The Duchess of Bainbridge.
How odd to think it was a mantle she could soon wear herself. Odder still to think that she’d arrived a mere three days past, eager to gain Harry’s support for her Lady’s Suffrage Society, never having been formally introduced to the duke himself, an oversight down to his recent abstention from polite society and her relatively new entrance. Bainbridge had greeted her with icy arrogance on that day, and she’d felt rather like a tradesman who’d shown up unwittingly to the wrong door.
But now, she felt…oh, she didn’t know…as if her corset was laced too tight. As if her heart was about to leap from her chest and gallop away. As if she was firmly down Alice’s rabbit hole, with no chance of ever returning to reality.
How was it that she was even contemplating marriage to the man? She, who had prided herself on the ambition of remaining a spinster wedded to her cause rather than accepting the life society apportioned for her? Cleo, she told herself, and Alex. It was for their sake alone.
“The duchess spoke with me earlier today,” Cleo said, her tone sympathetic.
Bo stiffened. “Not of Cartwright, I hope?”
The ladies tittered and clapped as the Countess of Carnes apparently stumped the entire congregation with her attempt to invoke a vicar.
Her sister shot her a telling glance. “Of course not. The Duchess of Bainbridge. She expects an announcement, though I must warn you that she is not pleased.”
What perversity. The duchess and her sour-faced friend had witnessed a lapse of propriety. They could have chosen to ignore it, but they were the sort of ladies who imagined their principles would save them. The reaction of Bainbridge’s mother alone had told Bo that the woman deplored her. And yet she would force her son to marry a dreaded Harrington, all to avoid another scandal.
Her heart ached as she recalled Bainbridge’s bitter words from that morning. She couldn’t help but feel that she’d gotten her first, real glimpse of the true man hiding behind his cold façade.What I’ve seen would gut you.She had no doubt that it would.
“An announcement,” she repeated, the phrase enough to curl her lip. For she didn’t want to marry the Duke of Bainbridge.
Oh, she was drawn to him, that much was undeniable. She could be honest with herself, at least, and own that the Duke of Bainbridge was a breathtakingly handsome man. His features were assembled in the sort of masculine beauty she’d never seen—lips too sensuous and full for a man, a long blade of a nose, high cheekbones, and a strong chin. With his dark hair, emerald eyes, and towering height, he was enough to rob the breath from any female, even herself.
She liked his looks well enough. She even enjoyed his exceptionally skilled kisses. But the man was a cipher she’d never be able to unlock. His past had wounded and changed him. He was hardened. The man she’d seen this morning, in spite of the heat in his touch, had been deadened.
It was as if his duchess had taken him with her.
Whatever part of him remained, she didn’t wish to bind herself to it for the rest of her life. But everything and everyone at this blasted house party seemed to be conspiring against her with one common goal: to force her into a marriage with the Duke of Disdain.
“Tonight,” Cleo added. “At the Welcoming Ball. As you know, Thornton has granted his approval on behalf of Father.”
Their father, forever occupied with pursuits of greater interest to him than his children, would be well pleased if his youngest daughter snared a duke. One less wild Harrington for him to fret over, she reasoned, etcetera.
Her freedom was down to hours. Dread commingled with the already tightening knot of trepidation in her stomach. Of all the times she’d defied propriety—and they were legion—she’d never been caught. The breadth of her foolishness shamed her now.
“And if I refuse?” she dared to ask.
Cleo frowned, her delicately arched raven brows snapping together into a sad frown. “The Duchess of Cartwright will not bend, I’m afraid, though her friendship with the dowager tolerated this brief delay to allow for an announcement that would not embarrass any of the parties.”
Byany of the parties, the officious woman of course meant the Marlow family. The Duchess of Cartwright didn’t give a damn if she shamed Lady Boadicea Harrington. Or if she forced her into a match with a man known for driving his wife to kill herself before him.
Bo had to admit the gossip she’d heard about Bainbridge gave her pause. He had been cool and rigid, yes, but he also clearly possessed the capacity to turn his ice into molten flame.Do you know what it’s like to watch someone you care for lose their mind, Lady Boadicea?Had the duchess gone mad as he’d suggested? There had to be more to the sad, sordid tale than the gossips knew.
She needed to cling to that hope if she was indeed to be forced into cleaving herself to the man. Bo wished the Duchess of Cartwright to perdition.
“She will ruin me,” Bo simplified, keeping her voice hushed so that none of the eager ears surrounding them could become engaged.
Cleo patted her hand, her lovely face wreathed in sympathy. “Yes.”
Bo wouldn’t have cared so much for herself. She prided herself on her enterprising nature. Her parents had made every effort to stifle the rebelliousness from her and had failed as soundly as the Spanish Armada. But she loved her sisters—all of them—fiercely. She loved Clara and their Lady’s Suffrage Society. She believed in their cause, of giving the women being governed the fair chance they deserved to have a voice. And for all those reasons, she would not act in selfishness.
For the first time in her life, she would wave the flag of surrender.
“That woman is a hedgehog.” But though she decried, she knew what she must do. “I’ll do it, Cleo. For your sake, and for Alex, and to keep the Lady’s Suffrage Society I’ll do it. But I will not like it.”
“I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself for me.” Cleo’s lips compressed as she searched Bo’s gaze. “You are at fault for your actions, but I want more than anything else for you to be happy, dear sister.”
“I’m the architect of my own happiness.” She turned her palm over in her lap and gave her sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I shall own the consequences and forge my independence by whatever means necessary.”
