Chapter 4
“And you are certain that my daughter is who you want?”
Owen raised an eyebrow at the question. It was an offer that any father would be excited for; a wealthy duke wanting to marry his spinster daughter. And yet, Lord Jennings was looking at him as though it was the last thing he wanted to hear.
“Do you wish to refuse?” he asked, and the older gentleman quickly smiled.
“No, of course not. It is simply… well, it is awfully sudden. What has brought on this sudden offer?”
“I have spoken with Lady Beatrice, and she wishes to correct what happened at my wedding. If that means marrying me, then she will.”
“And you are also happy to do so? The two of you are not well acquainted and you are not the sort of man I envisioned asking for her hand, that is all. My daughter is rather shy and timid. She is markedly unlike most duchesses.”
“What sort of proposal did you expect for your quiet daughter, then?” Owen asked, and the gentleman did not respond.
Instead, he looked around the room, anywhere but directly at Owen, who could not believe that a man could think of his own child the way he did.
“If a marriage is what you want,” he said finally, “then my daughter is yours. I assume that she is aware of your intentions to wed immediately?”
“Indeed. She is more than happy for the arrangements to be made, but a formality is a formality, and I wanted to ask for your permission first.”
“Then you have it,” Lord Jennings said firmly, extending his hand. “Be good to her. That is all that I can ask of you.”
Owen was certain that he would be a better husband to Lady Beatrice than that man had been as a father, but of course he did not say that. It was not the correct thing for one to say to his father-in-law.
All the same, he did not particularly like Lord Jennings.
From what Owen knew of him, he was not liked among the ton but given his fortune he was respected.
Owen wondered, for a moment, if said fortune would mean that Lady Beatrice would have a decent dowry, but he shook the thought from his mind.
He did not need the money, and he would ensure that she was taken care of regardless of it.
They both returned to the drawing room, Lady Beatrice looking at him with wide eyes. It seemed as though she had not believed him before, but suddenly she had realized the truth of the matter. There was nothing that could be done now.
They would be married.
“I have brought this for you,” he explained, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box and handing it to her.
She opened it, and her mother gasped beside her. It was his mother’s engagement ring, small but with a large sapphire in the center. She slid it onto her finger uncertainly, and it fit.
“No alterations needed, then,” he nodded. “Good. I shall have the ceremony arranged for in a week’s time.”
He turned to leave, but Lady Jennings called him back. He had hoped to spend his day organizing the event, but he wished to be polite and so he turned around once more.
“Might you have time to promenade with my daughter?” she asked. “It would be prudent, for a sudden engagement might not be looked kindly upon, given the circumstances.”
“If Lady Beatrice is amenable, then I do not take issue with it.”
In an instant, Lady Beatrice removed the ring as if it was burning her, and she walked out of the door, gesturing for him to follow her.
They left the household with a maid in tow, boarding a carriage hastily and leaving for Hyde Park.
Once the carriage pulled away, she exhaled deeply, her hand on her chest and her cheeks flushed.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I believe so. My apologies. I am not usually like this, but I was terrified of my father there. He is furious with me for what I did– which of course he has every right to be, and–”
“Why were you frightened? What did you think he would do?” he interrupted, causing her to quickly fall silent.
“He… well, he is as good of a father to me as I could ask for. Given my reluctance to mingle with Society, he has been very understanding. It is my own fault for not doing my duty and marrying when I was younger.”
“Spinster or not, it is his duty to protect and care for you. He did not seem very happy to be in charge of your well-being at all.”
Lady Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “What did he say to you?”
Owen dismissed the question with a derisive snort. “Nothing of consequence. But I got the feeling that he was surprised to see someone…anyone…ask for your hand.”
“Well, it is not as though I have made it easy for him,” she laughed sadly. “I was never the right daughter, I suppose. While the other ladies were practicing their piano forte and mastering their watercolors, I was hiding away in the kitchens. I have always been happier there than anywhere else.”
“Then you shall be happy to know that mine are vast, and as well-equipped as they can be. You will enjoy spending time in them.”
She tilted her head to one side in disbelief.
“You do not mind that I spend my time in the kitchen?”
“Certainly not. All ladies must have a hobby and cooking is interesting. I would much rather be presented with food than linger around an instrument smiling and pretending to enjoy it.”
She softened, and he liked the faint smile she had. She was a very pretty lady, though she lacked confidence, except when interrupting the wedding ceremony. Their carriage halted, and as he reached out to help her down, he noticed her hesitation.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course, but I prefer to help myself down.”
“In that case, I will not provide any assistance.”
He watched as she mulled over that option.
Owen did his best to stifle a dry laugh at the disconcerted expression on her face. “Once you alight, perhaps you should take my arm.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “That will do.”
Within seconds she was on his arm, and they were wandering the park together.
As they did so, he studied her demeanor and tried not to pay attention to how warm she was.
It was curious, but he also noticed how she tried to make herself as small as possible, hunching herself in as she walked.
He did not like to see her do it, and it was a habit that she would have to stop before she became his duchess.
It would not look right for a duchess to not be proud of herself.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. “Have I done something wrong?”
He looked sharply ahead, feeling guilty for her having noticed him staring.
“Not at all, I was only wondering if you always carry yourself like that?”
“Sometimes. My apologies. It is because of the scandal, I suppose. I do not want anyone to see me, though that is impossible when I look the way that I do.”
Owen blinked. Yes, Lady Beatrice had a curvaceous figure, but it was not as though she was particularly large. He rather liked her stature, for it made her look far womanlier than the delicate waifs who threw themselves in his direction, but he knew that polite society did not think so.
“You need not make yourself smaller just to be liked. You should know that I think you look perfectly fine.”
It was a compliment, but she did not seem to take it as one. Of course, she would have liked to hear that she was beautiful, , but it was not the time nor the place for that sort of flattery. He only wanted her to straighten so that she did not cause herself any injury.
“Thank you,” she replied meekly. “Did you say that out of obligation, so that I would stand properly?”
“Why do you ask?”
She laughed softly at him, and he felt relief at it. He would have hated for her to have so easily seen through him.
“My mother always tells me that my posture is horrendous, even with a corset. I never seem to remember to correct myself. It is a rather silly thing to forget, but I cannot seem to do it.”
“We shall have to fix it. It will not do for the Duchess of Pantheris to appear small or lacking in confidence. I have a proud family name, and I do not want that to change.”
He expected her to cower, or to quietly agree and promise to try harder, but she did not. Instead, she straightened, setting back her shoulders and lifting her head.
“You are right. I will do better.”
She was eager, at least.
“Hello, Your Grace.”
Owen turned to see a group of older ladies. When Lady Beatrice saw them, he felt her bristle beside him. He did not recognize them, but it was clear that she did.
There were three of them, short and rounded with strangely exaggerated pouts.
They look almost like witches, he thought, and then immediately had to stop himself from smirking.
“Good day to the three of you. Lovely day, is it not?”
“Indeed,” the same lady replied, “and it is nice to see you out in public after such a tragic situation at your wedding. We cannot quite believe that anyone could be so bold.”
“Yes, well, when it comes to matters of the heart anything is possible.”
He glanced down at Lady Beatrice, willing her to play her part. She blushed, looking down before turning to the ladies with a smile.
“He is right. I apologize for any distress that I caused, but I could not stand by and let it happen.”
“Well, you are on his arm now.” Another lady smiled. “So what you did seems to have worked beautifully. Congratulations.”
They continued on their way. Owen was pleased, knowing that they had effectively silenced the group of gossips, but there was a terrified look in Lady Beatrice’s eyes as they walked.
“Did I say the right thing?” she asked.
“What you said was adequate. It is a good way to begin a courtship at least, especially one as short as ours. Do you not agree?”
“Yes, it is just… those ladies are not kind at all. The three of them are widows, and they spend their lives spouting gossip. If you say one word out of place, they ruin you.”
“That cannot happen any longer. I am a duke, and they have no choice but to respect me. The whole purpose of this engagement is to protect both yourself and Lady Helena, as a connection to me will prevent anything being said.”
She laughed emptily, looking at him as if he did not know anything at all.
“You do not understand. You are a gentleman, and therefore immune to any gossip of their kind. Besides, in our position you are a hapless victim that wished to become a husband. It is not as though they would use their words against you.”
He did not believe her at first, but he could see the sincerity in her eyes. It was true that he did not know how it felt to be a young lady at the mercy of Society, especially a lady like her.
“Lady Beatrice,” he assured her, “when you are my wife, I will not allow anyone to say a word against you. You shall be my duchess, and it is my duty to protect you regardless of the circumstances surrounding our marriage.”
She seemed to believe him, at least a little. Owen did not let himself be wounded by her lack of faith, for he would prove himself soon enough. They continued on their way, and there were no more unwanted discussions or intrusions.
When they returned to the carriage, he turned to help her, but he then remembered that she did not want assistance.
As he stopped, however, she reached out for him and tumbled.
He caught her, his arms wrapping around her instinctively as she fell into him, her heartbeat matching his and their eyes locked together.
He froze, looking at her as she settled against him, laughing shyly about the fall.
She glanced at her maid, who was watching in surprise but said nothing, and then her cheeks turned bright pink, and she stumbled to her feet, boarding the carriage without another word.
Owen followed her, uncertain of the feelings stirring in his chest.