Page 65 of The Desire of a Duchess
Not only for insisting on the bee but also for putting pockets in every gown she designed.
A painfully thin young woman, chin pointed and sharp, wearing a gown full of flounces, stopped right before Beatrice. Struck dumb by the sight of the pitted scars along Beatrice’s neck, her thin lips gaped open in the most unappealing way.
What has happened to manners while I’ve been gone?
Beatrice looked down her nose at the girl and asked in a snide, dripping tone. “If you keep your mouth open, you might attract flies. Now get out of my way.”
She stepped aside, red-faced, to take the arm of a gentleman beside her. He bowed, staring at Beatrice’s neck. “Pardon, Your Grace.”
The humming grew a great deal louder.
“Remember who you are,” Melinda said quietly so only Beatrice could hear.
Beatrice could feel her knees wobbling beneath the silk. She hid her hands in the folds of her skirts so no one could see how she trembled.
Good God. What’s happened to her face? I told you the rumors were true.
Not so high and mighty now, is she?
I’d almost forgotten about Beatrice Howard.
Someone should tell Lady Foxwood.
Andromeda stood next to the mountainous Granby at the far end of the room, stunning in a gown of deep indigo. She caught sight of Beatrice and inclined her head.
Dozens of eyes watched the interaction between them, salivating in anticipation. The room grew silent, holding their collective breath. Perhaps hoping for fisticuffs given Beatrice’s past with Granby and Andromeda. Or that Granby might cut her.
Granby bowed stiffly in Beatrice’s direction. A polite acknowledgement. More than she’d expected. Or deserved.
Just to Granby’s left stood Blythe, the burnished gold of his hair shining like a guinea against his dark formal wear. His back was to her, his attention taken by a blob of yellow, like a fattened canary.
The esteemed Lady Blythe.
An adoring young lady stood next to Lady Blythe, blushing and stammering. Lady Anabeth was exactly as Beatrice had imagined. The older woman at her side could only be her mother.
“That’s what you were going to leave him to?” Melinda whispered. “Doesn’t seem like such a grand idea, does it?” Her friend drifted off a pace. “I think I’ll fetch something to drink.”
“The punch is always terrible,” Beatrice whispered back.
The smile on Lady Blythe’s face froze. Tightened. The sight of Beatrice had made her speechless. She placed a hand on Blythe’s arm.
The other guests still watched but with much less enthusiasm. They’d all be hoping for a scene between Granby, his duchess, and Beatrice. Lady Blythe—nor anyone who was drinking her terrible punch—did not know of the relationship between Blythe and the widowed Duchess of Castlemare. They did not know that Beatrice loved Ellis Aperton, Earl of Blythe with her entire heart.
Nor that he loved her in return.
But they would now.
Blythe’s feelings for Beatrice, as he turned toward her, were stamped in every line of his handsome face. Impossible to miss. On full display. He took one step forward and stretched out a hand in her direction, a silent command for her to come the rest of the way. The sky blue of his eyes shone with pride. He meant to claim her before everyone.
Beatrice took two more steps, extending her fingers.
His hand curled around hers protectively as he brought her to his side.
“There you are.” Blythe’s words rasped with longing. “I’ve been looking for you, Your Grace.”
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Blythe purposefully drew Beatrice to his side. “You are full of surprises, Bea.” He leaned to press a subtle kiss on her ear. “I thought more negotiation would be required on my part. Another carved insect. Perhaps keeping you naked in your bed for a week or so.”
