Page 58 of The Duke's Vice

“Ha! I haven’t been a boy for some time now.” The man pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. His eyes landed on Beatrice.

“Oh ho! And who is this lovely flower? Eh?”

The man reached out and took Beatrice’s hand. She flinched, expecting the man’s hand to rough and abrasive. Much to her surprise his hand was soft and gentle.

She dipped her head demurely. “You’re too kind, sir.”

Beatrice looked up to find Graham looking odd.

“Are you all right?” Beatrice stood.

The man looked to Graham and laughed. He reached out and pulled Beatrice to his side, laying his arm around her shoulder. “He’s just worried the longer you stay around here you’ll realize you’ve hitched your horse to the wrong carriage.”

The man looked to Beatrice and winked.

She couldn’t help but smile. For as drunk as this man was, he wasn’t unseemly or uncouth, she was surprised she felt rather comfortable around him.

Graham’s eyes cleared of whatever thought transfixed him and he smiled while reaching out to grab Beatrice’s hand, guiding her back to his side.

“While I admit you are a worthy opponent, I fear you are at a loss. See, this beautiful flower, is my wife.”

Graham’s words made her heart skip. Heat rose within her, causing her feet to shift under her dress. The swishing of her skirt allowed for some air flow, cooling her off a bit.

The man barked out a laugh so loud heads turned in their direction. For as round as he was, he clambered up onto a chair quite deftly and whistled.

“Oy! Listen up! It seems our favorite solicitor Thomas Linden here has taken himself a bride!”

Cheers and hollers rang out as two men standing next to Thomas ruffled his hair and patted him on the back.

Beatrice stood in awe. Never in her wildest dreams would she think she would witness a time when the formidable Duke of Graham would be so carefree and relaxed around others.

His hair was mussed, he was wearing a plain shirt, with an open vest and unremarkable trousers. Yet he seemed more comfortable here than any time she had seen him gussied up for theton.

The man on the chair raised his mug, which shockingly still had some ale in it. “Let’s all raise a toast to Thomas and his beautiful bride…” Charlie looked down to Beatrice.

“What’s your name, love?”

Beatrice looked at Graham who only shrugged, offering her a chance to make her own persona. Beatrice hesitated before she blurted out “Colette.”

“Ah. Colette.” Charlie raised his mug again. “To Thomas and Colette!”

The crowd cheered and clinked their mugs as they well wishers threw words of encouragement their way.

Thomas shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with the men who were next to him.

“Your drinks are on us, mate!” The one man exclaimed as he and his friend made their way to the bar.

Beatrice sat down and covered her mouth with her hands. She felt so giddy.

“Colette?” Graham leaned in.

She lifted a shoulder. “It just came to me.”

A side of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin. “It feels… exotic for you.”

Beatrice giggled. “I know.”

It felt so freeing to be out amongst a class of people who didn’t care where your dress came from, or who you wanted to marry, or who you were seen talking to. She sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. Then, unfortunately, had a coughing fit.

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