“And what did Blythe say?”
“He may have called me a vile harpy.”
“So romantic.” Melinda sighed. “Read the rest.”
I will look for you, Bea. Always.
Beatrice pressed her forehead once more to the floor and sobbed. Her fingers curled into the rug. Blythe understood, far better than she’d ever given him credit. He did love her, despite what a terrible creature she still was at times. The knowledge sent a fresh wave of tears flowing down her cheeks.
She could not continue to hide from the world, not when Blythe wanted to share it with her.
I will look for you, Bea. Always.
It was daunting, the idea of London. Coaches and balls. Whispers behind fans. The hum of the gossips all deciding a young lady’s reputation. Not to mention Lord and Lady Foxwood.
Another cry left her.
I am Lady Beatrice Howard.
Or at least a part of her still was. Jewel of theton. A duchess now, no less. She’d survived that damned riverbed. She could survive a half-dozen snobbish matrons pushing their little nitwits about. So what if no gentleman ever regarded her with admiration again?
It only mattered that Blythe did.
“Beatrice.” Melinda took her hand. “Please tell me we are going to London.”
“We are,” she answered. “You’d best inform Vicar Farthing you’ll be gone for some time. Possibly, you’ll become my companion permanently and not return at all.” Beatrice sucked in a lungful of air and came to her feet. “I’m not even sure I’ll survive the coach ride. Bring some laudanum. Don’t worry about a wardrobe. I know an excellent modiste.” She paused. “I must pay her a long overdue visit upon my arrival.”
Her palm pressed along her stomach, begging the horrible pitching to stop.
“I’ll make an excellent lady’s companion, Your Grace. More so than a vicar’s wife.” Melinda helped her to the settee.
“I’ve no doubt.” She took her friend’s hand. “There is no way but through it, is there?”
“I don’t think so, Your Grace.”
Blythe deserved a woman who was beautiful, unscarred, could bear him children and possessed a more pleasing personality.
Unfortunately, the prancing dandy had already thrown his lot in with her.
The very least Beatrice could do was go to London to fetch him.
23
Beatrice left the carriage, relieved as she always was that the vehicle hadn’t toppled over on the way to Madame Dupree’s. After over a week in London, she still wasn’t completely at ease in a carriage. The journey to town had not been a pleasant one. Beatrice had become ill several times, casting up her accounts more than once. Melinda had refused to give her any laudanum, insisting Beatrice must grow accustomed to riding in carriages once more. London was filled with them. She couldn’t just take a nip of laudanum every time she ventured out. No one appreciated a dazed duchess except the gossips.
Beatrice had reluctantly agreed.
Castlemare’s brother, now the duke, had been informed of Beatrice’s arrival. She’d sent him a note before leaving Chiddon, advising him of her intent to return to London and asking if he would do her the kindness of having her house made ready. Beatrice did not mean to cause him any undue embarrassment with her visit.
Beatrice’s house had not only been readied for her, but much to her surprise, it had been made welcoming. Vases of fresh flowers had been placed in the rooms, which all smelled of beeswax. The larder had been stocked. And a small staff had been hastily assembled. All Castlemare’s doing. The duke had greeted Beatrice upon her arrival, nodding thoughtfully at the scars decorating her neck and cheek, for she’d insisted on wearing her hair up.
I thought it to be much worse. Should you require it, Beatrice, I am at your disposal.
That was something. The support of her husband’s brother. She’d always assumed Castlemare’s family detested her.
“Take your time, Your Grace.” Melinda interrupted her thoughts by fairly pushing Beatrice out of the carriage. “I’ve a book and plenty of things to occupy my time.”
Beatrice stepped onto the street, pulling the veil across her features and the shawl tighter about her shoulders. Her hair was atop her head, but the shawl covered the worst of it. That was as far as Beatrice was willing to go today.
