Page 11 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Lady Bernmere’s expression remained calm. “Marriage is an investment too, Kenneth. There are plenty of prospects here for you to consider. You have been shut away in Dunford for far too long. It is time for you to venture out and meet eligible young ladies.”
“I do not appreciate being manipulated, Auntie,” Kenneth said, his tone cold. “I will stay one more day for the sake of the Dowager Duchess, but that is it. My friend, Thomas, would never forgive me if I was rude to his grandmother.”
Lady Bernmere opened her mouth to protest, but Kenneth raised a hand, silencing her.
“If I desire to find a wife, I will do it my way on my own terms. I shall brook no further argument.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and stalked away, his frustration boiling over.
He strode through the gardens and back into the house, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. As he navigated the maze of corridors, the voices of guests and servants a distant hum, he tried to quell the anger that simmered beneath his composed exterior.
Just as he was about to turn a corner, he paused, drawn in by the sound of voices coming from a room he was passing. The door was slightly ajar, and the conversation within was animated. Kenneth could not make out the words, but something about the tone piqued his interest.
He hesitated for a moment then moved closer, straining to hear. The voices became clearer, and he recognized the melodic cadence of Lady Beatrice’s voice.
A stirring sensation gripped him, one he wanted to dismiss but couldn’t.
He caught himself holding his breath, picturing her blue eyes lighting up with enthusiasm and the way she jutted her chin defiantly when she spoke her mind.
Why does she have this effect on me?
Kenneth moved closer, drawn in by the conversation. He peered through the small opening in the door, his eyes locking onto Beatrice as she stood beside the Dowager Duchess, her expression animated and full of life. The way she spoke, the grace of her movements—everything about her seemed to capture his attention.
This is foolish. I cannot afford to be distracted by her.
Yet, as he stood there, hidden in the shadows, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Chapter Four
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Beatrice greeted with a curtsy.
She had nearly bumped into the Dowager Duchess of Newden as she rounded the corner.
Her dear friend, Catherine, had married the Dowager Duchess’s grandson, Thomas. And from what Beatrice had gathered, Catherine had implored the Dowager Duchess to help her rejoin Society after the scandal caused by Patrick.
Beatrice was not one for pity, and the Dowager’s sharp eyes betrayed nothing of the sort, much to her relief.
“Good morning, my dear. Enjoying your exploration of the house?”
“Very much so,” Beatrice replied, her eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. “The decor is truly magnificent. Thepaintings and sculptures are exceptional. I believe I even recognized a few pieces by Thomas Lawrence and John Flaxman.”
The Dowager Duchess’s eyes brightened at the mention of the renowned artists. “You have a keen eye for art, Lady Beatrice. Do you enjoy it?”
“Very much, Your Grace. The beauty and emotion captured in these works always speak to me.”
The Dowager Duchess’s smile widened. “In that case, would you care to accompany me to the gallery? I think you might find it quite interesting.”
Beatrice’s heart soared at the invitation. “I would love that, Your Grace.”
“Splendid,” the Dowager Duchess said, linking their arms. “Come along, then. The gallery is one of my favorite places in the house.”
As they walked, the Dowager Duchess pointed out various pieces of art and shared stories about their acquisition and the artists who created them. Beatrice listened intently, her admiration for the Dowager Duchess growing with each tale.
They reached the gallery, a spacious room bathed in natural light that filtered through the large windows that lined one wall. The walls were adorned with paintings of various sizes, eachone a masterpiece. Sculptures stood on pedestals throughout the room, their forms graceful and evocative.
Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight. “It is beautiful,” she whispered.
The Dowager Duchess patted her arm affectionately. “I am glad you think so, my dear. Art has a way of touching the soul, do you not agree?”
