Page 13 of Her Tiger of a Duke
Owen was relieved to have married someone so realistic. Most ladies that wanted dukes had ulterior motives, a determination to live a lavish lifestyle, but he could tell that she truly could not have cared less for wealth.
“In any case,” he smiled, “you shall not have to. Our estate is sizable, and even with us taking care of your friend, you will live very comfortably.”
“Our?” she echoed.
“Well, yes. You are my wife now, are you not?”
“Yes, but that does not mean that I have any claim to your–”
She stopped, seemingly realizing that she did, indeed, have a claim to his estate. It was as much her own now, and with everything happening so quickly it made sense that she had not realized that yet.
In less than two weeks, Beatrice had gone from a lowly spinster to one of the most influential ladies in London. It would take anyone a long time to come to terms with that.
“In that case,” she continued, “I am pleased to know where we stand. You should know that I am not a lady with expensive tastes, however, and so if you want me to match the estate then I will need some things.”
“Is this your way of asking for new clothes?”
He liked the way she turned red at the suggestion, the way she quickly tried to explain herself so that he did not think badly of her. She was a sweet lady, and she certainly cared a lot about what he thought of her. He liked that she was eager to please, but it concerned him all the same that she was so amenable.
“Can I ask you something now?” he asked, and she nodded. “Have you always been afraid to speak your mind?”
She quietened; her hands folded neatly in her lap as she looked out of the window. Owen wondered for a moment if he had saidthe wrong thing, for he did not want to upset her. He only wished to know more about her.
“I have,” she answered at last. “But it is not because I have no thoughts. It is because it is easier not to say anything. If I speak, the words I use are no longer mine. They are for others to use as they see fit, and to mold to suit themselves and their views. I do not want to be seen as anything that I am not, and so I do not give anyone the chance to misunderstand me.”
“But, in doing so, does that not mean that you are misunderstood regardless? You seem like a lady with a lot to say, and if you are seen as quiet, then you are misunderstood.”
“Indeed, but at least it is on my terms. I have very little control, but I have always been able to decide how I am seen this way. I know it seems foolish, but it is something.”
He wanted to tell her that he understood, but he did not. It made very little sense to him, for when she felt strongly about something there were glimpses of the real her, and he liked that side of her. Then again, he had not known her for very long at all, and he did not know very much about her either. It was entirely possible that she had learned to silence herself, and if that were the case then it would take a long time for her to change.
They came to a halt outside of Everthorne Hall, and Owen knew how she would react to it. It was an imposing feat of architecture, gray stone walls towering over whoever stood before it and stained-glass windows sparkling. It was beautiful,but even Owen had to admit that there were times when it more closely resembled a prison than a home.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It- it is lovely,” she stammered. “Truthfully, I did not know what to expect.”
“The housekeeper, Mrs. Forsythe, can tell you more about it during your tour of the grounds. She is very passionate about the history of the household.”
“And as for you?”
“It has been in my family for generations, and now it is mine. There is nothing more to it than that.”
He wished that he had fond memories to recount to her, or that he remembered any of the history, but there was nothing. It was a household to him, but not a home.
Not anymore.
“Come,” he instructed, “we shall introduce you to the staff, and then we will have dinner. There are some things we must discuss.”
She nodded without any argument, and they walked the steps into the household. Owen had not realized just how manyservants he had until he saw them lined up. Each one bowed or curtseyed as they passed, smiling at Beatrice. He watched her face as they entered the hallway, surprised and overwhelmed. Her small lips parted, as if she were about to speak, but they promptly closed again.
“I should get ready for dinner,” she whispered.
“That would be best, yes, unless you wish to remain in your gown. I rather like it.”
She eyed him carefully, clearly looking for a sign of irony, but he was serious. She looked beautiful in white. She turned, her new lady’s maid accompanying her to her room.
“Did she not have her own lady’s maid?” Mrs. Forsythe asked. “It was no trouble to find one for her, but it is terribly strange.”
