Page 1 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

ChapterOne

The Baron Arrives

Pemberton Manor, London, 1793

“Beggars can’t be choosers, can they, Beatrice?” Phineas Bolton, the Earl of Ramsbury, said.

Beatrice was shocked—not at what her father had said, but that he had said anything at all. After months of the silent treatment, he had finally spoken to her without using her mother as an intermediary.

“What?” she gasped.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Phineas repeated a little more forcefully.

Beatrice kept her composure. She wanted to break out into a large grin and hug her father, but they were in public, and he might not appreciate it even if they were at home. She was on her way to forgiveness but was not there yet.

“Father, you need not worry,” she assured. “I shall not run from this. I will abide by your decision.”

Phineas nodded. He looked around the large room for an acquaintance of his. “You had better,” he warned.

“Oh, my dear,” Letitia interjected, “let her be. She is here, isn’t she? And look how beautiful she is. You don’t talk to her for weeks, and the first time you do, it is to scold her for something she has not done.”

“Do you remember what happened last time?” Phineas asked.

“Yes, I do, and so does she. Beatrice is obviously sorry for what she did, so let’s enjoy the evening. We have our two beautiful daughters here, and the Baron will be here soon, won’t he?”

“I hope,” Phineas replied.

“You hope?” Letitia furrowed her brow. “He is your friend, isn’t he?”

“Acquaintance,” Phineas emphasized. “I don’t know him all that well, but he informed me he would be here, so he will.”

“And if he does not show up?” Letitia asked.

“He will,” Phineas assured. “I don’t know why you are looking at me like that, my dear.”

While their parents argued in hushed tones at the ball so no one would hear them, Beatrice and Hannah stepped to the side so they did not have to listen. Their mother and father often bickered, and Beatrice was sure it was the fuel that kept their love alive. Their parents’ marriage was an arranged one, but they had fallen in love with each other. Beatrice noticed they often bickered and seldom argued—perhaps there was a lesson to be learned there somewhere.

“Isn’t this a splendid ball?” Hannah asked.

She had found every event she had ever attended to be splendid or magnificent or wonderful. Although, on this occasion, she was right.

“It is,” Beatrice agreed. “The Earl of Pemberton certainly knows how to host a ball. It shall be a very good night.”

“Aren’t you worried about the Baron?” Hannah asked. “You’ve not met him yet. What if he is awful?”

Beatrice leaned in closer to her sisters and hissed, “Of course, I am worried about the Baron. It is all I have been able to think about for the past week. Don’t worry, I shan’t run this time. I’m here to do what is right and to make Father proud. You are the only hope for us now, Hannah.”

“The only hope?” Hannah asked. “What do you mean?”

“Charlotte was forced into marriage because of me, and now I shall be forced into one of my own. You shall have the luxury of choosing your husband. Don’t take that task lightly—it is a privilege.”

Hannah looked down at her feet before looking around the room. She chewed on her bottom lip and nodded.

“Don’t worry, Hannah. You look beautiful in your dress, and you will look even more beautiful in your new dress when you debut soon. When you do, you will have many suitors after you, I am sure of it. Take the time to decide which man is the right one for you. I am not one to give advice, but you have the luxury of time and space. I shall soon marry, and Father will be in no rush to find you a husband. Have fun as you search for one.”

“I wish you could do the same,” Hannah said. “You look gorgeous too in your dress, and I know many men would be proud to have you as their wife. Is there not a way to find a man you actually like?”

“Don’t you worry about me,” Beatrice countered. “There are many reasons to marry, and after my wrong, I shall make it right again.”

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