Page 3 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
“Oh!” she exhaled as she stumbled.
Despite her best efforts to steady the glass, a splash of punch flew into the air.
And landed on Lady Featherwell’s dress.
The dark red stain spread across the pristine fabric, an unwelcome and glaring mark.
Oh no, Beatrice thought.
Lady Featherwell gasped, her eyes widening in fury. “You clumsy girl!” she shrieked, her voice echoing through the ballroom. “How dare you!”
“I-I am so sorry, Lady Featherwell,” Beatrice stuttered, her face flushing with embarrassment. “It was an accident, truly.”
“A likely story,” Lady Featherwell snapped, her eyes blazing. “Trying to gain the Viscount’s attention, are you?”
She gestured to the handsome but weak-chinned Viscount Wellington, who stood beside her, looking down at Beatrice with a condescending smirk.
“Really, Lady Beatrice,” the Viscount drawled, “one might think you did it on purpose.”
Beatrice’s heart pounded in her chest. “No, I assure you, it was an accident.”
Lady Featherwell’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “An accident? I think not. It is no surprise, considering the blood you share with that lecherous brother of yours. You must be just as conniving.”
At that moment, the music stopped, and Lady Featherwell’s voice echoed loudly in the sudden silence.
“I—” Beatrice began to defend herself but halted.
A sharp look from her mother, who was standing close by, froze the words on her tongue.
Beatrice stood there, humiliated, as the eyes of the entire ballroom turned towards her.
And then she fled the scene.
The whispers and judgmental glances followed her as she hurried away, the ballroom’s grandeur now a cage from which she desperately needed to escape.
She felt the hot sting of humiliation burning her cheeks, but she refused to let anyone see her weakness. She had endured too much and fought too hard to let these venomous whispers break her.
Each step she took away from the ballroom was a step towards regaining her composure.
Hold your head high. You are more than their judgment, more than the mistakes of your brother. You are stronger than this.
She struggled to navigate the sprawling corridors of the Dowager Duchess’ grand estate. Her heart raced, and her vision blurred with unshed tears. Each hallway seemed identical to the last, the opulent decor and many doors turning the house into a labyrinth.
Accustomed to the smaller home she had lived in over the past year, Beatrice felt utterly lost.
Desperately, she tried to recall the path to the rooms assigned to her and her mother. She turned corner after corner, her footsteps echoing in the vast, empty spaces.
Finally, she found a room that looked familiar. The door was slightly ajar.
She slipped inside and shut the door behind her, leaning against it as she tried to steady her breathing.
The room was dimly lit with a single candle on the bedside table casting long shadows on the walls.
Beatrice wiped away her tears, hoping to compose herself before facing anyone else.
Just as she felt a semblance of calm, she heard footsteps approaching.
Thinking it was a maid, she straightened up, attempting to appear calm and collected.
