Page 1 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Chapter One
“Remember, Beatrice,” Lady Afferton hissed, “we are here to find you a husband, not to be entertained.”
“Yes, Mother,” Beatrice said, giving her a dutiful nod.
Prudence Wickes, the Dowager Countess of Afferton, stood beside her daughter, her sharp eyes scanning the room for potential suitors. At fifty years old, she still had an air of cold elegance, her hair perfectly coiffed and her gown impeccable.
Her lips were pressed in a thin line, her gaze critical and unyielding. Every glance she cast at Beatrice seemed to find fault, from the way she held herself to the smallest imperfection in her attire.
“Had it not been for that wretched Catherine and her baseless accusations, your brother would still be here, not exiled in France. And we would not have had to flee to Wales. Wales, of all places!” Prudence muttered under her breath.
Beatrice clenched her jaw but said nothing. She knew better than to argue with her mother’s twisted version of events.
The isolation of living with their relatives in Wales had been a stark contrast to the vibrant social life her mother had once enjoyed, a constant reminder of the damage her brother had done.
“Hold your head high, Beatrice,” Prudence continued, her voice icy. “We must show them that we are unaffected by the scandal.”
“Yes, Mother,” Beatrice repeated, taking a deep breath and letting her mother’s words fuel her resolve.
Her friend Catherine, the Duchess of Newden, had once told her that bravery was not the absence of fear but the determination to face it. Beatrice would face this night and whatever it held.
Her fingers nervously clutched the delicate lace of her gown. The dress was a soft shade of lavender, adorned with intricate embroidery with seed pearl accents that shimmered in the candlelight.
The chandelier’s light glanced off her caramel blonde hair, but she felt anything but luminous. Her mother’s sharp voice echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of her purpose there.
Beatrice was not at the Dowager Duchess of Newden’s house party for pleasure. She was on a mission—a mission to secure a match that would save her family from further ruin.
As she scanned the room, her blue eyes caught sight of a familiar face—Lady Featherwell, whispering to a group of equally disdainful ladies.
The widow’s eyes narrowed when they met Beatrice’s, her lips curling into a sly smile.
“Lady Beatrice,” Lady Featherwell greeted her, the words dripping with false sweetness.
“Lady Featherwell,” Beatrice replied, forcing a polite smile.
Lady Featherwell was dressed in a deep burgundy gown, appropriate for a widow who had moved past the initial stages of mourning but still desired attention.
Her dark hair was coiffed in an elaborate style, adorned with glittering jewels that matched the sharp glint in her eyes.
There was coldness in her gaze, a predatory gleam that hinted at her delight in others’ misfortunes.
“It’s been some time since we’ve seen you at such an event,” Lady Featherwell said with a mocking lilt to her voice. “I suppose one must keep up appearances, even after such… difficulties.”
Beatrice’s smile tightened. “Indeed. It is important to remain resilient.”
Lady Featherwell’s beauty was undeniable, but it was the beauty that hid a heart of ice. Beatrice could almost hear the venomous words spilling past her perfectly painted lips, words designed to wound and ostracize.
I will not let her see me falter.
“Well, I must say, it is admirable how you manage to hold your head high,” Lady Featherwell continued, her smile never reaching her eyes. “Not everyone could be so… brave.”
“Thank you, Lady Featherwell,” Beatrice replied, her voice steady. “Like I said, I believe we must all strive to be brave in the face of adversity.”
As Lady Featherwell moved on, Beatrice took a deep breath, determined not to show the sting of their judgment. She had faced far worse in the past year and would continue to hold her ground.
I am stronger than they think, Beatrice thought, lifting her chin.
As she walked back to her mother, she overheard a group of ladies nearby, their voices low but their words clear.
