Page 6 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

“I know that look, Hannah. What do you have up your sleeve?”

Beatrice didn’t want to cause any more trouble for her family, but this was a crisis. A small amount of trouble might be worth avoiding a lifetime of unhappiness.

“Father wants you to marry, so that is all you have to do,” Hannah said.

“I fail to see how this helps my situation,” Beatrice huffed.

“He does not care who you marry, only that you do. So, all you have to do is find another man—a better one.”

“You do realize that I have been promised to the Baron. It is too late for that. If I had known Father would match me with him, I might have explored other options, but?—”

“You really do talk too much sometimes.” Hannah tutted. “There are other ways to get married quickly.”

She stared at her older sister, and Beatrice finally got the hint.

“You are not suggesting…?”

“Is it not worth a shot? One last hurrah before you have to spend the rest of your life with that awful man?”

“Compromise myself with someone else?” Beatrice hissed in a low voice. “Is there even time? The Baron is intent on usstanding together. How would I even go about compromising myself, and with whom?”

“There must be a dozen eligible bachelors at the ball,” Hannah noted. “I shall talk to some of the known gossips and find out potential options. I shall work as quickly as I can.”

There is one man who is very dashing.

Beatrice’s mind went back to the man she had seen before she was introduced to Lord Mutton. She would not mind being married to a man like that.

I have no idea who he is. I must be more practical in my decision.

“Lord Pemberton,” Beatrice blurted out. “I only spoke to him for a short time, but he was very pleasant, and he was gracious enough to save us from Agnes’s questions. I don’t believe he is courting anyone. Would it be rude to do that to our host?”

“He should be glad to have you, Beatrice. You are a fine woman, and he will undoubtedly take a wife sometime soon. You would be doing him a favor.”

Beatrice thought about it, but it did not feel like doing Lord Pemberton a favor. It felt as if she were doing herself a favor. She already felt guilty over her disappearing act, and now she felt more guilty before even going ahead with the plan. Lord Pemberton was gracious, and she would be trapping him in marriage. It did not feel fair.

Life is not fair!

“I need a moment to think,” Beatrice murmured. “Let me consider it, and we shall talk again very soon.”

“I know you don’t like the idea, but I don’t want to see you unhappy for the rest of your life, Beatrice. You do not deserve that.”

Beatrice smiled at her sister before returning to the Baron with his glass of cognac.

“You took far too long. I saw you idly gossiping with your sister. I will not have other women in my house when you come to live with me.” The Baron took the glass from her. “Cognac? I am a brandy man. You have a lot to learn, Lady Beatrice. Now, our sexual relations shall occur once a week, always on a Sunday evening, and if you are pleasured by the time I am, then you are fortunate. Sexual relations are for the man’s pleasure, not the woman’s. The woman’s pleasure is in having a family. Are you listening to me, Lady Beatrice?”

Beatricewaslistening, but her mind was wandering too. She thought she might need some time to think about the plan Hannah had suggested, but the Baron hadconvincedher of the plan’s wisdom. There was no other option—she had to compromise herself with Lord Pemberton and deal with whatever consequences came with that.

ChapterThree

In Search Of The Good Stuff

Edwin Clarke, the Duke of Walford, was irritated for many reasons, and that was why he had not spoken a word since they climbed into the coach. The journey felt especially bumpy that night, as if the driver was intent on hitting every dip and bump in the road. Each jolt was jarring.

“Are you still sulking, dear brother?” Elizabeth Clarke asked.

Edwin turned to glare at his half-sister before looking back out the window. She might be annoying at times but was often the source of least annoyance in his life—no one seemed to care for him more than Elizabeth.

“Because we’re running a little late?” she pressed. “You are the guest of honor, and Lord Pemberton is your best friend. No one will even notice. Besides, it is fashionable to be late. Only the very desperate guests arrive on time.”

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