Page 14 of His Mad Duchess
“Because people are cruel, and you’re letting them be cruel to her. If it were you in that library, I’d have torn the door offmyself to drag you out before they stared. I’d have broken the gossip before it broke you.”
Beatrice looked at her cousin, eyes bright with something brittle. It had everything—anger, apology, shame—but her mouth stayed shut.
She turned back to the fire, letting the crackle speak for her.
Margaret’s fingers dug into her skirt hem. Her throat felt tight enough to choke her. “I’ll… I’ll go up. If you want me out of sight.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Aunt Agnes barked. “We must… we must fix this, somehow. If the Duke… if he refuses…”
“If he refuses to help fix it,” Margaret murmured, “then you’ll know, I truly do bring ruin.”
“Margaret.” Cecily tried to catch her hand, but she stepped back just as the door creaked open.
The butler hovered in the doorway, pale and sweating under his neat wig, a silver tray clutched to his chest like a shield.
“What is it?” Aunt Agnes snapped, voice slicing the hush. “Speak up, man. This is no time for dithering.”
The butler swallowed. His eyes flicked from Beatrice’s stiff back to Margaret’s pale face, then dropped to the carpet.
“Pardon, my lady… but… His Grace, the Duke of Ravenscourt, is here. In the front hall. He requests…” He cleared his throat. “He requests an audience. Immediately.”
CHAPTER 5
Margaret just stared at the butler, lips parted, heart stumbling hard against her ribs.
“Of course, he is,” she whispered to no one. “Of course.”
The silence that followed cracked louder than any shout. Beatrice’s breath caught in a half-sob she strangled into a cough. Cecily’s hand found Margaret’s sleeve in a death grip.
Aunt Agnes pressed a hand to her brow, her voice suddenly brittle. “Show him in, Simmons. And fetch tea, the good set. Quickly.”
Simmons bobbed a bow so clumsy that his tray nearly tipped. He fled before anyone could ask more.
Margaret found Cecily’s wide eyes searching. A lot terrified and a little hopeful. “This isn’t real,” Margaret murmured. “It feels like the nightmare again.”
“It’s real,” Cecily whispered back, squeezing her arm. “It’s real.”
The drawing room door swung wider on its old brass hinges, then the butler stepped aside, and Sebastian crossed the threshold like he owned the floor beneath him.
Margaret’s heart skidded sideways. He looked different in the gray light, his coat still immaculate but his cravat a bit skewed as if he’d tugged at it on the carriage ride over. Dark hair a shade too tousled, shadows under his sharp eyes. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept, but his shoulders were squared, his mouth set.
Margaret’s breath caught as their eyes locked, the tension stretched so tight, she felt it in her throat.
His gaze held hers for one heartbeat. Two. Then he spoke, voice smooth but still edged with steel under the exhaustion.
Aunt Agnes rose so fast her chair nearly toppled. “Your Grace, you honor us.”
“I doubt you’ll think so for long,” Sebastian cut in, voice calm as a winter pond. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at Beatrice or Cecily either, just at Margaret. “Lady Margaret.”
Margaret’s throat bobbed. She forced herself to stand straighter, chin high. “Your Grace.”
No curtsy. Not this time. She felt Cecily shift closer at her side, a silent line of warmth pressed to her elbow.
Sebastian’s gaze flicked once to Aunt Agnes, gave her a polite nod, then back.
“Last night has left us both in an impossible position,” he said, each word measured, stripped of any softness. “So, I’ve come to resolve it properly.”
Beatrice sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Resolve…?”
