Chapter 27
Beatrice was walking in the gardens, thinking over everything she had learned in the last twenty-four hours, when she heard her voice being called from the house. Immediately, she recognized that voice, and she turned, a smile already painting her lips.
Mrs. Hughes was standing on the back steps, waving at her, a wide smile on her lips. She looked slightly tanned, as if she had been outside in the sun, and very happy.
“Mrs. Hughes!” Beatrice cried, and she turned and hurried back across the garden toward her companion. The moment she reached her, Mrs. Hughes pulled her into a tight hug.
“My dear!” Mrs. Hughes gushed, squeezing her more tightly than was strictly necessary. “It is so wonderful to see you again. And under such different circumstances.”
Mrs. Hughes released her and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I hear that you are engaged! And to the Duke of St. James!”
“Yes,” Beatrice laughed, shaking her head. “I know that it probably sounds rather shocking.”
“It is not exactly what I expected from this Season,” Mrs. Hughes said, grinning.
“But I confess that I am very happy for you! I have heard rumors about him, of course. That he can be…” She trailed off, clearly not wanting to say rakish.
Instead, her eyes searched Beatrice’s face, but all she saw was Beatrice beaming back at her.
“But if you are happy, then none of that matters!”
“I am happy,” Beatrice said, unable to hide the joy from her face.
Yes, she did not know what was going to happen next in her life, if the duke would lose his inheritance and they would be impoverished, or if there would be another attempt on his life.
Yes, she was worried sick. But she was also happy.
The happiest she had been in her entire life.
“I love him, Mrs. Hughes,” she said, and saying the words out loud for the first time brought tears to her eyes. “I have not told him that yet, but I love him. More than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. He is more than just my companion and my confidant. He is my closest friend.”
Mrs. Hughes’s eyebrows shot up. “More than Vivienne?”
Beatrice laughed and shook her head. “Well, maybe not more than Vivienne. But in a different, equal way. He is truly the best man I have ever known. If you even knew the ways in which he has rescued me.”
Mrs. Hughes’s eyebrows relaxed, and when she smiled, it was with genuine warmth. “Then I am very happy for you, my dear. It is exactly what I would have always hoped for you, and exactly what you deserve after so much suffering.”
Together, the two of them went inside, laughing and gossiping as Beatrice asked more questions about Mrs. Hughes’ stay with her daughter and Mrs. Hughes asked more questions about her courtship with the duke.
“I did hear a rumor,” she said, her eyes one more raking over Beatrice as they sat down in the parlor. “That you and the duke had spent time together… alone… on the road outside of London.”
“Yes, I heard that rumor as well,” Beatrice said, keeping her back very straight and her face devoid of emotion as she stared back at her guardian. “But I do not know where it came from. Someone must have heard I had traveled to visit Vivienne on my own and made it up.”
“But why would they make it up?” Mrs. Hughes said, her brow knitting. “And with such specificity!”
“I cannot say,” Beatrice said, not quite meeting her eye. “The duke has been dealing with some sabotage recently, perhaps someone is trying to harm him.”
“But…”
Fortunately, Mrs. Hughes’ curiosity was cut short by the door of the parlor bursting open and Nathaniel, Vivienne, and Theodore all walking inside.
One look at her friends and brother told Beatrice that this was a very happy event. Nathaniel was grinning from ear-to-ear, while Vivienne was blushing and smiling prettily, her arm interlaced with Theodore’s, who also looked more pleased than she had ever seen him in her life.
Gone were all the worry lines in his face, the permanent frown of his mouth, the tenseness in his shoulders. He looked like the boy she remembered, the one who had been sweet, sensitive, and emotionally open, before their parents died and he had become the Viscount.
He looked radiant.
“Your brother has just come to see me,” Nathaniel informed Beatrice, bounding over to her and taking one of her hands and squeezing it.
“He has just officially asked for permission to marry my sister! I am told that you are the one who is responsible for this, that it was your matchmaking and encouragement that has led to this joyous occasion.”
“I do not know if I can take all of the credit,” Beatrice said, laughing as she stood up. “But I did tell my brother he ought to stop taking out all his frustration on Vivienne and myself… and perhaps I did give him a nudge to go after what he desired.”
“I am inclined to think you did rather a lot,” Nathaniel said.
“Knowing your brother and how slow he can be to do anything…” But he was only jesting, everyone could hear from his tone how happy he was, and he winked at Theodore.
“I had been wondering for some time if the affection I noticed was in my head or not, or if you were actually in love with my sister. I am relieved it has finally happened, not least of all because I can now finally make plans to tour the continent. I had been waiting to go abroad for some time, but did not want to leave Vivienne alone.”
“She will be safe in my hands, do not fear,” Theodore said, turning to look at Vivienne with such a pure expression of love that Beatrice felt her heart ache with something she could not quite identify.
Was it happiness? That was there, too, but there was also something else.
“I am just glad that my wayward, wild sister returned from France and finally knocked some sense into me and got me to propose. I am not sure I would have figured it out without her or actually done something about it. She is, it turns out, a very good influence on me.”
“I am glad to hear you say that,” Beatrice said, grinning at her brother. Theodore smiled back.
“I am grateful to you as well,” Vivienne said, her voice softer than Theodore’s but her smile no less radiant.
“For years, I wondered if I was imagining things. I thought I must be nurturing these feelings alone. But now, I am the happiest woman in the world to be able to marry my love in the presence of all my loved ones.”
She beamed around the room, and Beatrice understood exactly what was making her heart ache.
It was envy.
As happy as she was for her friend and brother, a part of her was also envious.
Their path forward was without obstacles.
They would announce their engagement, get married, and live in wealth and ease.
She and the duke, on the other hand, were facing so many obstacles.
Could they even have a wedding ceremony, with someone trying to kill the duke?
Would that not be akin to putting a target on their backs?
And what would happen after that? Would the duke lose his title?
Would they be forced to live in poverty and infamy?
She knew she could do it, that she would not flinch from such a fate.
But it would not be an easy life. And eventually, it could wear away at the love that she and the duke had for one another.
That was… if the duke even loved her.
And if her brother even allowed the match. As far as he knew, he was still expecting her to end the engagement in a few months.
She would have to tell him the truth.
And there was no better moment than the present.
“We ought to have some champagne sent up,” she said, stepping forward. “To toast to both of our marriages.”
Her brother looked at her, and she met his gaze levelly.
“I am more happy for you than I can ever say, brother,” she said, stepping forward.
“And I hope that in your joy, you can be happy for me in mine. I know that the duke is not the man you would have chosen for me, and I know that there are many uncertainties hanging over him right now. But I also want you to know that I love him as much as you love Vivienne. And I plan to marry him in several months’ time, no matter what difficulties we may face. ”
Silence had descended over the room, and Beatrice knew that Nathaniel and Vivienne were probably exchanging shocked looks and that Mrs. Hughes was probably wondering exactly what she was talking about. However, she only cared what Theodore thought. He was the one she had to make understand.
He stared back at her, unblinking. She held her breath. The world seemed to still around them.
And then, at last, her brother nodded.
“Yes,” he murmured at long last. “I know you will. I have seen the way you look at him, Beatrice. You love him. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loves you.” Her heart leapt. “How could he not?”
She felt, then, the greatest longing that she had ever felt in her life. And as tears sprang to her eyes, she wished more than anything in the world that the Duke—Rupert, her Rupert—could be there with them now, in the drawing room, celebrating with them.
Because he was the man she loved. For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. For richer or for poorer.
Champagne was sent for after that, and when it arrived they poured five flutes and lifted them high into the air, toasting to Theodore and Vivienne and to Beatrice and the duke. Everyone drank heartily, and Beatrice felt light and airy, giddy with a strange combination of defiance and happiness.
She was just helping herself to a second glass when a footman entered the parlor and handed her a letter. It was from Rupert.
Ripping it open, she read quickly:
Dearest Beatrice,
You must come quickly. I have learned more about the challenge to my title and who is behind it, and I wish to discuss it with you post-haste.
I dare not say anything in writing in case this letter is intercepted, and I beg you not to tell anyone where you are going in case you are followed. We cannot trust anyone. Not yet.
Please come at once, I will be waiting for you.
All my love,
Rupert
All my love. Her heart somersaulted as she reread those words again and again. What exactly did they mean?
And more importantly, what had he discovered that he needed to discuss so quickly? Surely, this had to do with his uncle and the suspicions they both shared.
She had to go, she knew. She needed to know exactly what was going on. At the bottom of the letter, he had included an address in an industrial part of the city, close to the water.
She glanced around the room. The others were occupied, talking to one another and laughing, the champagne making them inattentive. Only Vivienne was watching her, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Tucking the letter into her reticule, Beatrice stepped forward.
“I must go see the modiste,” she announced. “I have just received word from her that several of my dresses are ready, including the one I ordered for the engagement ball.”
Her brother looked at her with mild surprise. “Now?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Very well,” he sighed, and Beatrice moved toward the door before he could change his mind. Her fingers were on the handle when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned to see Vivienne had caught up with her.
“Is everything well?” she asked, her eyes wide as they searched Beatrice’s face. “You look very pale. And I do not remember you ordering a gown already for the ball…”
“I am well,” Beatrice said, lowering her voice. “But I must go and see the duke. He says it is urgent.” She glanced back at her brother. “Do not tell Theodore.”
“But…”
“Please, Vivienne. Do this for me.”
And with a final smile, Beatrice hurried from the parlor and out into the entrance hall, where she ordered a carriage with haste.
The part of the city the carriage took her to, however, did not invite a feeling of ease. Why, she wondered, had Rupert summoned her to this part of London? Was it unsafe for him to meet her at his townhouse?
She supposed it was possible that was the case. After all, his uncle lived there. Most likely he was bringing her to his solicitor’s office so that they could make some sort of affidavit together about their suspicions.
The building the carriage stopped just a block from, however, did not look like a solicitor’s office. It looked like a warehouse that was used to store goods before they were shipped out to France.
The street was also dark and deserted, the buildings along it so tall that it blotted out the sun.
Smoke and smog was billowing from chimneys all around them, further obscuring the day and shrouding them in darkness.
The street itself was dirty, littered with debris and old crates that reeked of rotting fish.
“Are you sure this is the place, milady?” the driver asked as he helped her down.
Beatrice checked the address again, then swallowed and nodded.
“Stay there,” she told him, trying to keep the quaver of fear from her voice. Just in case.
“I am not going anywhere,” he assured her.
As she approached the building, however, she did feel another flare of doubt, and she reached into her reticule to check the address again against the one Rupert had written.
To her surprise, and alarm, the letter was not there.
And as she pushed open the door to the warehouse and stepped into the dark, echoing building, she had a terrible feeling that she had made a grave mistake.