Chapter 12
Bridget took a sip of tea, her thoughts an ocean away, as she sat across from her sister in the parlor. Framed by the morning light streaming through the windows, Dorothy looked nearly angelic. A perfect wife, mother, and duchess.
Bridget imagined herself someday sitting like that, and her chest tightened.
His Grace wanted Bridget to become a perfect wife.
But what did that mean? Did he want her to be like Dorothy, so selfless and proper?
Bridget clenched her jaw, recoiling from the thought of herself being like her elder sister, who had always been all the things that Bridget was not.
“I heard that you met with the Duke of Wheelton,” Dorothy said, furrowing her brow. “How was that?”
Bridget shrugged. “It went as can be expected.”
She would never tell her sister that His Grace’s soft, sultry voice made her heart race like no man ever had. Her body awakened with desires that she did not even have names for, and even when he was pretentious and domineering, Bridget’s thoughts grew strange and hazy from need.
“I see.” Dorothy paused, her eyes softening. “And what did you expect?”
“An awkward conversation,” Bridget replied. “It was like speaking to any other stranger.”
Dorothy’s brow furrowed in worry. “Did he say anything…well, you must have made some determinations about his character. What do you think about him as a man?”
“He is insufferable. Arrogant.”
Absurdly attractive.
Bridget grimaced.
“Most men are,” Dorothy mused, sounding uncertain.
“Including your husband?” Bridget asked.
Dorothy’s face reddened. “Sometimes,” she said. “Less so since we have married. I believe that has smoothed some of Gerard’s rough edges.”
Bridget thought of the Duke of Wheelton’s sharp gaze.
It was difficult to imagine anything about that man smoothing over with marriage.
She had no intention of becoming what he wanted either, which meant that their marriage was destined to be a long, fierce battle of wills.
It sounded exhausting and dreadful, far from the love-match she had desired for so long.
“Well,” Bridget said. “That is fortunate for you.”
“He must have—you must have been able to determine more of his character, though,” Dorothy said. “Or perhaps you have been able to surmise something of his intentions?”
Bridget sighed. “I suppose he is…intense.”
“How do you mean?” Dorothy asked.
What did she mean?
“He is a man who knows what he wants,” Bridget said. “His Grace has made it readily apparent what he anticipates his wife will be, and that woman is not me.”
Dorothy’s face paled. “But you are to be married.”
“I know. Terrible,” Bridget said bitterly. “Elias has made it clear that I have no other options, though. His Grace intends on marrying me, even though he dislikes me.”
“Has he said that he dislikes you?” Dorothy asked.
Bridget bit her lip. “Not in those words. But he seems determined to detest me. He insists that I will need to be changed to be his perfect wife.”
Worse. The man seemed to take some strange pleasure from Bridget’s defiance.
When she endeavored to anger him, His Grace seemed entirely unaffected by her behavior.
A cold wave of hopelessness settled over her shoulders.
Bridget was beginning to suspect that there was no way in which she might deter this man.
“Did he explain what precisely he believes to be his interpretation of the ideal woman?” Dorothy asked.
“Someone obedient and demure,” Bridget said. “Everything that I am not.”
“Perhaps I ought to speak to Elias,” Dorothy murmured. “I do not…I have some reservations about this match.”
Bridget’s heart fluttered. “Do you?”
Maybe her sister could convince Elias to call off the marriage! Bridget knew that she ought to be delighted at the prospect. Here was another chance to free herself of the wretched man! And yet—
There was a heat burning in her core whenever she thought about his dark gaze and coy promises of making her beg.
Bridget would never, of course, but there was something about the Duke of Wheelton that made her body come alive in a way that it never had before.
She did not understand it, but she longed for more.
“During your conversation, did His Grace ever mention his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess?” Dorothy asked suddenly.
“No,” Bridget replied.
Dorothy set her teacup aside. She looked towards the window, as though she wished to say something but was uncertain how. For a long time, neither sister spoke, and Dorothy seemed to deliberate something.
“Well?” Bridget asked, after the silence grew too great to ignore. “Is there something I should know about his grandmother?”
“I am uncertain,” Dorothy said. “You know that the ton exaggerates.”
“The Duke of Wheelton would agree with your sentiment,” Bridget said slowly. “He told me himself that he feels the ton creates scandals where none need be.”
Dorothy shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “Yes, well…that is why I am hesitant to say anything, but I am your sister. I will do anything to keep you happy and safe. However, I do think that you should be cautious with what I tell you.”
Bridget’s back straightened. “You are unusually anxious today.”
“I understand the difficult dilemma that you are in,” Dorothy said. “I do not want to dissuade you from an advantageous marriage because of something which might prove to be only an idle rumor.”
“What is it?” Bridget asked.
“The Dowager Duchess is said to be a woman who is in poor health,” Dorothy said. “She has been sick for many years.”
“Sick how?” Bridget asked.
“No one knows,” Dorothy said. “I have heard that she was always a little unusual. She had delicate nerves and seldom attended the Season’s events, even in her youth.”
It sounded like a dreadfully dull existence to Bridget, who longed for the excitement of the Season. She hoped that His Grace would agree to let her continue attending all the soirees and balls once they were wed.
If they were wed.
Dorothy’s face was still filled with concern, and whatever she wished to say about the Dowager Duchess, Bridget suspected that it would not involve a list of reasons for why she ought to marry the Duke of Wheelton.
“As she grew older, her condition worsened,” Dorothy said. “Or so I have heard. She became reclusive, scarcely leaving the dowager house at all.”
Despite the severity of the situation, Bridget found herself a little intrigued by the revelation. A secret Dowager Duchess locked away from the world? It was terrible, but it also seemed like something from a novel. Her imagination went wild, spinning through all the possibilities.
“I am certain that cannot be true,” Bridget said. “Can it?”
“It is true enough that no one has seen the Dowager Duchess in many years,” Dorothy said, furrowing her brow. “That is reason for concern.”
“Perhaps she dislikes the ton,” Bridget mused. “She must be very old, and she might see their meddling ways as tiresome.”
“Perhaps,” Dorothy said. “But I have also heard that His Grace refuses to allow her to leave the confines of her home and that he is cruel to her.”
Ice crept into Bridget’s veins. Suddenly, the situation did not sound like something from a novel. It sounded dreadful, for she could too readily imagine the poor, ailing Dowager Duchess at the mercy of a cold and powerful man. Such was often the plight of women who were of delicate dispositions.
“I have not seen anything that indicates he is cruel,” Bridget said. “A little cold, perhaps.”
Of course, there were his threats, which seemed to allude to a darker nature.
Could Bridget even truthfully call them threats, though?
They seemed like something a little dangerous, but there was also a strange sense of intimacy in them.
Her body did not respond to his words as if they were threats.
“I suppose that is fortunate.” Dorothy paused. “Again, I am uncertain what precisely you should do with that rumor. I have no proof that it is true, and I would not want to...”
“But if it is true…” Bridget murmured.
Dorothy’s face softened. “I know. I had the thought of calling on the Dowager Duchess to see if I could discern anything of her condition, but she was not accepting callers.”
“That would not be unusual,” Bridget mused, “if she is in poor health.”
But what was the truth? Was the Dowager Duchess simply a woman with a weak constitution, who chose to remain in the dowager house and denied all visits, or was His Grace keeping her contained there against her own desires?
“I have asked Gerard to see if anyone at White’s knows anything,” Dorothy said. “But I am not hopeful about our prospects. Perhaps we might learn something from one of her staff though.”
“I appreciate you trying,” Bridget said.
The thought of the Duke having an unexpected mystery in his life made Bridget’s heart race. She did not know if the rumor about the Dowager Duchess was true, but she suddenly became quite determined to find the truth.
If the gossip was true, she would have a good reason for not marrying the man, and if she found proof of the scandal, it was entirely possible that his disgrace would be far greater than her own.
Imprisoning an elderly woman with a delicate disposition in a house away from the world would certainly draw more condemnation than her own misdeeds, which would be forgotten almost at once.
“I am certain that the truth will be unveiled,” Bridget said.
She did not know precisely how, but she would find it. The thought of uncovering the truth of the imprisoned Dowager Duchess sent a little flutter of excitement through her chest. It sounded like something a brave heroine would do!
“I hope so,” Dorothy said. “However, I find that powerful men are often rather adept in concealing their faults. So many of them escape unscathed from even the worst offenses.”
“Not the Duke of Wheelton,” Bridget said.
He had never before faced a woman like her, after all. Bridget was not so foolish to think that life was at all like it was in the novels, but she believed firmly in drawing courage and strength from all those great heroines.
Dorothy sighed. “I do believe it would be in our best interest to learn the truth before the marriage takes place, but if we cannot, I am uncertain what to do. I have no wish for you to be hurt, Bridget.”
“I know,” Bridget said. “You have always done everything you could to protect me.”
Even when she had not appreciated it. Even when Bridget had been determined to forge her own path, casting aside all the care that her sister fought to encourage inside her.
“I wish I had done better at protecting you,” Dorothy said softly. “If I had been more vigilant, you might have never been involved in a scandal. I was distracted.”
Bridget’s demeanor softened as guilt twinged in her chest. “You were falling in love,” she said. “Anyone would be distracted, and I certainly do not blame you for that. Besides, I made my own decisions. I knew what the consequences of them might be.”
“That does not mean you were prepared for them,” Dorothy said.
“Maybe not,” Bridget conceded. “But you ought not blame yourself for what happened to me. There is only one person who deserves the blame.”
Dorothy looked as though she wanted to argue. Perhaps she intended on casting blame upon the rake who had so cruelly abandoned Bridget. Before her sister could protest, Bridget set aside her tea and shook her head.
“Me,” Bridget said. “I authored my own destruction.”
And she was determined to write a fitting ending for herself, too.