Page 54 of Her Tiger of a Duke
“You are right,” she giggled. “I would have found a reason not to attend. I do not know. It seems rather soon, do you not think?”
“We shall have to make our first public appearance together eventually, so why not now? We can tell everyone that we had a wonderful honeymoon and are now ready to reenter society as husband and wife.”
“Very well,” she agreed. “Is there a theme? Who is hosting it?”
“Lady Pembroke, and it is to be themed around Winter. I do not know why she has chosen that, but then nobody knows why she does a lot of things.”
She laughed softly again, then looked thoughtful.
“I do not believe that I have a gown that would fit such a theme. If everyone is wearing silver, I should like to choose something else. I– I am tired of trying to hide, Owen.”
It was a triumph, and he knew in an instant he would find a way to have a gown made for her overnight. He sent her to the modiste with a note requesting that anything and everything was done to assure she was dressed exactly as she wished to be.
When everyone, including Beatrice, had gone, however, the household was quiet.
“Too quiet,” he grumbled as he wandered the estate. All their guests were on the road, and though he had been startled by thechildren he missed the sound of them playing together. Once again, there was the thought that he needed an heir, which meant having yet another person to protect with everything he had. It might not have been so daunting if he knew he could do it, but his life had proven the contrary to be true.
He entered his study, picked up the articles he had hidden in there and, for the first time, truly read them. They were written in terrible detail, so much so that it was no wonder Beatrice did not think that they could be the same person.
Each word made him more and more unwell, and by the time he reached the end he could not believe that Beatrice had remained unmoved by it all. Then again, he knew the truth, which made everything even worse.
“You have to tell her the truth eventually,” Mrs. Forsythe said gently, appearing in the doorway.
“I know that, but not yet. There has been enough sadness of late, and I do not want any more of it.”
“There would be sadness, yes, but also clarity. Right now, she hardly knows you at all, and that does not bode well. She told you something deeply personal yesterday, and you did everything right. You need to trust that she will do the same.”
He looked at her with a furrowed brow.
“How do you know what happened last night?”
“She told me this morning in the kitchens. That is why I came to see you.”
She withdrew a package, handing it to him. Inside, there was a larger cake, iced in an off-white color and decorated with the very same style of flowers he had tried to make with her. A note accompanied it, simply thanking him, and he put it into his pocket to keep. Mrs. Forsythe had also brought a knife to cut it, and he made two slices.
“She is most talented,” he said as he bit into it. “In another life, she could have been a baker rather than the wife of some wretch.”
“You are not a wretch,” she chuckled. “You have a secret, and you must tell her it, but that does not make you anything less than a good man. Consider how long it would have taken her to tell you about her father, had the Duchess of Urkinshire not told you beforehand.”
“And yet here you are telling me to hasten myself.”
“Because it is about time that you did. Your Grace, you have carried this guilt with you for ten years now. Throughout all those years, even after you became the duke, those few fatal days have loomed over you. It is not fair, especially when you did nothing wrong.”
“That is where you are mistaken, Mrs. Forsythe. I am at fault for what happened. I could have done more; I could have done better. It is my fault that–”
Even after so many years, he could not bring himself to say it. It was too shameful, but it was more than that. When he tried to speak, all he could see was the girl’s face. It was the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night for years, and it had only recently changed.
Instead, he saw Beatrice. She was smiling at him, or laughing, or touching his arm affectionately. Once more, there was someone that he had to protect, and he wanted so desperately to do it, but he knew he would fail eventually. In spite of what was said of her, she was not some meek little thing. Now that she was in a better home, where she was safe and free of ridicule, she was becoming someone willing to speak her mind, and to do as she pleased.
She was just like another girl he knew, and that had ended in tragedy.
“One day,” his housekeeper said kindly, “this will all come out, and you shall have no choice but to explain. When that happens, and your wife is accepting of it, and she does not see you any differently, you will wish that you had done it sooner. Do try not to let too much time pass before that happens.”
She left him to his thoughts, and he looked at the rest of the cake that she had made for him. It was as excellent as the other things she had baked, but this one felt more special. She had not made it for any reason other than to thank him, and it was precisely that sort of selfless act that drew him to her. She truly was a most special lady, and he wanted to show her that he felt that way, but he did not know how.
He had sent her to purchase a gown, but that was not enough. Every husband was responsible for his wife’s wardrobe and ensuring that she remained in style. He wanted to do something special, something that she never would have expected.
And yet, he could not think of a single thing that was good enough for her.
