“I think it more than an affair, Your Grace.” Melinda popped her hand open. “Sparks. Remember? He’ll want you to go to London with him, I warrant. Show you off. You’re wasted in Chiddon.”
Beatrice studied her tea. London loomed like a billowing cloud of darkness full of those who would be only too pleased to mete out their opinions of her.
“Chiddon needs me,” she finally said. “One night, brought on by an excess of ale, means nothing. We are amusing each other, nothing more. Blythe is only in the country because he is avoiding his duty, which is to wed a suitable girl and produce an heir. Lady Blythe, his mother, is quite determined he do so immediately.”
“You’re a duchess. Aren’t you suitable?”
“Hardly, Melinda. Look at me. I can’t even ride in a coach without dissolving into fits. I can’t be expected to attend a ball or a garden party like this.” Beatrice waved a hand down the right side of her face. “Nor properly wear a pair of earrings.”
Melinda chewed the scone, eyes mutinous. “I disagree, Your Grace. But let us continue. Am I to understand you will allow Blythe, magnificent earl, to return to London without you—”
“I can hardly keep him here. He has an entire life full of responsibility. Sisters. Lady Blythe. An estate. Producing an heir.” Beatrice thought of his face, so solemn when he’d told her his family’s happiness was his responsibility. “Evenifhe were inclined to do so, and I assure you he is not, I would never ask it of him.”
Beatrice firmly resisted the idea of London. Blythe belonged there. Melinda couldn’t comprehend that holding a title came with a great many obligations. What was Blythe to do, run back and forth between London, Chiddon, and his own country estate?
A wave of desolation swept her. It really was impossible.
“So, it won’t bother you to have him wed some well-bred twit instead of you? Make this twit his countess and bed her?”
Beatrice thought of some faceless girl, one who would dangle uselessly off Blythe’s arm. Shewouldbe horribly well-bred. Approved by Lady Blythe. The sort of girl Beatrice had once been but was no longer. “I didn’t say I would like it. I won’t. I think Blythe bears me some affection—”
“Someaffection?” Melinda made a puffing sound. “Affection is a mild word to describe the way in which Lord Blythe looks at you, Your Grace. He cannot take his eyes from you, even for a moment. I became quite heated watching the two of you dance.”
Beatrice set down her tea. “Blythe wouldneveroffer for me. Let us say he is hopelessly enthralled by me. Even so, I am unsuitable to be his wife for a variety of reasons.” She came to her feet, pacing back and forth across the rug.
“I’m anxious to hear them.”
She glared at her friend. Why couldn’t Melinda see how bloody impossible this was? It was exceptionally clear to Beatrice. Physical desire, of which she and Blythe had plenty, wasnotaffection. Liking, possibly. But not love.
“I bought you a mill. Doesn’t that count?”
A tool for seduction, nothing more.
“Very well, Melinda. First and foremost, there is the matter of an heir. I realize you don’t understand the weight of such a thing, but I assure you, it is the most important duty a titled gentleman possesses. I am incapable of producing a child. I could not do so for Castlemare.”
An image of Castlemare invading her rooms, tossing back a glass of wine before he told her to lay back, flitted before her eyes. He would grunt and sigh for a quarter hour. Thrust into her. As each month passed and her courses arrived, Castlemare became crueler. Ugly.
Melinda raised one brow. “I see.”
“Then there is the matter of my previous existence in London. Yes, I’m still a duchess, but one who is neither missed nor remembered with any fondness.” Painful to admit, but true. Lying in that riverbed for two days with her absence not even noted had driven that pertinent fact home. “Given my current state,” she said, once more gesturing to her ruined cheek. “Society will await my return with undisguised glee, claws sharpened and ready to tear me to shreds. Which would not be undeserved. I was unkind to a great many people, all of whom would like the opportunity to extract a bit of vengeance. Blythe should not have to suffer for my past mistakes.”
“I think him intelligent enough to have already considered your previous reputation, but do go on.”
Beatrice waved a hand. “Even so, eventually I would become a burden. A regret. Something he pities but must endure. Eventually, Blythe would be forced to consider discarding his despised mistress—”
Melinda’s eyes widened. “Good lord. You really don’t think he’d want to wed you?”
“Hecouldnot, Melinda. Even if he were so inclined. Which I do not believe he is. I can’t provide an heir. Poor reputation. Disfigured.” She picked off each statement with her fingers. “But let us assume that those issues were of no import. There is still the matter of the Duchess of Granby.”
“The Duchess of Granby?”
“The woman I wronged so grievously, whose reputation I took great pains to destroy, is Andromeda Barrington, now the Duchess of Granby. Not only is Granby Blythe’s closest friend, but Andromeda’s brother is the Duke of Averell. And while the Barringtons are considered—” Beatrice’s brow wrinkled. “Let’s say, unconventional—one brother is a duke and the other a bastard who runs a gambling hell—the Barringtons survive their eccentricity because of the power they wield. I’m sure they haven’t forgotten my horrid behavior, just as I’m certain the gossips have not either. Do you see the complication? Andromeda and her family despise me, with good reason.” A vision of Andromeda’s mother, the dowager duchess, fiercely guarding her daughter at a ball came to mind. “The Dowager Duchess of Averell, in particular, should not be crossed.”
“So apologize to the Duchess of Granby. You could write her a letter,” Melinda said. “Or better, pay a call upon her. Send a bouquet with a heartfelt admission of your guilt.”
“I cannot envision a time when I would ever willingly visit London, for all the reasons I’ve given you. Not to mention I would have to contend with Lord and Lady Foxwood.” It had taken a great deal of time for her to come to terms with Lord and Lady Foxwood but part of her still longed for their affection. She had no desire to revisit their relationship or see them again.
Melinda bit into a biscuit. “Lord and Lady Foxwood are horrid.”
