Chapter 29
Beatrice was glaring at her husband, but inside she was terrified of what he would say.
There was no denying that Helena was the prettier friend.
She had the beautiful blonde hair, the softer features and the slimmer frame.
She was what gentlemen wanted, and all of that came alongside a lady who never put a foot wrong.
Had she not fallen for George, she could have had any man she wanted.
Any man, Beatrice knew, including Owen.
“You are tired,” Owen sighed, only confirming her accusation.
“I am correct,” she replied. “You wanted to marry her because you had fallen for her. That is why you could never do the same for me, is it not?”
“Beatrice–”
“No. You have had more than enough time to tell me the truth of your own accord. If I have come to my own conclusion, and you cannot prove otherwise, then I can only assume that it is because I am–”
Without warning, she felt his hand take her waist and pull her in, then his lips pressed to hers.
Her eyes were wide for a moment, and then they closed, as a rush of affection hit her at once.
It was not gentle, but that was not what she wanted.
She wanted to feel needed, desired, and that was what he gave her.
When at last they broke apart, Beatrice knew that she was scarlet and she did not care. She waited for Owen to smile at last and swear that she was more important to him than anyone in the world, but he did not.
Instead, he looked terrified.
“That is why I keep away,” he said breathlessly. “I cannot control myself around you.”
“And what if I do not want you to?”
“That is not for you to decide. You do not know what I am capable of, Beatrice, and if you did– if you knew what I had done, you would not be able to look me in the eye, and I cannot allow that. I will not.”
There was an undeniable warning in his voice, and suddenly she felt a chill. She no longer wished to be in the hallway with him. Instead, she wanted to be far away from him. She had not truly been afraid of him until that moment, and she hated it.
“If you cannot tell me what you have done,” she said shakily, “then I cannot stay.”
“Beatrice, if you would only understand that I am doing this for you.”
“No,” she laughed sadly, stepping back. “No, you are doing this for yourself. Everything that you do is for your own benefit. You were going to marry Helena because you needed a wife. You married me to save yourself from the scandal, and now you keep me as far away as you can because…”
“Because?”
She looked him in the eye, trembling. If he were to be believed, then there was a very good reason for her to fear him, even if she did not know just what it was.
“Because you hate me,” she whispered.
She did not wait for a response. She could not bear the idea of him agreeing, as even though she was so certain of it, she did not want the confirmation. Instead, she turned and walked toward her room.
“I’m responsible for a death,” he said suddenly, and Beatrice turned back.
“I do not understand.”
He raked a hand through his hair, breathing shakily. Beatrice wondered if that was the awful secret that he had kept from her, and if that were true then perhaps it was for the best that it remained unknown.
She shook herself. This was what she had wanted to know, after all, and she could not be afraid now that she was finally getting just what she wanted.
“Do you recall those pictures that you saw?” he asked. “The clippings from articles.”
“Of course.”
“And the painting?”
“The one that seemed to disappear just after I saw it? Yes, I remember that portrait well.”
“I was not honest with you about them, nor was our housekeeper, which was because of me.”
“I knew you were not. It was most frustrating, too, for I knew you were not telling me the truth, and yet there was nothing that I could do about it. I simply had to accept it.”
Owen glanced around, realizing that they were in a hallway of a small home, which meant lacking a good deal of privacy.
“Might we discuss this in my room?”
“So now you will allow me to go into it?”
“Beatrice, do not be unfair.”
“Do not tell me what to do, not when you are confessing to something as grave as this.”
And yet, when he gestured to his door, she entered the room. She stood in the center, looking around as she waited to be told where to sit. Owen carefully closed his door, and remained looking at it for a moment, as though unable to look at her.
“I kept all of it from you for your own sake,” he continued. “I did not want you to see the house the way that the rest of us do. We see her everywhere, and it is something I would not wish on anyone.”
“Who do you see?”
“My sister.”
The words rang in her ears. She had never heard of a sister, not from anyone in the ton. Nobody mentioned her, which made no sense. A thing such as a mysterious death would have been the perfect source of gossip.
“You did not say that you have a sister. Nobody has.”
“Nobody knows what happened to her. They do not know the truth, at least. They all believed that she was arranged to marry an earl and sent away to the north. The story is so old now that it is no longer interesting. I am fortunate that nobody has ever mentioned her, though.”
“The same cannot be said for me, but what do you mean? What truly happened to her?”
“It was awful, Beatrice. Do not make me think of it more than I already do.”
“But I deserve to know.”
“She died. She died, and the fault was my own. You do not need to know anything more than that.”
Beatrice stopped at last, her head down. She had so many questions, but she knew she had already been told more than he truly wished to share with her as it was. This was all she was going to know, and she had to be grateful for it.
Except, she could not bring herself to be.
She walked toward the door, and opened it, stepping out into the hallway again. Owen followed her, taking her by the wrist and turning her back to look at him.
“Where are you going?”
“I do not know. All I know is that I can no longer stay here.”
“Why not?”
“Because that is the real reason you wished to help Lady Helena, is it not? I knew that she looked familiar to me, and at last, I know why. She looked like those portraits of your sister. You thought that you would help her because of what you did, and it would make you feel better, did you not?”
“No, I–”
“Stop lying to me,” she snapped. “This is precisely why I cannot stay here. I do not know what you want from me, but I cannot sit and wait for you to tell me. I cannot stay here.”
“Beatrice, if you walk away, you cannot come back.”
It could have been an empty threat, but the words hung between them all the same. Beatrice looked at her husband, and for once a calm came over her. There was no anger left after everything that had happened. All that she knew was that she was tired, and she could no longer care what became of her.
“And what, Dear Husband, would I be coming back to?” she asked.
“I cannot stay in a marriage where I am shut out at every turn, nor where I am made to feel as though I am a burden one moment and a friend the next. Sometimes, you act like you truly do love me, and other times it feels like you see me as nothing at all.”
“But you are my…my Duchess.Beatrice– Beatrice, you are everything to me. It is because of that that I cannot let myself come to close to you, because if something were to happen to you, I would blame myself.”
“If something were to happen to me, you would not even know. How is that better for you?”
“I did not want this marriage. But you…you Beatrice are…” He shook his head dismissively. “I have been hiding from it, because I can never be the man you need me to be. I will fail you, and there is no escaping that.”
“And is that what you truly believe?”
Her voice had softened, and she hoped that he would consider it, and shake his head, but instead he nodded solemnly.
If that was what he thought; that he would never be a good husband to her, then she would not open herself to being hurt deliberately.
He released his grip on her, and she walked away.
She entered her room and began to place her belongings in a bag. She did not know quite how she would be able to leave, but she knew she had to. If he did not love her, and certainly not enough to change, then she would never be able to love him in return, no matter how much she wanted to.
She heard Owen knock on her door, but after two attempts he walked away. That was for the best, she decided, as she could no longer face him. After what he had said, all that she truly wanted was to leave and not see him again.
It was still dark outside when she left, but the footman was awake. His eyes widened at the sight of her, which Beatrice thought had to be because of how she looked.
“Are you unwell, Your Grace?”
“I must go,” she explained. “You may bring the carriage back after, but I have to leave now.”
There was an urgency in her voice, and though the footman looked beyond her as if searching for Owen, he did not argue with her.
He gave a small nod, and she climbed in, her heart racing.
She wondered, briefly, if her husband would come out to her and beg her not to go, but of course he did not.
He did not love her, and he never would.
Granted, she never thought that anyone ever could. During her marriage, she had begun to hope that she had always been wrong about herself, but there it was, the proof that she had needed to be certain. She was not like her friends, not worth loving no matter what she did.
“Am I to take you home, Your Grace?” the footman asked.
“No,” she replied firmly. “No, I would like to see my mother, instead.”
She had said it without thinking, but she knew in an instant that she could not face her. The only time she had truly felt accepted by her mother was when she was to marry Owen, and she would not take kindly to any difficulties that had arisen.
“On second thought,” she said quickly, “I would like to see the Duke and Duchess of Lupton.”
He nodded, and they left. Beatrice, having nobody to talk to, watched as the scenery changed and the sky lightened. She yearned to go back to her husband and mend everything, but that was not what he wanted and so it could not happen.
And so, she never wanted to see him again.