Chapter 7
It felt like a betrayal.
Beatrice was not a fool. She knew that she could not expect love from her marriage, not given the circumstances that brought them together, but she at least thought that they would be friends.
She sat in her bedchambers the first night, perched on the edge of her bed and wondering if her lady’s maid would come to dress her for bed or if she should do it herself.
With a sigh, she hauled herself over to her dressing table and reached around her back, unlacing her gown and stepping out of it.
She grappled with the laces of her corset, loosening it slowly as she thought about what was to come.
It struck her that her husband seemed to care for Helena more than he did her, for he was ensuring that Helena was to live a life where she was cared for and loved, whereas Beatrice herself was to live in a home by herself, even though her husband was mere feet away.
As she pulled the corset from her body, she scolded herself.
She had nobody to blame but herself for her predicament.
She should have stayed quiet, and then she would have been at home with her family still.
Then again, she winced as she pulled her nightgown over her body.
It was not as though she was particularly happy there, either.
The knock at her door startled her greatly.
“Come in,” she called, and her lady’s maid Ella entered.
“Oh! You are dressed. Mrs. Forsythe told me this might happen.”
“My apologies. I was uncertain as to when you would come, and I am tired.”
“That is no surprise after what you have done today.”
She was a sweet young lady, her features dark but her demeanor bright. She picked up Beatrice’s things from the floor, folded them, and prepared to take away again without being asked.
“Thank you,” Beatrice said gently. “But I am more than capable of doing that myself.”
“Of course, but if you do everything then you shall have no use for me.”
With that in mind, Beatrice did not intercede again and allowed Ella to continue with her work.
“Do you know much about His Grace?” Beatrice asked. “I suppose that you have only just arrived in the way that I have.”
“Indeed, although I have heard from the other servants that he is a good man. You likely know that for yourself, though, or else you would not have married him.”
Beatrice agreed aloud, but she knew the truth. It did not matter what the Duke was like; after her antics, she would have had to marry him regardless.
“He is also generous,” Ella continued. “And from what I can tell, that is because he wishes to be different from his father. I cannot be certain of that, though.”
“Do you know much of the Late Duke? Truthfully, I know so little about my husband and his family that you, having been here just a bit longer, will know more about him from spending five minutes with Mrs. Forsythe than I do having married him.”
She had meant for the comment to be light-hearted, but even she heard the melancholy in it. She was married to a stranger, and there was no changing that fact when he wished for them to remain separated.
“I have not asked about him, and I have not been told anything, either. You shall have your tour tomorrow, though, so I am certain that you will have the chance to ask plenty of questions then.”
Ella slid a comb through Beatrice’s hair until it was free of the tangles of the day.
With that, she was ready for bed, though suddenly she did not feel like sleeping.
She thanked Ella, who slipped out of the room after assuring her that she would help her with anything that she needed, and lay on her bed with a deep exhale.
Her first day was done, and the next would come soon after she closed her eyes to rest. She let herself fall asleep, her body far more tired than her mind.
She awoke as sunlight streamed through the window, and she stretched beneath the bedcovers before pulling them off herself.
She considered dressing herself but decided against it and instead called for Ella.
If it was what was now expected of her, she would go along with it.
Her lady's maid arrived quickly, dutifully helping her into her gown for breakfast and fixing her hair into place.
Beatrice looked in the mirror hoping to see a duchess, but it was still just her. Round faced and plain, childlike in spite of her age. She frowned, wishing that she could do something to fix it.
“Is it not to your liking?” Ella asked. “I am more than happy to do it again.”
“No, it is beautiful. Thank you, Ella.”
She went to breakfast with the sound of her skirts echoing in her ears. She was wary of seeing Owen again after she had left him unceremoniously at dinner, but when she arrived in the dining room, he was seated at the head of the table smiling at her.
“I was hoping that you would join me,” he greeted. “You look nice.”
Nice. It was how everyone described Beatrice. Never pretty, nor interesting, nor even good. She was simply nice. It kept her from desiring a match for the longest time, because in comparison to her bright and beautiful friends, being nice simply was not good enough.
Emma was bold, fiercely protective of her sister.
Dorothy was intelligent, fascinated by plants.
Cecilia was outspoken, a bluestocking who wore the name with pride rather than shame.
Beatrice was the fourth friend, quick with a joke or some advice but never the center of attention.
It did not matter how many times she claimed not to care about that, she did. She did, and it burned in her chest.
“Are you all right?” Owen asked, bringing her attention back to the breakfast table.
“Yes, yes I am,” she said quickly. “I am simply still rather tired from yesterday, not to mention the week as a whole. It has all been so sudden, and though I am pleased that it has happened, I am also happy to leave all of it behind and continue alone just like you said.”
“I did not say that you would be alone; I said that we would lead separate lives, and I did not mean to upset you.”
“You did not.”
“You left the room, Beatrice. Do not feign nonchalance when it is so alarmingly clear that you do care. What I meant yesterday was that you are under no obligation to behave like a good little wife under our own roof. You were Beatrice before, and you are still her. You have not become someone else simply because there is now a ring on your finger.”
“And you are certain that is what you meant, and you are not merely trying to appease me?”
“I would not do that.”
She twisted the ring on her finger, looking at her empty plate. A servant came and began offering her pieces of meat and fruit, and she accepted them happily even though she could not taste anything.
“When were you thinking of using the kitchens?” he asked. “They are often in use, you see, and so we would have to make the time.”
“It is all right. I will not be using them for a while. I should like to adapt to my role first and then reintroduce my interests.”
“If you are certain, but I was rather looking forward to tasting what you make. From what your friends told me at our wedding you are very talented. They claimed you also bake often. One friend in particular raved about how she had yet to hold a tea that you did not bring something to.”
She knew that her cheeks were scarlet, and raising the back of her hand to one she felt the warmth coming from it. She had not expected her friends to speak about her in that way, but then it was the only thing of interest that one could say about her.
“Beatrice, I have made it clear that I find your passion interesting, and I want to encourage it.” He leaned toward her. “Why do you seem so embarrassed by this conversation?””
“Because I do not know you,” she replied without thinking.
“It is all well and good that you think that I can trust you, and I would very much like to believe you, but you are a man who went from marrying one lady to another in the blink of an eye and did not flinch. Pardon my lack of enthusiasm, but I will need some time to comprehend that.”
He faltered, and she was apologetic at once.
He did not deserve it; he was being kind to her as well as he could, and he was not a bad man, but something about him made her feel uncertain.
He was too kind, too understanding of everyone, and to Beatrice that could only mean that he had something to hide.
“I understand.”
“Stop understanding!” she snapped.
Silence fell for a moment, and then he chuckled.
Beatrice laughed softly too at the absurdity of her request. She was out of sorts, and she had been for a while.
Watching her friends fall in love and marry one by one while she sat on the shelf unwanted had affected her far more than she dared to admit, even if she was now also a wife.
“You will come to like it here,” he assured her. “It is not ideal, I know, but I saw how your father– I saw how you were living before. This will be better, I promise.”
Beatrice wondered just how much he had deduced from his brief meeting with her father.
Lord Jennings had never been one to pretend he held affection for his daughter, for she had never, in his eyes, warranted it.
She was a disappointment, the daughter who could have been great but never was, and marrying a duke hardly changed that.
She left for her tour after breakfast, Mrs. Forsythe looking eager to begin.
They toured the grounds first, Beatrice silent as everything was explained to her.
She did not know what to say, for it was impossible to mention any of the plants without explaining that she already knew all about them, having listened to Dorothy talk about them as often as she did.
The gardens were beautiful, though, and immaculately maintained. There came a point, however, where the grass was no longer cut in spite of there being no fencing. Beatrice narrowed her eyes at it, as though it would help her understand.
“Why is that part not cared for?” she asked. “There, by the trees. It is all overgrown.”
Mrs. Forsythe quietened, looking at it sadly.
“His Grace prefers it this way,” she said simply. “It has not been touched since he inherited the dukedom.”
“But it would make an excellent walk. I do enjoy walking through forests.”
“I would not recommend it. Nor would I suggest mentioning it to him. He is very particular about his land.”
Beatrice nodded, and they continued, but she could not stop herself from thinking about the sole patch of land that was untended.
Upon returning to the manor, they turned their attentions to the household itself, and Beatrice knew that it would be weeks before she had memorized it all.
Not only was the estate large, but the rooms were not arranged in a simple manner.
With it being so old, it was clear that rooms had been added on every hundred years or so, leading to a very strange layout.
However, even though it was difficult to understand, Beatrice liked it. There was a quirkiness to it that most places did not have, and she found it fascinating.
“Might there be any records of the changes made?” she asked as they entered their fourth hidden doorway. “I assume that there would have been plans and notes made, at the very least.”
“There are likely some somewhere, but I have never seen them. Do you like history, Your Grace?”
“In a sense. It is not my favorite thing to learn, but when it is something as personal as one’s home or their life, it piques my interest. Knowing how this household came to be is no exception.”
“Then I shall tell you what I can.”
They walked through the rooms, Mrs. Forsythe now more interested in telling her about when it was built than what each room was for.
The building had been constructed in the Medieval period and then extended by each person who inherited it.
It was a tradition, something that continued even when the first family left it.
At once, ideas swarmed Beatrice’s mind about what she would like to do with it.
An extension, a room that was theirs to choose could be anything, and while it was a most inviting chance, it was also monumental.
Whatever they built would be there for a very long time, which meant that she had to get it right.
“Did the late Duke build anything?” she asked, and Mrs. Forsythe nodded.
“He wanted a second ballroom,” she explained. “It was the grandest change of late the workers said. Of course, the foreman on the crew would know best. His family has always worked on the property and made alterations. Their family has always worked with the house of Pantheris.”
“Everyone is connected. It is a lovely thought.”
The housekeeper agreed, and soon the tour came to an end.
When Mrs. Forsythe left to continue her duties, Beatrice wished that she had asked more questions about the Duke himself, as well as the family, but she was pleased enough.
At last, there was something for her to do with herself.
She would discuss the mark that they would leave on the household with Owen, and then they would embark on this new project together.
They would come to know one another better, forge a friendship and, for a fleeting moment, she wondered if they might even find something more. The optimism in her heart was immense, and as she went to find him, she hoped that he would see it the same way.
He was in the drawing room, reading. She sat next to him with a smile on her face that he could not possibly ignore, and he put down his book with a grin.
“I see that you enjoyed the tour.”
“Indeed. It is such a fascinating household. I was wondering if there might be any documents explaining the history of it. Mrs. Forsythe believes that they exist, but she does not know where they would be.”
“The library,” he nodded, then paused. “I shall fetch them for you.”
“There is no need. I can find them myself, for I know that you are busy, and–”
“I will do it,” he repeated, far more firmly this time.
Beatrice did not argue. She was surprised by the way he spoke to her, for he had never done so before, and though he did not raise his voice she had to admit that it frightened her.
He left the room.