Page 63 of Her Tiger of a Duke
“Indeed, and he has extended his apology, which of course we have accepted.”
“Well yes, for it is not his fault at all. He was very kind to me, though his wife seemed unhappy with my presence from the start.”
“It is her jealousy. Her husband confirmed it.”
The words echoed in her mind. Never in her life had she ever assumed that anyone had been jealous of her. She was not the sort of lady that others wished to be. When she looked at Owen, however, she knew that he was serious.
“Come now, do not flatter me.”
“I do not say it to flatter you. After we greeted them, she told him to find a reason to have us escorted out, for you had made her look plain in comparison. That was why she accused you of trying to upstage her.”
She had not considered that when designing the gown, of course. All that she had wanted to do was look her best and align more closely with what her title would make people expect of her. Foronce, she wanted to feel beautiful, and she had only wanted that for herself, not to make anyone else feel inferior.
“I ought to apologize,” she said quietly. “I understand why she might have thought that.”
“You will do no such thing. I will not have my wife cowering because there is a lady that is too insecure in herself to appreciate her efforts.”
“But Owen–”
“Should anyone wish to question the dignity of the Duchess of Pantheris, they may come to me. I will not have my wife spoken to in such a disgusting manner, Beatrice. It will never happen to you again.”
“I am not a child. I can handle an unkind suggestion.”
“Perhaps you can, but I cannot. It is my instinct to protect that which is mine.”
They returned to the ballroom, and the night continued as normal, but his words remained with her. He said that she was his, and though that was expected given that they were married, there was a conviction in his words. He had meant it personally. She was his, and he intended to make that known.
Once, she might have hated to hear as much. She did not want to be owned or claimed by a man, but it was different when it washim. It had been her first time seeing a more possessive side of him, and she wanted to see more of it in spite of herself.
“I do hope that Lady Pembroke has not caused you terrible offence,” Lord Pembroke said when he saw her. “I cannot quite fathom why she thought it was a good idea, and I am pleased that your husband spoke to her in the way that he did.”
“Even though he spoke ill of you too?”
“Frankly, it was so long ago that the scandal has died down. Besides, as the man in the situation it was never going to affect me regardless. It was the perfect way to remind my wife, however, that she has made mistakes of her own. She was the one to trick me into meeting her in that library, after all.”
Beatrice chuckled, taking a nervous sip of her drink. It was clear that their marriage came with issues, and though others might have wanted to know every last detail, Beatrice was not that sort of lady. She only wanted peace, and she wished that none of it had happened so that she could have maintained it.
And yet, there was no denying that she wished to see her husband protect her again. It had thrilled her in a way that nothing else ever had, and if she had to have someone else make slights against her in order for it to happen, she wagered that it would almost be worth it.
When the ball came to an end, Beatrice decided that it would be best to bid Lady Pembroke goodnight. It was not what the lady might have wanted, but if etiquette truly was important toher, then it was what she would do. She made her way to Lord Pembroke, but his wife was not with him. She tightened her grip on Owen’s arm, who asked what she was trying to do.
“Oh, Lady Pembroke left an hour ago. She wished to sleep.”
“Is that commonplace for a host?” she asked.
“I do not believe so, which makes you wonder just how important etiquette is to her.”
Beatrice giggled, but then her empathy caught up to her. She pondered the extent of the lady's loneliness, considering that even after marrying the man she desired, she ended up trapped in an unhappy marriage with no friends around her. It was her own doing, yes, but it could just as easily have happened to Beatrice had it not also been what Lady Helena had wanted, and Owen not been a good man.
“I would like to invite them to dinner,” she suggested, “or at least a tea. I do not wish to make any enemies, not even ones like Lady Pembroke.”
“She will never be an ally,” he warned.
“In any case, I do not want her to spend her life furious with me for ruining her party. I can see that she put a lot of effort into it.”
At last, he faltered.
“Very well,” he agreed. “I shall arrange it with Lord Pembroke. Come, let us go to bed.”
