Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Four Days Later
“Yes?” Beatrice called, feeling her heart flutter as she heard the knock at her door.
It settled even before Mira opened the door and revealed herself.
She knew it would not be Algernon. He never knocked.
Just strode in like he had the right—even though he had not acted on such a right in four days.
Four long, hope-filled days that Beatrice had spent either reading or taking lessons from Mrs. Sheer or the dance instructor.
When she was not doing that, she was thinking about Algernon and what he had done to her body.
How he made her feel—how he still made her feel despite his absence.
Even more so, how he had so gently plucked her from the windowsill, sleepy and pliant from her intense release, and had so very gently laid her in her bed, pulled up her covers, and commanded her to sleep.
No longer did Algernon come for meals, entrusting Mira instead to ensure she ate every bite.
Nor did he appear to ask her any more questions about her reading material—even though she was longing to talk to him about it.
She had known longing in her old life but not like this.
She’d longed for a kind word, for the experience of being a lady as she was born to be.
The longing she felt now, though, came from her body.
To be touched again. To be tasted again. By Algernon.
“I just finished my luncheon an hour ago, Mira,” Beatrice said with a weary sigh, returning to her book. “It cannot possibly be time for dinner.”
“No, My Lady,” Mira agreed. “You have company.”
Beatrice’s head snapped toward Mira.
“Company?” she echoed, closing her book. “I do not know anyone well enough to receive company. Who did they say they were?”
“They would not tell Mr. Portnoy, My Lady,” Mira replied, looking tense. “But they are most insistent upon seeing you. Perhaps they are friends of His Grace? Or of his younger brother?”
Beatrice’s brows perked with curiosity, and she stood, facing Mira straight on.
“Do I look well enough to receive guests?” she asked, smoothing her hands down the baby blue taffeta skirts of her gown.
Mira immediately beamed back at her.
“You look beautiful,” she praised. “Here, let me just to put a matching ribbon in your hair. One at your throat as well. I think that should complete your ensemble quite nicely.”
Beatrice sat, her nerves jumbling a little as Mira made quick work with the ribbons. Perhaps this is a test, she thought as she walked down the stairs. After all Mrs. Sheer said it is the duty of a wife to receive guests. Perhaps Algernon is waiting to see if-—
Beatrice’s thoughts ceased to exist as she reached the bottom of the steps. Fear caused her hands to tremble as she took in the three familiar faces waiting for her in the foyer.
“Look at you,” Elspeth said smugly, her narrowed eyes drawing up and down Beatrice’s person. Verity’s expression matched her mother’s as she lazily waved her fan before her mouse-like face.
“Dressed in such finery. I must admit it suits you. Much better than that ugly uniform you used to wear,” Verity stated mockingly.
Beatrice said nothing, too shocked to fathom words even as their bitter tones nipped at her.
“We heard a rumor,” Simeon stated, stepping in front of Elspeth and Verity. His expression was most grave, bordering on threatening, “that a certain cousin of ours has arrived in town from Paris. Strangely, she had your name.”
Beatrice’s brow furrowed as she took a wary step back from her approaching father.
“I do not know what you speak of,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“It was said that the Duke of Morcaster was hosting such a cousin,” Simeon went on. “That she was staying with him until his younger brother, Lord Henry, was set to marry her.”
Beatrice took another step back, her heart pounding in her throat as her family slowly approached.
“I do not much care that you lied and said you were a cousin,” Simeon went on, shrugging a shoulder. “But what offends me is that you lied about your financial standing. Richer by vast amounts than we are, I believe, is what Verity heard?”
“Yes, Father!” Verity answered quickly, smiling devilishly at Beatrice.
Beatrice quickly shook her head.
“No, I did not say that,” she vehemently replied. “I swear to you I have not spoken one word about our family!”
She took a step back and nearly fell as her heel hit the bottom step of the staircase. Her hands drew up, but Simeon made no move to catch her. Instead, she caught herself on the golden railing and clung to it as if it were a lifeline.
The three of them chortled at her misstep, and Simeon rolled his eyes.
“Of course, it was not you,” he said with a bitter, condescending tone. “You are too dumb and meek to create such a fantastical lie.”
Beatrice flinched at the sting of his words.
It had been over three weeks since she was sold, but now, as her family circled in on her, it was as if she was right back to where she used to be.
Helpless. Small. A victim to their cruelty.
Algernon had promised that that part of her life was over—he had been wrong.
“Your host, though,” Simeon went on, “this Duke might have. He might even be providing the fortune you are rumored to have. After all, he paid a fortune to purchase you. He must be dimwitted with his money if he was willing to do that.”
Beatrice felt tears prick at her eyes as she did her very best to reach for the strength she had been beginning to build.
“What do you want?” she asked, trying her best to sound demanding.
All it did was earn her a condescending laugh from all three of them.
“We want you to cooperate,” Verity answered.
“The Duke did not marry you. He gave you to his brother like the bit of property you are. So, he is still available.”
“A man like that, willing to purchase someone like you for so very much, would surely be blown away by a beauty like my Verity,” Elspeth added.
Beatrice’s heart splintered at the thought of Algernon and Verity together. Yes, she was to marry Henry, but Algernon? He had become her safe place—a place that would forever be ruined if Verity was there.
“You will introduce us,” Simeon commanded, reaching for Beatrice.
“I will not!” she gasped.
Beatrice tried to pull away, to take another step up the stairs, but Simeon’s hands were quick. His fingers bit angrily into her arm, and she let out a sound of pain as he dragged her from the stairs.
“You will,” Simeon snarled, “Or I will remove you from this place and sell you again! Next time to a man who promises to make you a whore!”