Page 69 of The Desire of a Duchess
Beatrice didn’t mind. She pressed her nose against his chest.
“Lord Foxwood kept insisting I take my hands from your person when I carried you away. Hovering about me like an annoying horsefly. I did think Mrs. Farthing might punch him. He finally left off after being informed of some rather pertinent facts. Suffice it to say, the introduction to Lord Henley, who isn’t terribly fussy, is now moot.” Blythe’s palm settled on her stomach.
“My father’s arrogance is rather shocking, isn’t it?”
“Completely. I summoned a physician. Mrs. Farthing repeated her concerns over your health to the good doctor since you were indisposed.”
“I was examined?” Beatrice tried to sit up. “While unconscious.”
Blythe shrugged. “A cursory examination. Dr. Wells took one look at you after Mrs. Farthing recited her findings to him and agreed with her conclusions.” Long fingers stretched possessively over her abdomen. “Apparently you arenotas barren as the field behind Beresford Cottage.”
“No, I can’t possibly—” She thought back to the last time she’d had her courses. Before Blythe had ever arrived in Chiddon. The shock of him being there had distressed her, that was why she hadn’t—there hadn’t been any worry because she was barren. Everyone had said so.
“My sugar beets have taken root in your heretofore barren field.”
Beatrice swatted him. “You are terrible with words. Awful. Poetry is definitely not where your talents lie.” She trailed her fingers over Blythe’s hand, cradling her stomach. The joy Beatrice felt was insurmountable. Pure. Magnificent. A part of Blythe dwelled within her. “I cannot believe.” Moisture gathered in her eyes. “But—”
“No buts, Your Grace. No waffling over whether you deserve the happiness that marriage to me will undoubtedly bring. And I already know what a terrible creature you are so you cannot use that excuse. London, at least part of the time. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” She would do whatever Blythe asked of her. “We don’t have to return to Chiddon, but I would like to visit on occasion. Check on things. I don’t wish to abandon the village. I cannot.”
“I do not expect you to. Mother will give you control of Larchmont. She has my two sisters to launch at any rate. I’ve been gone from my estate, and it needs tending. There will be enough to keep us busy when we aren’t in London.”
“Lady Blythe must be disappointed.” No matter her feelings for Blythe’s mother, he loved his family. Beatrice would make every effort to ensure a peaceful existence. After she got rid of the pear paintings.
“My mother is annoying, controlling, and overly determined, but she is not unintelligent. Cunning is a better word, I think.” A thoughtful look entered his handsome features. “She wasn’t terribly surprised to see you, the reason for which I’ll share later.” The pad of his thumb brushed softly against the scars along her cheek. “Besides, she is getting exactly what she wanted. Now, close your eyes for a bit.” His warmth left her as he sat up. “I’m having the carriage brought around. I sent Melinda home in yours.”
Her hands curled in his coat, suddenly panicked. Ridiculous, really. “Blythe.”
“Don’t worry, Bea. I won’t leave you.” He carefully plucked her fingers from his coat. “Not tonight and not ever. I’m only going to see to the carriage and make an attempt to be discreet as I see you home. A wasted attempt, I’m sure. The gossip is already spreading. Dashing Blythe finally meets his match in the snobbish Duchess of Castlemare. I can hear the disappointed sighs of every young lady in England. They might storm your front door. Demand you give me up.”
A smile curved Beatrice’s lip as her eyes fluttered shut. The evening had been exhausting. “Prancing fop. I love you.”
“You should. I bought you a mill. Carved you a bee.”
“My betrothal bee.” She sighed. “Melinda expected a diamond or sapphire. She’s disappointed.”
A rumble of laughter shook him once more. “I love you, Beatrice. You need never worry that you’ll be alone again.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I willalwayslook for you.”
EPILOGUE
Lady Blythe tapped her fingers on the edge of the pew, trying to appear as if she were moderately put out when, in fact, this might be the happiest day of her life. Excepting the birth of her only son, of course.
Ellis wasfinallymarrying. An enormous relief. Better still, an heir had already been sired. She didn’t entirely approve, of course. One could never applaud improper behavior, but it was still rather splendid. She adored Cousin Randolph, but she wouldn’t have relished seeing the earldom pass out of the direct line of the Apertons if Ellis hadn’t wed. It wouldn’t have been what her husband would have wanted.
“My lady, may I join you?”
“Good morning, Mr. Estwood.” Lady Blythe looked up at the handsome man bowing before her. “Please.” Her eldest daughters were seated behind her with their families. Her two unwed daughters were farther down the pew. She could easily make room for Estwood.
“Thank you.” Estwood was attractive, though not of good birth. She’d grown to depend on him while her son was busy attempting sculpture in Rome. Perhaps she might help Estwood make a good match.
“They make a lovely couple, do they not?” A smile graced her lips as she took in her son and his bride. The woman who had once been the jewel of society, Beatrice Howard, was absolutely stunning in a gown of ice blue silk. The design was one of Madame Dupree’s, London’s finest modiste, and the heavy silk hid the small mound of Beatrice’s stomach.
Madame Dupree. Lady Blythe had it on good authority that the wedding gown of her soon to be daughter-in-law was actually the work of the Duchess of Granby.
The duchess dabbled as a modiste. Everyone knew, but it was not discussed.
“I have never seen Blythe so happy,” Estwood said. “You were right in your estimation, my lady. I admit, I was hesitant when you requested I make observations in Chiddon.”
