Chapter 23
Beatrice had never thought that she could have the same figure as the other young ladies, but something had changed in her.
When the modiste took her measurements and muttered them as she wrote them down, she did not shudder. She simply heard the numbers and nothing more. When different colors were held against her, she did not think they looked hideous. For the first time in her life, she actually felt pretty.
And she knew precisely who she had to thank for that.
It was not in anything that Owen had said to her, but how he treated her.
When they talked, he looked at her intently, truly listening to what she had to say.
He remembered things about her, and when he heard the truth about her family, he hardly cared at all.
She had never thought that anyone would ever like her even half as much as he did, and that let her dream.
It was a dangerous thing to do, yet she dared. She chose a forest green for her gown, one that would contrast the icy blues and silvers that she expected to see.
“You shall be the one who everyone looks upon,” the seamstress, Madame Dupont said in her faint French accent. “And one of my favorite fabrics, too.”
“Do you think it might be too much?” she asked, cautiously looking at herself again.
“Nonsense. A duchess can never be too much. You are to be a guest of honor, Your Grace. They shall have no choice but to like you, and when you look as lovely as this, they will admire you completely.”
Beatrice struggled to imagine what the gown would look like when completed, but she did not need to wait long.
By morning, she received word that it was complete.
She almost did not believe it at first, but of course the modiste would not lie to her.
She left with a maid after breakfast, where she noted that her husband was absent.
She did not think much of it, however. He was a busy man, and from what she understood, if they were to say their honeymoon had been good, that meant the honeymoon was over. It had been a good few weeks, but they had duties to fulfill and that meant seeing less of one another.
“My word!” she gasped when she saw the gown.
It was exactly as the sketch looked; deep green silk that felt incredibly soft yet had an undeniable weight to it, with pale lace on the sleeves and the hem and delicate embroidery that wrapped around the waistline.
It was something to marvel at, and she could not believe that it had only taken a day.
“Good morning,” Madame Dupont greeted. “I can see you are pleased.”
“I could not be happier. How did you do it?”
“I ‘ad some assistance,” she explained. “It was me and three assistants, but it was finished quickly enough. They were more than ‘appy to work with me when I told them who it was for.”
Beatrice wished that the others were present so that she could thank them personally, but she was too busy trying not to flush pink at the thought of them all wanting to help because it was her.
She tried on the gown, and it was a flawless fit.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, she no longer saw the sad little girl that was stuffed into ridiculous dresses and paraded around.
She looked refined and elegant, exactly as she had always envisioned a duchess to be.
At last, she felt as though she would belong with her friends, rather than being the unfortunate spinster that she was before.
When she returned home, she faced the difficult task of keeping it from Owen. She wished to show him immediately, but she also wished to keep the surprise. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she did not want the shine to wear off by showing it to him too soon.
As she looked for him so that they could talk, however, she realized that he was still not there. It was strange, for if he had plans he tended to tell her, but everything had happened very quickly, and it was entirely possible that it had slipped his mind.
“Where is His Grace?” she asked Mrs. Forsythe when she found her, dusting a mantel. “I have not seen him since last night.”
“He has gone to the village,” she replied. “Did you not see him?”
“No, I only went to the modiste. He was not there to see me, was he?”
“Oh, no. He is to speak with a man who knows how to construct things. I am not entirely certain quite what he wants built, but he will not be away for too long.”
“I should hope not. We have a ball to attend tonight.”
“Ah yes, the Pembroke ball.”
There was an edge to her words, as though she was not thrilled about it, and it piqued Beatrice’s curiosity.
“Do you know of them?”
“I am a housekeeper for a duke. I know everything,” she laughed sadly. “You did not hear this from me, but I do not understand why His Grace has accepted the invitation. The Pembrokes are not the nicest people.”
Upon hearing that, Beatrice was just as confused. She did not know them, but if Owen was happy to be in their company, then they had to be good people. If he thought otherwise, she was certain that he never would have wanted to go.
“What exactly is wrong with them?” she asked. “Are they unkind?”
“Well, not exactly. They are a proper family, you see. They are very strict about etiquette, with the exception of making very public statements about those that displease them. I do not know why they cannot simply gossip like everyone else.”
“I would have thought it admirable. I would rather things were said to me, not about me, and what with the current rumor…”
Suddenly, she wished she would be in the company who kept such scandal to themselves.
“Do you think we should not go?” Beatrice asked. “I can speak with my husband, and we can–”
“You are going, Your Grace. Do not pay me any mind. Even Lady Pembroke knows better than to mock a duke and duchess.. You have far more influence than she ever would, which means that aside from a few slights, you shall leave the night unscathed if she knows what is good for her.”
She tried to be soothed by the encouragement, but the fear was there.
She had done everything she could to ensure that she would be the perfect guest, but was that why they had been invited to begin with?
It was perfectly believable that she had been invited as she was a duchess, but knowing how she was, it was also possible that she had been invited so that Lady Pembroke had something to talk about.
She wished that her husband was home.
When he did return a few hours later, he was accompanied by an older man. They were carrying large planks of wood together, and though curious Beatrice was caught off guard by how good he looked doing it.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing his strong arms, and he carried the wood like it was nothing. When she managed to tear her arms away from that, however, she realized that they were taking it toward the forest.
She ran quickly to them, and as she approached they stopped and turned to her.
“Continue with me,” Owen said to the man, and then they continued together.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Something that I have been planning for a while now. How was the modiste?”
“You shall not believe your eyes. Madame Dupont is an incredible seamstress, and she even used her assistants just to ensure it was ready in time.”
“As I had hoped. Am I to know the color? I should like to match with you, so that I am not upstaged entirely.”
“That could not happen, and you know it. But yes, you may know. It is green, the very same one as these trees, actually.”
She darted forward, for she was not carrying anything, and reached up to one of the branches.
“This one!” she called. “It is this color exactly.”
“Beatrice, come away from there!”
His voice had far more urgency than she ever would have expected, and it caused so much panic in her that she stepped away without questioning him. When she returned to him, he noticed her puzzled expression.
“Those trees tend to drop their acorns around this time of year. I would hate for one to land on you, that is all.”
“I do not think that an acorn could hurt me too much.”
“You might be surprised. I have had several run-ins with them, and they can be rather nasty, especially when they fall from the taller branches.”
“Very well.” She shrugged. “I shall keep my distance, then.”
“And, if you would not mind, I would prefer that you were in the house.”
“Oh. Have I done something wrong?”
“Not at all, but this is dangerous work, and I do not want anything to happen to you.”
At last, she remembered that she wanted to know what was happening.
“And what exactly are you both doing?” she asked. “We have an event tonight, and I do not wish to be late.”
“I know what I am doing. I shall not be long. I am helping to bring the wood here, and then the rest will be done for us.”
“Yes, but what exactly is that?”
“I am blocking off the forest,” he said simply.
It should have been the sort of thing that Beatrice did not question; he master of the household, and so anything that happened should have been his decision, but something felt strange.
“I see, but why did you not tell me when I was changing the household? I asked you if there was anything in particular you wanted.”
“You did, but that would have meant you coming here. I know how involved you were with all of it.”
“I was, indeed, for it is my home too. What is so wrong with me wanting to be in my own garden?”
“It is dangerous,” he snapped. “I have told you not to come here, and I have told you why. I do not want you to be hurt.”
“It is a forest, not a battlefield. I am more than capable of following a path.”
“Beatrice, I do not wish to quarrel when we are to attend a ball, nor do I want this man to continue pacing the length of our estate alone. I cannot discuss this with you.”
“How painfully convenient.”
“Excuse me?”
“Owen, I am trying to be patient. I have told you so much about me and done everything I can to make this household a home for both of us, but you can never seem to tell me the truth. I may not be the most intelligent lady, but I know when something is being kept from me, and you have done it so many times that I have lost count.”
“It is not my fault that you refuse to listen. I tell you not to push matters, but you cannot help yourself, can you? I have told you that we cannot discuss this, and I have given you perfectly reasonable explanations as to why. Why can you not accept them?”
“Because they are not the truth,” she replied, her eyes not leaving his. “You cannot expect me to accept these excuses forever. You will have to tell me what you are truly thinking eventually.”
“I am not thinking anything. Everyone seems to believe that I have all these issues that they must solve, but you are mistaken. I am perfectly fine. I– I–”
Even he seemed surprised by his outburst. He leaned against the wood, steadying his breathing.
Had it been any other man, Beatrice might have been frightened, but there was something about her husband that made him impossible to fear.
Perhaps it was that she knew beneath all of it was a very good man, one that truly did only want what was best for her.
“If you believe I am in danger,” she said quietly, “I will listen to you. I will not question your decision to protect me. However, when you wish to tell me just what this danger is, know that I will be waiting to hear from you.”
It was not how she wanted to settle the matter. Ideally they would have reached a proper conclusion, but the day was drawing on and much had to be done before they left that night, especially if he was so insistent on fencing off the land.
She returned to the household, and as she entered a maid saw her, rushing to her warmly.
“Are you ready for your bath, Your Grace?”
“Indeed. If you do not mind, might you make it hotter than usual? There is a terrible chill in the air.”
It had been a strange and very quick difference, but it was undeniably there.
Beatrice preferred the colder months, for they made the thick and heavy gowns more bearable.
Spending a summer evening in the sweltering heat in thick silk was not something she enjoyed at all, and she spent most of them wishing for snow.
That day, however, she wanted the shock of the heat against her skin.
She wanted the extra warmth so that she could then relax into it, letting her fears go before she left for the ball.
She knew that there would be talk of her, but she could not let it hurt her.
She was a duchess, and that changed everything.
There could be no allowing people to make her feel small, not when she had every reason to feel important.
“The Duke’s mother liked hotter baths,” the maid said as she stroked a sponge along Beatrice’s arms.
“I must admit, I do not know very much about the Late Duchess. From what I do know, she was a kind lady.”
“Indeed, which perhaps made it easier to sway her opinions. She only ever wanted to make people happy, and it was difficult for her to stand her ground.”
Beatrice understood that all too well. She wished that she had been firmer with Owen, for she was growing tired of him keeping secrets, but it had been easier to walk away and so she had.
At least, in doing so, the ball would be bearable. If Lady Pembroke was as frightening as Mrs. Forsythe described, Beatrice needed her husband by her side. One day, she hoped she would be able to handle such matters herself, but in the meantime, she needed the Duke.