Chapter Eight #3
Now his father had been given just weeks to live, she might be Duchess sooner than she’d thought.
She wasn’t ready. She was still reeling from going from her sudden transformation—from suffering in poverty one day to being Edward’s wife the next, living in luxury.
Surely a title and even greater expectations would only exacerbate those feelings?
And yet, Edward had wanted to bring her here.
He had even told her he welcomed hearing her thoughts, calling her wise.
Hope had blossomed in her heart, reassuring her that he needed her, giving her confidence that she was of some use to him.
Finding out just how poorly the Duke was, her grudge towards him—after how harshly he had treated her and Edward—had softened, almost instantly.
People acted in all kinds of ways when they were desperate and afraid.
She wondered if the older man’s fear of his mortality had made him behave in such a manner.
She had noticed Edward had ducked his head inside his father’s chamber to ask how he was before he left, and her heart wheezed for him. Whatever his thoughts about the Duke, no matter how strict his upbringing had been and the lack of love he’d been shown, she knew he cared for the man.
Edward finally came to a stop in front of the friends who had visited them today. He kept a tight, loyal circle, she realised. Mrs Thorpe approached her, smiling, and Bea felt her heart might overflow with gratitude that the woman hadn’t snubbed her in such a public place.
‘That was quite an entrance,’ she said. ‘It is delightful to see you again, Lady Edward Harrington.’
‘Please, call me Beatrice.’ Bea smiled. ‘I’ve never seen so many raised eyebrows,’ she whispered.
‘Well, it would be terribly boring if there was no one to talk about. You are just this week’s gossip. Enjoy the attention while it lasts, for next week, they will have moved on to the next poor soul.’
Bea liked this woman, a lot.
Mr Webb acknowledged her, grinning. ‘Might I have the honour of the next dance, Lady Edward Harrington?’
She cast a glance towards Edward as he ladled some liquid into a glass at the table next to them. She was unsure what to say. Miss Linton had told her she and Edward should dance the first dance with each other, then look for other partners, but she didn’t want to be rude.
Edward pressed a glass into her hand and she eyed it warily.
‘It is punch,’ he said, as if he knew she wouldn’t have tried it before. Was it a drink reserved only for the aristocracy? ‘Sip it slowly for it is quite strong. Her first dance is spoken for, Mr Webb.’
He spoke slowly, with care, his smile polite but restrained and she saw he was playing a part too—of the Duke’s heir—and her heart ached for the fact he’d had to spend his life being so guarded and vigilant, unable to be himself in front of anyone. She wondered if she could change that.
‘Perhaps the second then?’ the man said, chancing his luck.
Bea looked at Edward and he nodded.
‘I should like that, thank you,’ Bea said. She had been so afraid no one would want to dance with her—that she would be left on the sidelines. Even though she didn’t want to dance with anyone other than her husband, she knew she ought to be indebted to Mr Webb.
She realised Edward had been right—this was what they needed.
To be surrounded by friends, to crush the gossip until people became bored of speaking of them and move on.
Might it be possible she would then be accepted?
She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip.
She could taste brandy and rum and something else she didn’t recognise, but was grateful for the alcohol searing her stomach, easing the tension there.
Edward’s eyes followed her lips, the dart of her tongue.
She thought about kissing him again later—perhaps this evening wouldn’t be so bad.
A man she hadn’t seen before came up to him and slapped Edward on the back. ‘Lord Harrington, you secretive fellow. Mr Morland told me you had wed. I never thought I would see the day!’ He turned to look at Bea. ‘Do introduce me to this delightful creature on your arm.’
‘Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Edward Harrington. Beatrice, this is Lord Ledger,’ Edward said.
Bea smiled.
‘Well, I can see why a man who swore he’d never wed has suddenly had a change of heart.
You are splendid, my dear! No wonder he was so quick to put a ring on your finger—unless there was another reason, eh?
’ He elbowed Edward in the arm and Bea blushed.
She thought perhaps the Viscount had taken too much of the punch.
A spasm of guilt tore through her, that Edward had been forced to change his mind about getting married, for her.
She found herself wondering just how bad his upbringing had been, to make him never want to tie himself to anyone.
She had witnessed his father’s raging temper earlier.
Had his mother borne the brunt of it? She couldn’t imagine Edward ever raising his voice at her—or Thomas—in that way, and she was glad of it.
Bea went to speak to the Viscount’s wife, but the woman turned her back on her, ignoring her, as if Bea was invisible. A muscle flickered at Edward’s temple.
The band began to ready for the next dance and Edward leaned in. ‘Shall we get this over with?’
It wasn’t the romantic ask she would have hoped for, but she could tell he wanted to take her away from Lord Ledger’s wife and her blatant snub.
‘It is a cotillion. You know it, yes?’ he said, as he put her drink down and led her to the dance floor. They took up their place in the square.
She gave a little nod. She felt sick. She could barely breathe.
Could he sense her dread? She felt the weight of all the stares of everyone in the ballroom, like a deer driven out into the open, trapped and vulnerable, its hunters drawing ever closer, and she knew her fate and that of Edward’s family depended on this moment. She didn’t want to let him down.
Was he nervous too—worried about her performance? If he was, he never showed it.
‘What if I stumble and fall, taking you down with me?’ she hissed.
‘I will help you through it.’ And she knew that he would. Her mind reached for her memories of their night at the inn. He had coached her through their intimate relations, when her thoughts had been in similar disarray. ‘Remember to look at me like you are in love.’
Her heart lurched. Did he know that she wouldn’t find it difficult?
The music started and she was moving. Her body trembled, from nerves or his nearness, she couldn’t be sure.
She stepped forward and trod on his toe. ‘Sorry.’
They heard mocking laughter from the sidelines, and he stiffened, but she tried to ignore it, as if it hadn’t happened.
‘Relax,’ he said. ‘Just look at me. Focus on me.’
They turned around each other and joined hands, and the contact sent a ripple of heat through her silk gloves.
Would that always happen—every time he touched her?
She did as he’d instructed and looked up at him, seeking strength from him.
The movements of his powerful body were cool and controlled.
He dominated the space, the picture of restraint, and yet earlier, he had barely been able to control himself when he’d kissed her; his hands had been everywhere…
The real Edward had been unleashed. That made her feel powerful—that she had caused him to surrender to his instincts.
The rest of the ballroom seemed to drop away as she stared up into his eyes.
They were bluer than she’d ever seen in the golden light of the chandeliers, the small lines around the corners more enhanced.
He looked tired, she realised—but no less attractive.
Was she the cause of his weariness? Had he not slept last night either?
Or perhaps it was the strain of the past week.
His father being ill. The threat of the scandal.
‘Are you going to share it?’ he asked. ‘What you are thinking.’
He was a beautiful specimen. ‘I would like to draw you,’ she said. The words just slipped out, before she could stop herself. She hadn’t meant to be so honest.
He raised an eyebrow, as if surprised. Still, he inclined his head.
‘Very well, you can. On the morrow. We will put your talents to the test. I thought I might take a day off from the mill—spend some time with you and Thomas, if you would be happy with that. We could go to the Royal Academy exhibition, promenade in the park.’
She gasped and nearly faltered, but his hands gripped hers tight. His eyes willed her to focus. ‘Really?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘I have always wanted to go.’
‘I know.’
She frowned. ‘But Edward, what about your father?’
‘Let us see how he is. If he is sleeping, I daresay he will not miss us for a few hours. In fact, he may be glad of the peace in the house. Our son has a commanding set of lungs on him.’
Bea smiled. She liked to hear the pride in Edward’s voice when he spoke of their child.
‘I am not sure I like the idea of you dancing with Mr Webb,’ Edward said, changing the subject. ‘Will you be all right?’
She smiled. Was he jealous, or merely concerned how she would come across?
‘I am sure I shall survive it. And as you have promised, I shall be back in your arms soon enough.’ His eyes darkened at the reminder, and she thought his grip tightened, ever so slightly, on her fingers.
Too soon, the music stopped and the dance came to an end.
He had taken her mind off the steps and the audience with his conversation, and she had begun to enjoy herself.
The world had fallen away while she’d been dancing with him.
She had looked up into his eyes, but she hadn’t needed to pretend to be in love with him—she was beginning to realise her feelings were real.
It scared her, how easily she’d fallen for him again.
How much she was relying on him, when she had vowed never to do so.