Page 25 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
Bridgette’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, and Tabitha knew her friend sensed something amiss. That was the danger of having close friends; sometimes, they knew you entirely too well and made that known at the worst possible moment.
“Would you like tea?” Tabitha asked, lowering herself onto the settee. “I know you have a fondness for mint.”
Bridgette hummed and sat across from her. “I do, indeed. That would be lovely.”
Tabitha poured two cups of tea, adding a copious amount of sugar to hers. She had always had a fondness for sweet things. Bridgette took her cup and saucer in hand and sipped the tea. Her lips curved into an approving smile. “Excellent.”
“Indeed,” Tabitha said.
“How is married life suiting you?” Bridgette asked. “Where is His Grace this morning?”
Tabitha inwardly winced. It was only reasonable that Bridgette would ask about her marriage; after all, it was not every day that one’s dearest friend was wed. There was nothing else particularly exciting happening with the ton, either. “It is fine,” Tabitha said. “It is different than I expected, but I suppose I am content. At least, I am not ruined.”
Bridgette frowned. “You do not sound happy.”
Tabitha hesitated, torn between forcing a smile and being honest. “It is—it was only a marriage of convenience. You know that as well as I.”
“I do,” Bridgette said, “but I also know you deserve to be happy with your marriage. I had rather hoped that you might … might find some affection for His Grace. And he for you.”
Tabitha sighed. “I did, too. But I cannot complain, can I? I rather say that I brought this upon myself. I have no one else to blame for my marriage. If I had not been caught with Cassius …”
“If the world did not judge the youthful indiscretions of women so harshly, you need not have hastened to marriage at all,” Bridgette said, her voice indignant.
Tabitha smiled slightly. She had always admired how fiery Bridgette was, so eager to champion any cause on behalf of the oppressed. “But surely we live in the best of all possible worlds,” Tabitha said wryly. “Le meilleur des mondes possibles.”
Bridgette frowned, confusion written clearly on her face.
“Voltaire’s Candide,” Tabitha said.
“Of course,” Bridgette said. “How could I forget?”
Tabitha laughed. They both knew Bridgette would never read anything except for her novels, most of which involved young ladies being imperiled and rescued by strong, handsome men.
“Ah! I have let you distract me!” Bridgette declared. “How is the marriage?”
“Fine, I suppose. I feel as if I do not know my husband, which is to be expected,” Tabitha said hesitantly. “Sometimes, I feel like I understand him, but then, he will do something so strange that I can scarcely believe I know anything about him at all. He is kind and cold, and I can never guess which mood shall emerge.”
Bridgette’s expression hardened. “Is he cruel to you?”
“No,” Tabitha replied. “He is simply strange. Matthew—His Grace—acts as if he did not wish to marry me at all.”
“He agreed, though.”
“I know, but he clearly intended this to be a marriage of convenience. For the dukedom.”
Bridgette shook her head. “Well, His Grace is far too old to be making choices that he will regret so quickly, and even if he has decided that he wishes to remain unwed, that does not justify behaving like you describe. You did not force his hand.”
Tabitha sighed. “I know. But what about you?”
“Me? Have you heard something?”
Tabitha arched an eyebrow. “Should I have heard something?”
Bridgette’s cheeks pinkened. “Well, no. At least, I hope not. You see, I met a gentleman at your engagement ball.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Bridgette replied. “An earl’s son. We have even met on a couple of occasions.”
