Page 27 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
“Thank you, Mother. I am pleased you are happy.”
Lady Afferton beamed, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed greed. “Happy? My dear, I am overjoyed. You have ensured our future.”
Beatrice couldn’t resist a subtle jab. “It’s remarkable how quickly things change. Just last night, you had quite a different opinion of me.”
Lady Afferton, too wrapped up in her own triumph, barely registered the comment. “Oh, nonsense, Beatrice. What mattersnow is that you’ve made an excellent match. We can put any unpleasantness behind us.”
Beatrice nodded, her forced smile still in place. “I have a headache, Mother. I think I should retire to my room.”
Lady Afferton’s concern was immediate but insincere. “Oh, of course, my dear. Do take care of yourself. We cannot have you falling ill now, can we?”
Beatrice nodded and excused herself, making her way back towards the house.
The hallways were dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls. As she neared her room, the faint rustle of silk and the sharp scent of lavender perfume reached her before a figure stepped out from a nearby alcove.
Lady Featherwell’s piercing gaze met hers, the haughty tilt of her chin making it clear that she intended to confront her. “Lady Beatrice,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing, “how did you manage to ensnare the Duke? Did you compromise yourself?”
Beatrice pushed past her, trying to maintain her composure. “I have no time for your accusations, Lady Featherwell.”
But Lady Featherwell grabbed her wrist, pulling her back with surprising force. “You may be his betrothed, but remember the Duke’s past. He will soon tire of you and seek a mistress. You could never satisfy him.”
Anger and humiliation surged through Beatrice. She wrenched her wrist free and stormed off to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. She collapsed onto her bed, silent tears streaming down her face.
Doubt gnawed at her. She found the Duke handsome, undeniably so, but his arrogance was infuriating. She enjoyed their debates about art, but the prospect of marriage filled her with uncertainty.
Would she have to stop painting now that she was to be a wife?
The thought of giving up her secret passion was unbearable. Painting was her solace, her escape, and the idea of losing that part of herself added to her inner turmoil.
The uncertainty of her situation weighed heavily on her, and she could only hope that, somehow, she would navigate this new path.
She drifted off to a restless sleep, her heart heavy with doubt and fear for what lay ahead.
Chapter Nine
St. Cuthbert’s Chapel was an exquisite, intimate setting for the ceremony.
Beatrice found herself standing at the altar, everything around her a blur. The wedding had been arranged in less than a fortnight, and the whirlwind of preparations had left her feeling overwhelmed and slightly detached from reality.
Lady Bernmere and the Dowager Duchess of Newden stood proudly near the front, a comforting presence.
Beatrice’s dress was a beautiful morning gown made of soft white muslin with delicate lace trimming the high neckline and long sleeves. The empire waist was adorned with a simple satin ribbon, and the skirt flowed gracefully to the floor, giving her an ethereal appearance. Her hair was styled simply, with loose curls cascading down her back.
The ceremony itself felt like a dream. She barely heard the words spoken by the vicar, her mind swirling with the enormity of what was happening. Kenneth stood beside her, looking handsome and composed in his formal dove-gray morning attire. His presence was an anchor in the whirlwind of her emotions.
As she repeated her vows, her voice was steady though her heart raced. When the ceremony concluded, and they were pronounced husband and wife, it took a moment for reality to sink in. They exchanged a brief, formal kiss, and then it was done. Beatrice was now the Duchess of Dunford.
Lady Afferton approached her, beaming. “You have done wonderfully, my dear. This match will secure our future.”
Beatrice managed a polite smile though her heart felt heavy. She glanced at Kenneth, who was speaking with his friends. He caught her eye and gave her a measured look which did little to ease her tension.
Beatrice glanced at the gathered guests. Her heart swelled with gratitude when she spotted Catherine and Thomas among the crowd.
Catherine looked radiant, her hand resting gently on her growing belly. Beatrice was thankful that her dearest friend could share this moment with her, despite the challenges of her pregnancy.
Beatrice made her way to Catherine and Thomas, a genuine smile on her face.
“Catherine, you look absolutely wonderful,” she said, taking her friend’s hands in her own. “Motherhood suits you well.”
