Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“You seem… pensive, Your Grace,” Adrian remarked after a pause, leaning slightly forward in his seat.
The carriage rattled softly along the uneven London streets, and Beatrice kept her gloved hands folded in her lap, watching as lamps and shadowed windows blurred past. She’d been quiet for a while, the steady rhythm of the horses a comfort against the tumult of her thoughts.
She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “I suppose I am. It is… reassuring that His Grace offered to provide Anna with a safe place. That he took measures to ensure her safety. I am grateful.”
Adrian inclined his head, the faintest smile touching his lips. “It is not often that one encounters a man of his reputation who acts with such… deliberate care. There is more to him than the world sees.”
Beatrice considered that, her gaze fixed on the dimly lit streets. She had glimpsed it herself, the deliberate planning, the calm authority, the insistence that Anna be shielded from danger. It suggested a depth of character she had not expected.
Perhaps the public persona is only the surface, she thought, tracing the outline of his intentions in her mind.
They rode on in silence for a few moments, the carriage swaying gently, until Adrian signaled to the driver. “We have arrived,” he announced.
Beatrice drew in a breath and offered him a polite nod. “Thank you for the escort. And for listening.”
“Always,” he replied, inclining his head. “And take care, Your Grace. The world has a way of surprising even the most cautious.”
Beatrice stepped down, brushing her skirts against the polished carriage steps, and watched as the horses clattered toward the street.
The familiar facade of the Stagmore townhouse rose before her, imposing yet welcoming. She paused at the door for a heartbeat, gathering her composure, then entered, greeted by the butler’s impeccable discretion.
The drawing room was empty, warm from the lingering heat of the afternoon, and she allowed herself a quiet sigh.
The chaos of the day, Philip’s situation, the careful orchestration of Anna’s protection… all of it weighed on her, leaving her simultaneously exhausted and relieved.
She moved through the room with measured steps, letting her mind settle, aware that at any moment, Leo might arrive, bringing with him the controlled intensity and subtle magnetism that made her heart rate quicken in ways she still struggled to understand.
Beatrice had been waiting in the drawing room, the soft firelight painting the walls with gold and shadow, when the sound of the carriage wheels at the gate announced his return.
She straightened in her seat as his familiar figure crossed the threshold, shedding his cloak and gloves with deliberate ease.
“Waiting for me, were you?” Leo asked, a teasing lilt in his voice as he eyed her from the doorway.
“I wanted to make sure that you returned safely,” she replied evenly, though the edge of a smile betrayed her concern. “Much as you ensured my safety this afternoon.”
He gave a small, approving nod, but did not comment further.
Beatrice exhaled softly, allowing herself the faintest satisfaction in the quiet acknowledgment of shared vigilance.
She broke the silence first.
“Thank you,” she said, the words carrying more than mere politeness.
Leo crossed the polished floor, lifting the crystal decanter from the sideboard. The warm glow of the fire caught the amber liquid, and he poured a measure into a cut-glass tumbler, setting it before himself with a soft clink.
He glanced up from the drink he had just poured, his expression deliberately guarded. “You’ve already expressed your gratitude, dear,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.
“Still,” she insisted, lifting her chin slightly, “I hadn’t thought you so… thoughtful.”
He turned to face her fully, the crystal glass held in his hand, his eyes unusually bright in the amber light. “I am capable of more than you assume, darling.”
The simple statement carried weight she had not expected.
Beatrice felt something shift—a reassessment of the man she had married, a recognition of depths she had not previously acknowledged.
This was not merely the rakish aristocrat Society loved to gossip about, nor the cold pragmatist who had proposed their arrangement. This was a man of complexity and contradictions, capable of hidden principles and deliberate care.
Her thoughts lingered briefly on the possibility of a genuine connection, before she deliberately redirected herself.
“It occurs to me that finding Philip may prove more challenging than we anticipated,” she said. “If he’s hiding to protect Anna, he must have taken considerable precautions against discovery.”
“Indeed,” Leo agreed, relief lacing his voice at the change of topic. “Though his options are limited by finances and connections. Philip has always acted on impulse, without full consideration of the consequences.”
“Unlike his cousin,” Beatrice remarked wryly.
Leo allowed the barest smile to touch his lips before settling back into serious contemplation.
“Westbury’s interest in you at Lady Peregrine’s ball takes on new significance, in light of what we’ve learned,” he continued. “He was probing to determine whether Philip had revealed anything to you.”
“He seemed disappointed by my ignorance,” Beatrice recalled. “At the time, I attributed his interest to mere social curiosity about our unusual marriage.”
“Westbury is clearly involved in far more than ownership of a gaming hell,” Leo said, his expression hardening. “Smuggling, or worse. The scale of his operation must be considerable to justify such extreme measures against exposure.”
“Which places both Philip and Anna in danger,” Beatrice concluded, a chill running down her spine.
“And potentially you as well,” Leo added, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Though I give you my word, Duchess. No harm will come to you while you bear my name and protection.”
The vehemence in his declaration startled her. There was something fiercely protective in his gaze that went far beyond their formal arrangement, sending an unexpected warmth through her chest.
For a long moment, they simply regarded each other, the silence between them charged with unspoken acknowledgment.
Beatrice studied the blue of his eyes, the way the firelight cast shadows on his strong features, and the subtle tension in his posture as he restrained some deep emotion.
“The hour grows late,” he said finally, breaking the spell with evident reluctance. “You should rest. Tomorrow brings new challenges; I have no doubt.”
“Yes,” she agreed, though she lingered for a heartbeat, unwilling to let the connection fade entirely. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
He bowed with formal courtesy that nonetheless conveyed genuine respect. “Goodnight, Duchess. Sleep well.”
As Beatrice made her way to her chambers, her thoughts were in disarray. Her husband was revealing himself to be far more complex than she had anticipated. Honorable beneath his rakish reputation, compassionate despite his cultivated detachment.
She did not know what to think of this revelation.
And, for the moment, she did not wish to think at all.
The Windermere townhouse presented a welcoming prospect, its elegant facade warmed by the afternoon sunlight as Beatrice ascended the steps.
She was greeted by a butler whose dignified bearing reminded her fleetingly of Edmonds at Stagmore Manor, then was ushered into a drawing room where her friend awaited.
“Beatrice, darling!” Georgina rose to embrace her warmly. “How wonderful to see you. It’s been an age since we’ve had a proper conversation.”
“Georgina.” Beatrice returned the embrace with genuine affection. “Thank you for the invitation. I’ve missed our talks.”
Georgina gestured toward a settee before the fireplace, where a tea service awaited. “Come, sit. I want to know everything since we last talked at the ball. How are you finding married life now? Any more… kisses?”
Beatrice sat down, accepting a delicate porcelain cup with a murmured thanks even as her cheeks flushed.
“Georgina…” She tried to keep the whine out of her voice. “Do not tease me. It was rather… unexpected, you know.”
“The most romantic ones always are,” Georgina insisted, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest.
Beatrice narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Now, I believe you are taunting me.”
Georgina laughed loudly. “Oh, I would never do such a thing, Bea,” she said playfully. “It’s merely that… well, your life seems like something out of a romance novel.”
At that, Beatrice arched an eyebrow.
Georgina’s shoulders shook as if she were trying to suppress her giggles. “Oh, do think about it, Bea! Jilted at the altar, only to be swept away by the notorious Duke of Stagmore! You know I am right.”
“Then would you like to switch places with me?” Beatrice muttered, sipping her tea. “I would love for you to experience this romance novel life in my place.”
“All right, all right, I will stop teasing you,” Georgina conceded. “But seriously, Bea. Are you happy? I’ve worried about you, especially given the Duke’s… reputation.”
The question gave Beatrice pause.
How to explain the complexity of her marriage to her dear friend without revealing the arrangement’s true nature?
She could not implicate Georgina in the increasingly dangerous circumstances surrounding Philip’s disappearance, nor could she fully articulate her confused feelings about a man who continually defied her expectations.
“It’s… not what I anticipated,” she admitted finally. “The Duke is a complex man. Improper at times, yes. But in truth, he’s been nothing but a gentleman toward me.”
Georgina studied her with perceptive eyes. “There’s something different about you, Bea. A new confidence, perhaps? Marriage agrees with you, it seems.”