Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“The Duke seems utterly besotted,” observed Lady Kendale, a formidable dowager whose evaluation could establish or destroy a newcomer’s social prospects with equal ease. “How remarkable, considering his long-standing aversion to matrimony.”
“His Grace discovered that the right woman could transform even the most dedicated bachelor,” Beatrice replied, the practiced line emerging with surprising ease.
The performance began in earnest as they navigated the intricate social choreography of the ballroom.
The Duke maintained constant, subtle contact—a hand on her waist as they greeted acquaintances, fingers brushing against hers as he offered a glass of champagne, his gaze returning to her face with flattering frequency regardless of their conversational partners.
The moment he had excused himself to converse with some business associates, Beatrice had been accosted by the dowager.
“And so conveniently timed, mere hours after that unfortunate business with Lord Mallingham,” Lady Kendale continued, her sympathetic tone belied by the calculating gleam in her rheumy eyes. “One might almost suspect an arrangement.”
Beatrice’s hands twitched. Lady Kendale was one of the vipers of the ton. A viper, indeed.
As she opened her mouth to offer a response that balanced dignity with appropriate indignation, the Duke materialized at her side, his expression pleasantly neutral, though his eyes held an alluring gleam.
“Lady Kendale,” he acknowledged, his arm circling Beatrice’s waist with proprietary ease. “I trust you are enjoying the evening? Though perhaps not as much as those who find entertainment in speculating about matters beyond their comprehension.”
The dowager’s face colored slightly at the thinly veiled rebuke. “Your Grace, I merely observed—”
“That my wife enhances any gathering with her presence? Indeed, she does. You must excuse us, I believe this is our dance.”
Without waiting for her response, he guided Beatrice toward the dance floor with smooth efficiency, rescuing her from further interrogation with a decisiveness that she found herself grudgingly appreciating.
“Thank you,” she murmured as they took their positions for the quadrille. “That was becoming rather uncomfortable.”
“The ton’s vultures can sniff any hint of vulnerability,” he replied, his hand warm against hers as they moved through the opening figures. “They shall find none in us.”
The evening progressed in a similar fashion, with Leo maintaining their united facade with flawless precision and intercepting potential embarrassments before they could develop.
Everything he did projected an image of marital contentment so convincing that Beatrice herself might almost have believed it.
“Ah, there’s the Windermeres. I believe the Duchess is your friend, no?” Leo said.
Beatrice’s head snapped up, her heart soaring as she caught sight of her childhood friend. But her joy was in no way one-sided, as Georgina’s face brightened at the sight of them. She rushed forward and swept Beatrice into a tight hug before dropping into a curtsy.
“You look radiant, Bea,” Georgina said, squeezing her hands.
Heat rushed to Beatrice’s cheeks. “Oh, you flatter me.”
The ladies soon devolved into fits of giggles as they hugged again.
Leo nodded to the Duke. “Windermere. How’s fatherhood treating you?”
“Exhaustingly well.” Lysander grinned, pride evident in the crinkles around his eyes. “My son, Augustus, climbed on a bookshelf yesterday while his nurse dozed. And our newborn, Abigail, has her mother’s lungs.”
“Heaven help us all,” Georgina laughed, the sound genuine and warm in the artificial atmosphere of the ballroom.
Beatrice watched the easy affection between them, the casual way Lysander’s fingers brushed Georgina’s elbow, the private smile that passed between them like a secret language.
Suddenly, she felt a hollowness in her chest.
This isn’t the time or place for such sentiments, she reprimanded herself and straightened her back.
Then, Georgina turned to Leo with a knowing smile. “Might I steal your wife away for a turn about the room? I promise to return her relatively unharmed.”
Leo glanced at her. As Beatrice stared right back at him, a jolt of electricity shot through her.
“Why, of course, you can.” His fingers lingered on her wrist as he released her, the brush of skin against her pulse point deliberate, which she felt even through her gloves. “Though I’ll be counting the seconds.”
Of course, they had to keep the show alive.
“As will I.” Beatrice smiled sweetly at him.
Georgina kissed her husband’s cheek, then looped her arm through Beatrice’s. They moved around the room together, yet Beatrice couldn’t shake the tingles running down her back. When she glanced at her husband once more, she found that he was still watching her.
Her cheeks flushed.
Right then, Georgina drew her toward a quiet alcove partially concealed by potted palms.
“I’ve been desperate to speak with you alone,” she said. “How are you truly faring? The circumstances of your marriage have left many concerned.”
Beatrice exhaled slowly, grateful for her friend’s directness. “It’s been… unexpected.”
“That sounds rather mild for finding oneself married to the Duke of Stagmore within days of being jilted.” Georgina’s voice softened with concern.
“You know you may speak freely with me. We’ve been friends too long for pretense.
Besides, I know what it’s like to expect to marry one but then end up bound to another. ”
The ballroom’s heat pressed against Beatrice’s skin as she debated how much to reveal. Indeed, her friend had wed Lysander rather swiftly after she had discovered her former fiancé’s true nature.
And yet…
The memory of her interactions with Leo over the past days flashed through her mind: his penetrating gaze, the casual touches that seemed anything but casual, the way her body responded to his proximity.
Especially after that kiss.
Georgina’s eyes narrowed on her reddening cheeks. “Why are you blushing, Beatrice?”
Beatrice’s eyes widened, and she looked away, shaking her head once. “No, I mean… He…” But she knew she couldn’t keep it from her friend. “He kissed me.”
“Oh?”
A young couple waltzed too close to their alcove. Both women fell silent until they passed.
“He is your husband, after all,” Georgina said.
Beatrice’s face burned hot as she nodded.
Because her friend was right. Leo was her husband, after all, and they were pushing the idea of a romance of the century.
It was certainly not a scandalous thing to say about her husband, but she couldn’t hide her embarrassment. And her friend saw that.
“Do you care for him?” Georgina asked once they were alone again. She certainly looked very invested.
“I hardly know him.” Beatrice cleared her throat awkwardly.
“That wasn’t my question.” Georgina’s gaze was too perceptive by half.
Beatrice smoothed her skirts. “I… don’t want to be another… conquest, Gina.” She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “So, if I… care for him or not, is that relevant at all?”
Georgina sighed, her expression softening. “Of course it is, Bea. It does matter. And if you’re so worried, then I think you should guard your heart. I want you to protect yourself first. All right, darling?”
Beatrice attempted a smile that felt brittle at the edges and nodded. “I really needed this. But I suppose we cannot hide here forever.” She paused and nodded toward the dance floor. “Shall we return before both our husbands send a search party?”
Her friend gave a much more genuine smile in response. “Oh, we wouldn’t want them to feel neglected now, would we?”
And it was as they turned that Beatrice noticed a gentleman of middling years, his attire impeccable, his face arranged in an expression of polite interest.
The Earl of Westbury.
She recognized him immediately; he had spent much of last Season trailing her throughout every ball and assembly, persistent in his requests for dances and determined to win her affection.
“The new Duchess of Stagmore,” he noted. “What an unexpected elevation from your anticipated position as Lady Mallingham.”
Beatrice met his gaze steadily, recalling the attention he had sought the previous Season. “Lord Westbury,” she acknowledged. “How kind of you to offer your congratulations.”
“Indeed, congratulations are in order,” he agreed, his gaze assessing her with an intensity that bordered on impropriety.
“One wonders at the circumstances that led to such a fortuitous exchange of grooms. You and Lord Mallingham were considered quite the established match, I understand. His disappearance caused considerable speculation.”
“I should think that is none of your concern, Lord Westbury,” Georgina said before Beatrice could reply. She spoke like a true duchess, her tone forbidding.
Lord Westbury turned to study her, clearly battling to keep his expression neutral.
“Ah, Your Grace,” he said. “I did not see you there.”
Georgina gave him a tight smile. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”
Lord Westbury’s left eye twitched, a tell of his taking offense at her words, and Beatrice found some satisfaction in that.
“I apologize if I am coming off rather untoward. I have a curious nature, that is all.” This time, he looked right at her.
The pointed nature of his inquiry, disguised though it was behind social pleasantries, set off alarm bells in Beatrice’s head.
Why should this gentleman, an acquaintance at best, take such interest in Philip’s whereabouts?
“The heart has its reasons,” she replied lightly, employing the practiced response she and Leo had agreed upon for such inquiries. “I was as surprised as anyone by the turn of events.”
“Indeed?” Westbury’s smile did not reach his eyes. “One might have expected an indication, a hint of Lord Mallingham’s intentions. You were, after all, in his confidence before the wedding.”