehensive about such a change.

“What is the matter, dear?” Mrs. Cleary asked when she took in Beatrice’s expression.

Beatrice pressed her plump lips together as she began to draw what little belongings she had from her drawers and dresser top.

“It just seems so sudden,” Beatrice confessed, “and strange. He despises me, so why would he find me a husband before Verity?”

“It does not matter!” Mrs. Cleary insisted, putting Beatrice’s things into the open carpet bag.

“What matters is that you are finally getting away from those monsters downstairs. Your mother, God rest her soul, would have never wanted you to go through what have with them. It has been a sin, well and truly, to be forced to watch you be pushed so low from your rightful station. You deserve a good future after all you have been put through.”

Beatrice bit her bottom lip and worried it between her teeth as she tried to remember any joyous times in her life with her parents.

Simeon had started to ignore both Beatrice and her mother shortly after Beatrice had been born, but she could not remember her mother pining for his company.

In fact, the best times of her life were when it was just she and her mother.

Her mother would arrange play dates in the park with other children, walk the promenade hand in hand with her, take her to tea shops for iced cream, and teach her letters for reading and steps for dancing. Such knowledge was long forgotten now.

Despite Simeon’s anger, they had found happiness. Perhaps, Beatrice wondered, she could find it again with her new husband.

“You are right, Mrs. Cleary,” Beatrice answered, forcing a smile. “I must look at this as a good thing. I had kindness with my mother. Perhaps I shall find kindness with my new husband. Surely with effort, I could make him see me as an asset.”

“That is the spirit, my girl,” Mrs. Cleary praised.

Beatrice nodded but felt her worry spike again as she looked down at her clothing. It had been over decade since she had worn anything other than a maid’s uniform, but she had nothing else. Her father had not afforded her any another sorts of dresses.

As if reading her thoughts, Mrs. Cleary patted her hand and said, “I believe there is still a trunk of your mother’s dresses in the storage room down the hall. I am sure we can find you something more suitable to wear.”

Beatrice raised her arms and wrapped them tightly around Mrs. Cleary.

“I shall miss you, Mrs. Cleary,” Beatrice whispered emphatically as the two women embraced. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“You deserve it and then some, darling girl,” Mrs. Cleary whispered back. She gave Beatrice a final squeeze and then pulled her back, giving her a determined expression.

“Now, we must hurry. You heard your father. He will expect you to be ready when he comes to your door.”

With a nod, Beatrice followed Mrs. Cleary to the storage room, hoping to find at least one suitable dress to wear for her future husband.