Page 90 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
She set the tea down and flipped open the notebook, her sharp eyes assessing him critically. “Now, where is your wife?”
Kenneth shrugged, his expression carefully blank. “I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care.”
Lady Bernmere’s eyes narrowed, her voice taking on a hard edge. “What have you done, Kenneth?”
“Excuse me?” he bristled, his temper flaring.
“You heard me. What have you done?” she repeated, her gaze unwavering.
Kenneth clenched his jaw, his pride rearing its head. “I’ll thank you not to speak to me in that manner, Aunt Marjorie.”
Lady Bernmere scoffed. “I’ll speak to you however I please when you’re behaving like a stubborn mule. Now, why is your wife not here?”
“We had an argument,” Kenneth admitted, his voice tight. “We’ll be living separately from now on.”
His aunt’s expression turned thunderous. “You fool,” she hissed. “For the first time in your life, you’ve found a lovely woman with a passion for art that equals your own, and you’re willing to throw it away so easily?”
Kenneth’s defenses rose, but Lady Bernmere cut him off before he could speak.
“This is about your father, isn’t it? You’re letting his mistakes, his failures, dictate your life.”
He looked away, his jaw clenched.
Lady Bernmere softened her tone, her hand coming to rest on his arm. “Kenneth, you are a far greater man than your father ever was. And with Beatrice, you have a chance at true happiness.”
“My father became the way he was because he lost his wife,” Kenneth argued, his voice raw with emotion. “The same will happen to me.”
Lady Bernmere shook her head. “So you choose to be miserable anyway? Yes, love is risky. But you cannot close yourself off in fear of getting hurt. It’s like injuring your leg and swearing never to walk again to avoid getting injured again. You deserve happiness, Kenneth, and I’m certain you can find it with Beatrice.”
Kenneth swallowed hard. He looked out the window, his voice a mere whisper. “I don’t know where she went.”
Lady Bernmere sighed, her exasperation tinged with affection. “You idiot. When a woman is in distress, she seeks out her friends. Where is Beatrice’s closest friend now?”
Realization dawned on Kenneth, and he turned to his aunt, hope coursing through him. “The Newden’s London home. Catherine.”
Lady Bernmere nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Then what are you waiting for? Go to her, Kenneth. Make this right.”
Kenneth sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Everything is still a mess. I can’t just show up and expect things to be fixed.”
Lady Bernmere placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to fix everything at once, but you must start somewhere. Beatrice needs to know you’re willing to try.”
He nodded, his resolve hardening. “You’re right. I’ll go to her, but I need to be sure of what to say.”
Lady Bernmere gave him a gentle pat. “Good. Take your time, but don’t take too long. She needs to see that you’re committed to making things right.”
With that, she turned and left him to his thoughts. Kenneth poured himself another drink, the brandy a small comfort as he mulled over his next steps.
His eyes drifted to the portrait of his father that hung above the fireplace, the late Duke’s cold, imperious gaze seeming to mock him from beyond the grave.
Kenneth felt a surge of anger, a lifetime of resentment and bitterness bubbling to the surface.
“Are you happy now, Father?” he snarled, his words slurring slightly as the alcohol began to take effect. “Is this what you wanted for me? A life of misery and loneliness, just like yours?”
He staggered to his feet, the empty glass clutched in his hand. His vision blurred, the room spinning around him as he made his way towards the portrait.
“You never loved anyone,” he hissed, his chest heaving with the force of his emotions. “Not Mother, not me. You only cared about yourself, about your own pleasure and satisfaction.”
With a roar of rage, he hurled the glass at the portrait, the sound of shattering crystal echoing through the study. The whiskey splattered across the canvas, dripping down his father’s face like bitter tears.
