Page 9 of His Unwanted Duchess

“Well, I think it’s time to go, my dear. Shall we go downstairs?”

Beatrice said nothing.

The walk from Haversham House to the church was a short one. Beatrice wished with all her heart that it was longer. But then,what was the point of that? She would only have to suffer longer. Why not get it over with?

Helena Haversham, the Viscountess, walked silently along with them. She resembled Beatrice in coloring, with pale skin and vibrant reddish-gold hair. Beatrice’s plump form and need for spectacles came directly from her father, however.

In recent months, life seemed to have been leached out of Helena. Even now, she seemed to move like a puppet with the strings cut, staring straight ahead, without a single word to say on the day of her daughter’s wedding.

Helena had not agreed to the match, but Horatio overruled her.

I should have fought harder,Beatrice thought, with a twinge of regret.

They approached the church, which was full to the brim. The world swam oddly around Beatrice, things coming in and out of focus.

I’m getting married. I’m marrying him. Nobody came to help me, after all.

“Horatio, go inside,” Helena said abruptly, her voice the same tired monotone she’d used since they buried Jane.

Horatio blinked. “I’m walking our daughter down the aisle, dear.”

“I shall walk her down.”

“Well, that’s not how it’s done. Really…”

Helena turned blank eyes on her husband. “I have said that I will do it. Go inside, Horatio.”

There was a second or two of tangible tension in the air, with Beatrice stuck between them.

Horatio dropped his gaze first. “Well, well, as you like. It’ll look strange, though. The gossips will talk.”

“Let them talk.”

He slipped inside the church, giving Beatrice a glimpse of crammed pews, all the guests craning their necks to get a glimpse of the bride. She felt sick.

“Beatrice,” Helena said quietly. “Look at me.”

Beatrice obeyed. “Mama?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

There was a short silence. Beatrice bit her lip, glancing away.

“Our fortune?—”

“Enough about that,” Helena interrupted. “Enough about your father’s business deals. I should have fought harder against all of this. It’s just… oh, my darling girl, I have been so tired. You lost your sister, and I lost my daughter, my oldest child. My first baby, my first child that I cradled in my arms. I have not been a good mother.”

“Youarea good mother.”

Helena reached out, tucking a strand of copper hair behind her daughter’s ear. “We could walk away. Right this moment, we could walk away.”

Beatrice allowed herself to imagine it. Just for a moment. She shook her head.

“We would likely be ruined if I did that. Papa would never forgive me for the humiliation. My reputation would never recover, either. I would never marry—who would marry a runaway bride?—and what about John’s future?”

At the mention of her third child, her son, Helena’s eyes fluttered shut.

“We should never have allowed it to get this far.”

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