Page 35 of His Unwanted Duchess

“A Noble Guide To Botany,” John read aloud, craning his neck to see the book. “I didn’t know you were interested in plants, Beatrice.”

“I…” she stammered, not quite able to form words.

Glancing over at her father, Beatrice saw that he had opened the envelope with the largest wax seal. The spiky handwriting on the envelope was shockingly familiar, and with a rush, Beatrice knew what was in that letter.

Horatio’s lips twitched as he read, and he dragged his incredulous gaze from the paper to his daughter.

“This letter is from the Duke of Blackwood, Beatrice,” he said, sounding almost comically baffled. “He… he seeks my blessing to marry you.”

John made a muffled noise. Beatrice felt as though all of the air had been knocked out of her lungs, and she opened and closed her mouth like a fish.

Horatio continued reading, looking pale enough to faint.

“He said that he has already made you a proposal and that you have accepted. Is… is that true, Beatrice?”

Beatrice swallowed hard. “Yes,” she heard herself say. “Yes, it is true.”

Her father fell off his chair.

CHAPTER 11

Will the surprises never cease? Dedicated readers will recall the shocking incident regarding Miss Haversham. After that, the lady in question, already a notable bluestocking and confirmed spinster, seemed destined for a life of singleness and misery.

The author of this journal was most amazed to read in the Gazetteonly this morning—along with the rest of you dear readers—that Miss Haversham is once again engaged, and to none other than Duke Blackheart himself.

The obvious question, albeit a rather unkind one, is why? Miss Haversham is hardly a debutante, with her strong will and tendency to drive off many eligible men, and the Duke is known to have earned his nickname and his hellish reputation. In fact, many of my fellow gossip authors have deemed the man unmarriageable, which is quite an insult to a duke, of all men.

Like the rest of you, this author waits with bated breath to discover whether Miss Haversham’s wedding—scheduled amere week from now with a special license—will take place. And if it does take place, how will this ill-matched couple manage together? This author feels confident in saying that it is not a love match, but why on earth would a man such as Duke Blackheart go to such extremes to free Miss Haversham from an engagement and then marry her himself, if not for love?

Perhaps this author had read too many novels. Real life, as we all know, is seldom quite as neat as fiction, but it can be a good deal more satisfying.

Good luck, Miss Haversham, good luck. This author is not entirely sure which of the ill-fated pair she pities more.

“Put that rubbish down, Beatrice,” Helena scolded. “That is the third gossip column you’ve read today. They all say the same thing. Everybody is shocked by your engagement, and nobody believes that it will ever really happen. You are only torturing yourself. Who cares about their opinions?”

Beatrice bit her lip, obediently folding the journal away and setting it aside.

Breakfast was a rather strange affair. Several days had gone by since the Duke’s letter and Horatio’s fainting fit—he had recovered quite nicely, thank goodness—and the Duke had not visited once.

Not that Beatrice wantedhim to visit, but surely he should have called once, at least? When the Marquess was brokering their engagement, it had seemed as if he were never gone from thehouse. The man was perpetually coming to supper, or arriving for luncheon, or asking Beatrice to promenade with him even if she was trying to read a book. She couldn’t move without tripping over the man.

The Duke was entirely different. There had been no notes, aside from the letter he sent to Horatio, and no correspondence at all. Frankly, Beatrice had been as surprised to see the engagement announcement in theGazetteas everybody else.

Her mother, however, seemed almost recovered. There was color in her cheeks now, and a spark in her eyes that had not been there when Beatrice was engaged to the Marquess.

Perhaps it was because the Duke was richer, or perhaps it was because he was better looking. Either way, Helena was smiling more often than she had before, and Beatrice couldn’t help but congratulate herself on putting that smile on her mother’s face again.

I have to marry somebody. It might as well be somebody who doesn’t wish to live a life with me.

That thought was more sad than reassuring, and Beatrice busied herself with pouring more tea for everybody to avoid dwelling on it for too long.

“I’m glad that you chose Anna to be your matron of honor,” Helena said, smiling blithely. “I think she was rather disappointed not to be involved when you were going to marry… Well, the less said about that, the better, I think. But you mustwrite to the Duke and ask him what preparations he is making. I simply can’t sit back and let him organize everything. We have a good deal of leftover decorations and whatnot that we could put to use for this wedding.”

Beatrice winced. “I’m not sure the Duke cares to use second-hand wedding things. He said he wanted to organize things, so I think we should oblige him.”

“You always call himthe Duke,” John piped up, frowning. “It’s odd that you don’t use his name.”

“I suppose it feels odd,” Beatrice muttered.

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