Page 34 of His Unwanted Duchess

Beatrice swallowed, nodding tightly.

“Then there is nothing I can say, I suppose. I only hope you know what you’re doing, Beatrice.”

The coachman pulled open the carriage door. Beatrice opened her mouth, trying to think of something, anything she could say that would make things better, something beyond her bland apologies.

Nothing came to mind.

“Goodnight,” she said weakly and climbed out of the carriage. It rattled away, leaving her standing alone on the dark street.

Beatrice stood there, watching her friend disappear into the darkness, and wondered whether she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

“I wish you would stop yawning, Beatrice,” Horatio complained. “You went to bed before ten o’clock last night. You cannotpossiblybe tired.”

Beatrice clenched her jaw against the yawn and said nothing.

Breakfast was a tense affair. The heated words they’d all exchanged only the other day still hung in the air. Helena was not at the table—she’d taken to having breakfast in bed,and lying in later and later—and John barely breathed a word, keeping his gaze fixed on his plate and saying nothing.

I should tell them,Beatrice thought, more than once.I should warn them.

The idea of awarningfelt a little strange, though. Engagements were supposed to be happy events, weren’t they?

However, Beatrice could not shake the idea that all of this was some sort of wild dream. She’d thought as much when she first woke up, lying in bed and trying to work out whether she had reallygone to the Duke of Blackwood’s house and signed his rather scandalous list of rules.

A quick glance at her old cloak, which was tossed over her dressing table where she’d left it, convinced her that it had happened. Along with the memory came back the uneasy recollection of how she’d spoken to Anna.

I must apologize. She lent me her carriage without question, and then only tried to help me. I already hid my problems from her, and then I reminded her about all that business with Henry.

I’m an awful friend.

Part of Beatrice did not believe that the ‘engagement’ would ever materialize. Really, why woulda man like the Duke want to marry her? Perhaps he did have a horrendous reputation, butif he were to propose, just about any woman in Society would accept. And a good many of them would likely agree to his nonsensical rules, too.

Perhaps not the rule about no children. Most ladies dream of babies and children, and cannot ever imagine a life without them.

And why woulda duke be so determined not to continue his line? It’s odd.

Yes, the more Beatrice thought about it, the more she was sure that the Duke would reconsider his offer. After all, what did a verbal agreement and a signature on a piece of paper mean?

The butler came in, bearing a silver platter with a pile of letters on it. There was one for Beatrice, with Anna’s handwriting on the front, and a handful for Horatio. He took them, muttering to himself, and tossed Beatrice’s letter on the table.

“I have another business partner,” he announced quite suddenly. “He is interested in investing, and he wasn’t at all put off by that business with the Marquess. He is interested in you too, Beatrice.”

Beatrice swallowed. “Who is he?”

“You don’t know him, but I will arrange an introduction soon enough. I’m afraid he’s not a member of the ton—but that hardly matters now. He is a rather dull gentleman, even I can admitthat, and widowed twice, but he is looking for a new wife to manage his children and help with his estate. I believe it could be a good match for you.”

Beatrice stared at her father in horror. “You must be joking, Papa.”

“I am not. You have few enough prospects now, girl. We need to get you married. If Jane’s husband would only bestir himself and try and help us, then perhaps?—”

“Edward is grieving, Papa,” Beatrice interrupted sharply. “Don’t be unkind.”

Before more words could be exchanged, the butler slipped back into the room, holding a package wrapped in brown paper.

“Forgive me, but this also came for you, Miss Haversham,” he said apologetically, holding it out to Beatrice. “It ought to have been brought up with the letters.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Beatrice responded, blinking.

It was unusual for her to receive parcels in the morning, to be sure. Swallowing, she began to tear off the paper, already half-aware of what the parcel would be.

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