Page 86 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
She paused, collecting her thoughts.
“The truth is, I’ve been selling my work under a pseudonym. That’s how Eric Westback was born. It was my way of maintaining anonymity and protecting Mother and myself from further scandal.”
Catherine’s eyes widened. “Eric Westback? Beatrice, that’s incredible. I’ve heard so much about his—your—work. It’s famous.”
A small smile tugged at Beatrice’s lips. “It’s been a lifeline, truly. But now, it’s become a source of trouble.”
“What do you mean?” Catherine asked, concern etched on her face.
Beatrice sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Lord Eastfold has discovered my secret. He’s blackmailing me, threatening to expose my identity if I don’t paint for him and sell my work through him.”
Catherine gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “That’s horrible! How did he find out?”
“He tracked down my dealer and blackmailed him into revealing my identity,” Beatrice explained, her voice trembling slightly. “And now, he holds all the power. If I don’t do as he says, my career as an artist will be over.”
Catherine reached out, taking Beatrice’s hand in hers. “Oh, Beatrice. I’m so sorry. This must be incredibly difficult for you.”
Beatrice nodded, tears pricking her eyes. “It is. And to make matters worse, Kenneth and I had a terrible fight. Lady Featherwell tried to proposition him, and when I confronted him about it, he was so cold and dismissive.”
Catherine’s eyes flashed with anger. “The nerve of that woman! And Kenneth… how could he treat you like that?”
“I don’t know,” Beatrice whispered, her voice cracking. “I thought we were building something real, but now… I don’t know what to believe.”
Catherine squeezed Beatrice’s hand, her expression thoughtful. “Beatrice, I think you should confront Lord Eastfold. Try to reason with him, to make him see how wrong this is.”
Beatrice looked up, surprise and doubt flashing across her face. “Confront him? But what if it only makes things worse?”
“It’s a risk,” Catherine acknowledged. “But you can’t let him control you like this. You have to fight for your art, for your freedom.”
Beatrice considered her words, a flicker of determination sparking in her eyes. “You’re right, Catherine. I can’t let him win. I have to try.”
Catherine smiled, pride shining in her eyes. “That’s the Beatrice I know and love. Strong, brave, and willing to stand up for what’s right.”
Beatrice felt a rush of gratitude for her friend, for the unwavering support and love she offered. “Thank you, Catherine. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Catherine waved away her thanks. “That’s what friends are for, my dear. Now, let’s talk about something more pleasant. Would you be so kind as to give me a demonstration of your artistic skills? I believe there are some old art supplies somewhere in the house.”
Beatrice felt a rush of excitement at the prospect, her fingers itching to hold a brush once more. “Of course, Catherine. It would be my pleasure.”
As Catherine called for a servant to fetch the supplies, Beatrice felt a sense of peace settle over her. Here, in the company of her dearest friend, she felt a renewed sense of purpose, a determination to forge ahead with her life, no matter what challenges lay ahead.
I will survive this. I will find my way, with or without Kenneth by my side.
Kenneth sat in his study at Dunford Castle, a glass of brandy in hand, staring listlessly at the pile of correspondence before him. The room felt cold and empty without Beatrice’s presence. He reached for another letter, hoping to distract himself, when a particular envelope caught his eye.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, and the paper was of poor quality. Frowning, Kenneth broke the seal and unfolded the letter. As he read, his mood darkened, his anger building with each word.
To His Grace, the Duke of Dunford,
I hope this letter finds you well, brother-in-law. I trust you and my dear sister are enjoying marital bliss. I write to youfrom my continued exile, a situation I’m sure you understand is entirely based on unfounded accusations.
Life abroad has its challenges, and I find myself in need of financial assistance. A sum of five thousand pounds would go a long way in ensuring I can maintain my distance from England, sparing our family any further scrutiny or gossip.
I’m certain a man of your means would find this a small price to pay for family harmony. After all, we wouldn’t want any misunderstandings about past events to resurface, would we?
I eagerly await your swift and generous response.
Your brother-in-law, Lord Afferton.
