Lady Moreland’s breath caught. “Oh, my darling,” she whispered. “If only that were true.”
Beatrice’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”
Lady Moreland moved away from Beatrice, closer to the fireplace, as if she could not bear to be close to Beatrice. Her shoulders trembled once.
She swallowed loudly. “I came because… there is something you must hear from me.” She lifted her chin, though it trembled. “Something I should have told you weeks ago.”
Dread coiled in Beatrice’s gut. “Go on.”
“The night the baby was left at our house,” Lady Moreland said. “When the world had not yet noticed… I was terrified.”
Beatrice listened, confused but attentive.
“I thought of your name,” Lady Moreland continued. “Your reputation. How easily it could be destroyed by a mere whisper. I thought of the way people look for women’s mistakes—how they feed on them.” She turned around, tears on her cheeks. “I thought I could stop it.”
Beatrice’s heart lurched. “Stop what?”
“The scandal,” Lady Moreland whispered. “Before it began. I thought if I could control the narrative, even briefly?—”
Beatrice’s blood ran cold. “Control it how?”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What did you do?” she asked softly.
Lady Moreland’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I wrote the headline in theMayfair Gazette.”
For a moment, Beatrice could not understand the words.
Then understanding dawned.
Her hands trembled.
“You—” Her breath left her in a rush. “You wrote it?”
Lady Moreland nodded, her tears falling freely now. “I sent it myself. Beatrice, you must understand. A baby abandoned at our home—what would people think? I thought if I controlled the narrative, forced the issue—forced Edward to act quickly—then no one else could twist it further.”
Beatrice stepped back as though struck. “Force?” she mumbled.
Lady Moreland flinched. “I did it to protect you. If he married you immediately, no one could ruin you. The gossip would die before it began.”
“You ruined my life,” Beatrice said, stunned.
“I saved you!” Lady Moreland cried. “Or I thought I did. I thought marriage—respectability—would protect you. That once you were a duchess, no one would dare touch you.”
“You forced me into marriage,” Beatrice accused, her voice shaking now, anger piercing through the shock. “You forced Edward into marriage. You made us prisoners of your fear.”
Lady Moreland reached for her. “I was trying to keep you safe.”
“You took my choice,” Beatrice hissed, stepping back. “You took my future and called it protection.”
Lady Moreland sniffed. “I was afraid! Afraid you would be ruined before you ever had the chance to live. Afraid that one scandal would erase everything you are.”
“So you erased it yourself?” Beatrice scoffed. “Do you know what it is like to live with a man who never chose you? To smile beside him while knowing that every courtesy is an obligation?”
Lady Moreland reached for her again. “Beatrice?—”
“No.” Beatrice’s eyes flashed. “You don’t get to touch me.”
