Page 93 of His Unwanted Duchess

The idea was immediately followed by a miserable realization.

But I must hear it.

“Girls, get in the carriage,” Beatrice heard herself say. “I will join you in a moment.”

Emily and Daphne exchanged looks. For a moment, it seemed as if Daphne was ready to argue, but her sister reached out and touched her arm. Just a touch, but it seemed to say all that was necessary.

Daphne deflated. “Very well,” she muttered. “But not more than ten minutes, or I’m coming out.”

Cornelia and Beatrice eyed each other, their faces blank, while the girls climbed into the carriage. After the door slammed shut behind them, there was a long silence.

In the end, Cornelia broke the silence first.

“I never thought he’d marry,” she said. “I was secure of my hold on him. And then you came along.”

Beatrice bit the inside of her cheek. “What do you want from me, Cornelia?”

“From you? Nothing. I came here to tell you what you need to know, from one woman to another.”

Beatrice snorted. “What, to warn me off? I already know that you’re spending time with my husband behind my back. There is nothing I can do about it. Stephen is free to lead his own life, and I don’t care to stand in his way.”

She made to move past her, heading to the carriage, but Cornelia stepped in her way. Eyes narrowed, she peered down at Beatrice.

“There is one thing I do not understand,” Cornelia said carefully. “Why would he ruin your wedding to the Marquess?That, I do not understand.”

Beatrice flashed a tight-lipped smile. “He did it because I asked him to. There is no other reason.”

Cornelia pursed her lips. “Hm. I should tell you, Your Grace, that he loves me. He always has, and he always will.”

“Really? I would have thought your comments about beingunsureof your hold on him, and your presence here, say otherwise.”

Cornelia flashed her a smile that was almost pitying.

“I am not your enemy, Your Grace. You are not my rival. You are nothing more than a naive girl who does not understand that men are liars. They mean nothing they say. For the most part, of course, men are poor dissemblers, and we can easily see through them. Stephen is a little more complicated.”

Beatrice flinched at the careless use of Stephen’s first name. “He isHis Graceto you.”

Again, Cornelia flashed that pitying smile. “No, my dear, he isStephento me. I do not need to think hard about where your trust in him comes from. I imagine he hasbeen with youin certain ways. Am I correct?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Beatrice lied, although she could feel color rushing to her face.

Images and sensations rushed into her mind, from the carriage, from the observatory.

Cornelia sighed. “You are a pretty woman, and his wife, so therefore well within his reach. He enjoys a light challenge, and I imagine you make for ratherstimulatingcompany. I know him—it is exactly the sort of thing he would do. He has spoken to me about you. Never very flattering, I am afraid. Fond, but not flattering. And not often. Whateveractivitiesyou two may have engaged in, I imagine he has been careful not to do anything that would make you conceive?”

Beatrice said nothing. She didn’t have to.

Cornelia sighed, shaking her head. “He does not want you to bear his children, Your Grace. I am sorry. If you cared about him less, the rejection would not hurt as much as it does. You will learn this, in time.”

“I don’t believe a word you say,” Beatrice said, horrified at how her voice shook.

Cornelia eyed her for a long moment. She looked tired, Beatrice noticed for the first time.

“Yes, you do,” she said, sighing. “I am sorry to tell you all of this, but you had to hear it. Relinquish your grasp on Stephen, my dear, before you humiliate yourself further. Before you are hurt more than you are already.”

Beatrice drew in a shaky breath, straightening her spine. “I do not have to listen to this, and Iwon’tlisten to it. Get out of my way.”

She moved forward with purpose, intending to shoulder Cornelia out of the way if she had to.

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