Page 51 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

Edwin looked a little confused for a moment, but he remained calm and pleasant. “I look forward to meeting with you again, Lord Wiltshire.”

“It is always a pleasure, Your Grace.” Lord Wiltshire then turned to Beatrice and offered a nod. “Your Grace.”

The greeting was the same, but it sounded very different. There was a look in his eyes that Beatrice didn’t fully understand.

“What was that?” she asked after he had left.

“I don’t know. He was acting strange, but he has always been somewhat of a strange fellow,” the Duke admitted. “Come, let us not dwell on the character of others. We are almost done, and there is the entirety of London to explore.”

Beatrice found it curious, but when she took another bite of smoked salmon and washed it down with the last of her champagne, she forgot about the whole thing. She could not dwell on anything unsavory when the day had started so well, and there was so much of it left.

After breakfast, they took the carriage to Hyde Park. The day was perfect. The skies were a clear blue, birds flew high above, and birdsong from starlings and nightingales rang out in the air. People dressed in finery strolled around the well-manicured lawns, but of them all, Edwin and Beatrice looked the most regal.

Beatrice had not thought to bring a parasol, but Edwin had packed one for her. She held it against her shoulder to shield herself from the harsh summer sun as she walked arm in arm with the Duke, nodding to passersby and enjoying the gentle breeze.

She did receive one curious look from a woman she did not know, but everyone else was pleasant.

They stopped near the Serpentine and sat on a bench to rest, watching two baby swans swim behind their mother. Beatrice sat close to Edwin, their shoulders brushing.

“Our country really is beautiful,” she noted as they looked past the lake.

“I have never taken the opportunity just to sit and enjoy it,” Edwin admitted. “Since my father passed, I have been working non-stop. Even now, I feel I should be working, or everything will be lost, but I know I need this.”

“It is good to stop once in a while and enjoy life,” Beatrice told him.

“It is very enjoyable, too,” the Duke agreed.

They spent the better part of two hours in Hyde Park, walking and talking, and they shared some bonbons they had purchased at a small kiosk, along with some cold lemonade.

Their next stop was Bond Street. Beatrice had never been there before, though she had heard tales of the stores located there. She looked on in awe at the shops on the street, and she became caught up in her own excitement at what she might find inside. She placed her hands on her cheeks, wondering where she should start.

Beatrice had never been the sort of woman to adorn herself in gold, silver, or precious jewels, but she could not help but try on some in the jeweler’s and take a look in the mirror. She looked beautiful in different expensive necklaces but felt too fragile wearing them. They were so costly that she worried about breaking or losing them if she ever wore them in public.

In one of the art galleries, she was drawn to a large painting of a white horse—perhaps one of the horses she had heard about, the ones that came from Spain or the Arabian Peninsula. She did not know what it was about the horse, but it reminded her of herself.

It was in full gallop, racing across a mysterious beach. Beatrice had run from her life before, but that was not the comparison she made. She felt the horse was running toward its future and not from its troubles. She had nowhere to run, but she was done running. She wanted to gallop toward the future and see where it took her.

“A fine piece,” the Duke noted. He bent down and looked at the signature in the corner. “Ah, Mayford. I have met the artist—he is a fine man. His work is well-regarded in London. You have a fine eye, my dear.”

“It is beautiful,” Beatrice breathed. “I have been thinking about my bedroom. I appreciate that you left my bedroom mostly undecorated. I shall have time to shop for decorations later, but I am finding some inspiration from many of the shops here.”

“It would look fine in your bedroom,” the Duke noted. “Yes, we shall have it.”

“What?” Beatrice gasped. “I did not mean… Have you seen how much it costs?”

“I have not, but I presume it is expensive if it is a Mayford.”

“You cannot afford it right now,” Beatrice argued in a low voice. “My dowry is not meant for things like this, and you have worked so hard to restore your family’s reputation.”

“It might delay us a short while, but what good is money if we can’t spend it? Think of it as my wedding present to you,” the Duke said.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There is nothing to say. The decision is made, and that is that.”

Edwin went off to find an assistant to make the purchase.

Beatrice strode around the gallery, feeling as if she were walking on air. She knew it did not mean a thing, but what if it did? He had married her for his own gain, and he did not need to buy her anything. Yet, he had.

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