Page 46 of Her Tiger of a Duke
CHAPTER 19
Beatrice could scarcely breathe, let alone sleep, which led to a very difficult night.
As she ate her breakfast the next day, all that she could think of was the way her husband looked at her, and how he had told her exactly what she had always wanted to hear. However, what kept her awake all night was the way he made her feel as he said it. There was something stirring within her, and she did not know quite what it was, but she knew she had to find out.
Fortunately, she had her greatest friends visiting.
When she told them, however, they all looked at one another and smiled knowingly, and embarrassment washed over her as she wondered if she had said something completely ridiculous.
“We knew that it would happen eventually,” Emma chuckled. “Congratulations, Beatrice, you have fallen for your husband.”
“No, I– I most certainly have not. That is not the sort of marriage that we have. You know precisely what we have, and it will not change. It cannot.”
“Why not?” Dorothy asked. “It is not as though we entered our marriages expecting to be completely adored, and yet here we are. Why should you be any different?”
Because I do not deserve it, she thought.
“The three of you are exceptions. There are many more marriages in London that are miserable. Owen and I are friends, and I am grateful enough for that. I do not need to add feelings into it all and make a mess when we are perfectly fine as we are.”
“And yet, you want to,” Dorothy finished for her. “You cannot claim the contrary. We saw the way you followed him yesterday, and the way you looked for him when the gentlemen entered the room. There is nothing wrong with feeling that way about the man you will be spending your life with, you know.”
“Of course, but that is not what is happening.”
Except that it was. He had always intrigued her, for she knew nothing about him when he was poised to marry her friend, but that was precisely why they could never be anything more.
“I understand that you want me to happy,” she sighed, “but I already am. I like the way things are. It is simple, and it is far less complicated than it would be if we allowed feelings to meddle.”
With that, Cecilia gestured to Dorothy and Emma, and they left the room. Beatrice felt her pulse quicken, for she and Cecilia had always had a greater understanding of one another. Beatrice had been the first to suspect Cecilia of her writing, and now Cecilia was looking at her as if she knew a secret of her own.
“I am not going to pass judgment,” she said kindly, “but you must understand that you are being unfair to yourself. I have always thought that you needed to follow what you want more, and this is proof of it.”
“Cecilia, I am telling you, all of this is what I want.”
“But is it the truth? Tell me, why is it that you always encouraged the three of us to fall in love, and you could not be happier that your friend now is, but when it comes to your own match you will not even consider it?”
“Because I do not deserve it,” she confessed. “I knew precisely what sort of match I was to have, and my husband is the one that told me how it would be. If the Duke wishes to maintain our separate spaces, I must honor his wishes.”
“And that could change! You could–”
“Cecilia, please, I do not wish to discuss it. I know that you have all found great happiness, and I could not be happier for you, but my own match is fine enough as it is. I do not want it to be any other way.”
Even though Beatrice could not say the words aloud she acknowledged in her heart that she did indeed want more. She wanted romance and love, and that was something that she could not have given the circumstances of her match.
“Very well, I shall concede. When you feel like being honest with me, I would very much like to help you.”
“Well, there is something you might be able to help me with. Do you think there is something strange about him?”
“About your husband? He is quieter than other dukes, but he seems relatively normal, I would say.”
“But does he seem to be hiding something?”
Cecilia leaned forward, head tilted to one side. Beatrice had hoped that her most intuitive friend might have noticed what she had, but it appeared that there was nothing out of sorts to anyone but her.
“You know him more than I do,” Cecilia countered. “What have you noticed?”
“He seems to be hiding something from me, and I do not know what it is, but I do not like it. You say that I should have greater feelings for him, and you are right, but how can I do that when there is something so secretive about him?”
“I see. You are right; you cannot love someone who you believe to be untrustworthy, but do you have any inclination as to what he might be keeping from you? It might not even be anything at all.”
