Page 13 of His Mad Duchess
Beatrice’s mouth pressed tight. Her hands twisted in her shawl. “You do. Everything breaks around you, even people. Even our chances.”
Margaret’s mouth worked, but nothing useful came. Cecily’s breath hitched at the window. “Beatrice?—”
“No, let her say it,” Margaret cut in, her voice too soft to match the thud in her chest. “If she’s going to hate me for it, she might as well say it aloud.”
Beatrice’s eyes flicked up, the harshness cracking for half a heartbeat. “I don’t hate you.”
“Could have fooled me,” Cecily muttered, arms crossed tight.
Beatrice ignored her. She stepped closer to Margaret, words trembling at the edges. “I don’t hate you. I hate this… this… curse. This cloud that clings to you like smoke. You think I don’t pray it might blow away? That you’ll find someone to chase it off you?”
Her breath hitched. “But it never does. And now…” She gestured helplessly to the empty fireplace, as if the words might flicker there for her.
“And now, I’ve ruined you,” Margaret said, flat as cold iron.
“You haven’t…” Beatrice started, but the protest wilted. Her hands dropped, helpless. “You make it so hard to defendyou sometimes, Margaret. Can’t you just… stay quiet? Stay invisible?”
Margaret barked a laugh that cracked on the tail end. “Invisible? I’ve tried. But this face, this hair, these stupid eyes. Most people see what they want. They always have.”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” Cecily cut in sharply, stepping away from the window. “If you were any other lady, they’d be praising you for catching a duke’s eye. But because it’s you?—”
“Cecily!” Aunt Agnes hissed, but Cecily barreled on.
“Because it’s Margaret, it’s a scandal, it’s ruin, it’s every terrible thing at once. It’s never enough that she does nothing wrong.” Cecily’s hands trembled at her sides. “I wish… God, I wish you’d just let her breathe for once.”
“We’re not the enemy here, Cecily,” Beatrice snapped, voice cracking like dry wood. She turned back to Margaret, but there was no softness this time, only brittle frustration holding her shoulders straight. “I just… I wanted one Season. One clean chance to be more than… this. More than whispers in drawing rooms. More than someone’s pity.”
Margaret’s voice slipped through like a needle. “Ashamed.”
Beatrice’s jaw tensed. She didn’t deny it, but her chin lifted higher. “I’m not ashamed of you; I’m ashamed of how you pull us down. All of us. You think people won’t wonder if I’m the same?Tainted? Touched by whatever madness they say you have? Do you know how hard I’ve worked to keep my name clean?”
“Beatrice!” Cecily cut in, but Beatrice barreled on, her words tumbling out too fast now, desperate to be heard. “I did everything right. I smiled, I danced with the old men, I laughed at their jokes. I kept my skirts spotless and my mouth shut. But none of it matters when they look at me and see you in the corner of their eyes. Do you understand that?”
Margaret flinched, but only for a heartbeat. “If it makes you feel safer, I’ll leave.”
Beatrice’s lips parted, and something like regret flickered there, but it drowned quickly under the weight on her shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous. Where would you even go?”
“Anywhere you’re not,” Margaret said, a brittle smile cracking through. “If it helps you sleep.”
“It wouldn’t,” Cecily said sharply. She stood so fast the settee creaked under her shift.
“If it would make things easier… I’ll go,” Margaret said, too even, too calm. “I’ll vanish somewhere. Take my ruin with me. A monastery or… a convent in France. Somewhere the walls are thick enough I can’t break through.”
Cecily’s hands flew up. “No. Absolutely not. If she leaves, we all lose. Don’t you see that? You think they’d stop talking? They’dtalk more about where she went, what she did. You can’t hide her like some mad cousin in the attic.”
Beatrice’s eyes glistened then, something like fear under the sheen. She opened her mouth, shut it, and looked away.
“None of this is Margaret’s fault.” Cecily trembled. “If people weren’t so eager for gossip, they’d see it?—”
“Enough!” Aunt Agnes barked, pushing to her feet. Her voice cracked through the air like a whip. “You think your outrage will fix this? The ton feeds on ruin. They’ll remember this long after you marry, long after Beatrice…ifanyone will have her now.”
Beatrice’s shoulders stiffened at that, too. She stared at the fire like it might explain how to stand straighter under so much weight.
“I’m sorry, Bea,” Margaret said, quieter now. She hated how it cracked in her throat. “I never wanted this for you. Any of it.”
“Then why does it keep happening?” Beatrice’s whisper was so small, it barely reached the rug between them.
Margaret opened her mouth, but Cecily stepped in, voice hot enough to scald the silence.
