Page 20 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

“I have business to attend to,” he replied.

“Business? When will you be home?”

The Duke shot her a look. Beatrice should not have questioned him, but there was the pressing matter of their wedding night to address.

“I shall see you at breakfast,” the Duke said.

Beatrice only nodded. She exited the coach and took one last look back at her husband. He was looking out the opposite window.

Her married life had begun with disappointment.

ChapterEight

A New Life

“Welcome, Your Grace. My name is Mrs. Belcot. It is a pleasure to welcome you to your new home,” the housekeeper greeted. “If there is anything you need, you need only ask. His Grace has an experienced staff here on the estate, and I am sure you will be more than comfortable.”

Mrs. Belcot was in her late fifties and was stout without being overweight. She looked like the type of woman who would unload deliveries when they arrived because the delivery boys were too slow.

“Thank you,” Beatrice murmured, unsure what came next.

“Can I get you something to eat? The kitchens will cook up anything you might want. Or some tea, perhaps?”

“Would you show me to my bedroom?” Beatrice asked.

“Of course, Your Grace. Right this way.”

Beatrice followed the housekeeper, her eyes pinned to the back of her dark dress, unable to take in the grandeur of her new home. She knew from the exterior that it would be magnificent inside, but she could only concentrate on getting to her room, and holding back the tears blurring her vision.

They went up two flights of stairs and down a long, well-lit hallway. The housekeeper opened a door, and she gestured for Beatrice to enter.

The new Duchess wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands enough to see again. She entered the room and looked back at the housekeeper, as if the older woman might tell her what to do next.

“Can I have anything brought up to you?” Mrs. Belcot asked. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“I will come down soon,” Beatrice said. “Thank you for treating me so kindly.”

“You are welcome, Your Grace. I shall leave you to settle in, and your bags will be brought up shortly.”

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice said quickly. “The room is very bare.”

She looked around, taking in the decor for the first time. She knew the rest of the manor would not be like this—the bedroom had the necessities for clothes storage and such, but there were no artworks on the walls, no curtains, no bed dressings, or anything else to suggest it was lived in.

“Yes,” Mr. Belcot replied. “His Grace thought you might want to add your personal touch to your room. That way, you might feel more at home.”

That is thoughtful, but…

“His Grace does not sleep in here?” Beatrice asked.

“He has the adjoining room,” the housekeeper explained.

She went to the door on the opposite side of the room and tapped on it. She did not open it, however.

The housekeeper’s speech and actions told Beatrice that the setup was the most normal thing in the world. Or perhaps she did not question the Duke in any way about his motives.

“Of course,” Beatrice uttered.

She wondered what else she had not thought of. She had not thought about sharing a bedroom with the Duke, only sharing his bed, but she had not imagined adjoining rooms. In a way, it gave her more freedom, and she liked that.

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