Page 8 of His Unwanted Duchess

That’s it. I’ve made a deal with the Devil.

CHAPTER 3

One Month Later

What a waste of a favor.

It was finally time to give up hope, then. Beatrice’s wedding day dawned bright and clear. There had been something of a dry spell in the Season’s marriages of late, so her wedding was considered likely to draw out a large crowd. The church would be full to bursting, and almost all of the invitations to the wedding breakfast had been accepted.

There had been a few rather poisonous comments aboutBeatricegetting married before other, more fashionably beautiful ladies, and she ignored them as best she could.

I would change places with you if I could.

Her wedding dress should comfort those unmarried women. It was so very ugly.

“I’m not sure I like the sleeves,” her father commented, a tinge of anxiety in his voice. Horatio Haversham, the Viscount Darnley, was a man with remarkably poor health—gout, indigestion, a weak back, frequent megrims, and so on. Perhaps his poor health could be attributed to their recent run of bad luck in business. “The Marquess designed all of this, of course. I did think it was nice, a gentleman choosing his wife’s wedding dress, but now I’m not sure he thought it through at all.”

Beatrice bit the inside of her cheek. “It doesn’t matter, Papa.”

Her gown was, objectively, ugly. It was clearly cut to fit the willowy, fashionable figures of Society, simply made in a larger size. It flattened her bosom, emphasizing the plumpness of her waist and her arms, while managing to hide the curves she was proud of, like her hips. Remarkable, really.

And, of course, the sickly shade of ivory seemed to drain her of color, making even her red hair seem less vibrant.

He chose the ugliest dress he could find,she thought, with a sudden rush of almost hysterical laughter.And because it’s fashionable, he can plead ignorance when I look truly awful.

The Viscount got up, shuffling painfully across the room, and laid a hand carefully on Beatrice’s shoulder.

“This marriage is for the best, you know. The Marquess is a decent man, and with this deal, I shall soon restore our fortune. He didn’t even mind that your dowry was reduced, you know. Or that you are… well, a littleolderthan some of the other ladies.”

Beatrice bit her lip, tasting copper, and said nothing.

They had argued about this, over and over again. Of course, Beatrice was of age, and could not beforcedinto anything. But there was no denying that a series of bad investments had eroded their fortune, a fact carefully hidden from the rest of Society. The world was unforgiving towards rich men who lost their money.

The Marquess was a rich enough man, but he was no businessman. He needed Horatio’s experience, good name, and advice. And, in exchange, he must marry Horatio’s second daughter.

No, his oldest daughter, now.

Beatrice closed her eyes briefly, swallowing back the agonizing wave of grief.

Tears won’t bring her back.

Jane would have been horrified at Beatrice forcing herself into marriage and going along with it all. But Jane was not here. She couldn’t see how broken they all were, the pain that lingered between them every hour, every moment. Beatrice simply could not hurt them further by digging in her heels.

If a scandal involving the Marquess were to simplysurface, however, that was a different matter altogether.

“You seemed a little happier about the idea in recent weeks,” Horatio added, mustering a small smile. “Ever since the engagement was announced. Have you made your peace with all this at last?”

Yes, because I believed that I’d enlisted the help of a man who would save me.

“I suppose I am getting used to the idea, Papa,” she answered listlessly.

Because I am an idiot. Oh, what was I thinking? I have wasted the last month waiting around for a knight in shining armor to ride along and rescue me. Serves me right for relying on a man.

“Haven’t you any flowers?” Horatio asked, glancing around. “You are not having any bridesmaids, are you?”

“No, Papa, I am not. And I don’t need flowers.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Dully, Beatrice met his eyes through the mirror. He dropped his gaze first.

---