“I wish I had thought of that—then perhaps the insults and subtle sarcasm I endured from other ladies would have been worth it.” She suppressed a sigh. Why was it so difficult for the other ladies to accept her as one of their own?
Beatrice gasped.
“What happened…?” she’d begun saying as she gripped the armrest of her chair and leaned forward, but the sound of tiny and quick footsteps interrupted them.
Following behind little Edward was his nurse, who appeared as though it was her goal to ensure the little boy safely reached his mother without any accidents, with her arms stretched out and her back bent forward.
The chubby woman’s cheeks burned with exertion despite looking as if she were only in her mid-twenties. Her light brown hair had been pinned back under a maid’s cap, revealing a high forehead and smooth skin.
Beatrice brightened, instantly at her little creation, rising to her feet as she swooped him in her arms.
The boy giggled. He was a perfect mixture of both his parents, with Beatrice’s brown hair and Leo’s deep blue eyes.
“How did this clever sir find me all the way here?” she asked, nuzzling his cheeks while holding him on her hip.
Beatrice looked so natural with a child in her arms. It made Isabella’s heart burst with joy for her sister and all the blessings that had been bestowed upon her.
The nagging feeling that she wanted more in life came and nudged at her chest again.
Do I truly want this?
She watched as Beatrice cooed at her son before turning back to the nurse.
“He must’ve followed your voice, Your Grace,” the nurse replied, an equally proud expression in her eyes as her gaze fell on the mother and son.
“Is that right?” Beatrice asked the boy, fully knowing she would get no response back.
“You should also greet to your aunt, darling,” she cooed again, approaching Isabella until she handed over the child to her.
“Hello, Eddy. You seem more grown than the last time I saw you two weeks ago,” Isabella teased her nephew, pinching his round little cheek.
“Funny, considering I said the same thing about you,” Beatrice shook her head, then ordered the nurse to take the child away.
“As we were saying,” she cleared her throat after the nurse had left with little Eddy, “tell me about this club.” She made herself comfortable on the settee opposite Isabella and reached for her tea.
Isabella went on to narrate all that had transpired concerning the club and its founding to her sister, who sucked in a deep breath when Isabella finished speaking.
“I’m curious about the method that Lady Kendrick used to filter us ladies in the first place. Especially after what transpired at the fencing competition with Lady Rebecca,” Isabella complained as she bit into a biscuit with pink frosting.
Beatrice seemed thoughtful for a moment before answering. “The ladies probably qualified by being suited to become the next Duchess of Everthorne, since that duchy has not seen a duchess in a couple of decades. Though speaking of which, did you ever come across the duke during your visits?”
Isabella nodded immediately, remembering she’d not had the liberty of telling her twin about her encounter in his workspace. She had been dying to tell someone about the encounter, but had not known who to trust.
“The first time we met was two weeks ago at the fencing competition. He’s a curmudgeon, if you ask me,” she said decidedly, recalling the harsh bite of his voice that did more than just reprimand her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you met him back then?” Beatrice asked incredulously.
“Well, because, like I said, he’s a curmudgeon. There is not much to tell other than the fact that he was not welcoming, nor was he impressed by my presence,” she continued, unperturbed by her sister’s shocked expression.
Not because he was shirtless, and we were in a room alone.
Her pulse quickened when the memory of his muscles floated across her mind. She had wanted to ask him about the scars, but she had not been deterred by them at all. They had somehow added to the allure and attraction she physically felt toward him.
“Isn’t that too early to say, considering you’ve only met him once?” Beatrice asked, always trying to be the reasonable one.
“Twice,” Isabella corrected calmly. “Twice. The second time was just yesterday, and it was long enough for me to form a clear opinion. He hardly ever smiles, carries himself with a haughty arrogance, and, believe it or not, he rejected the very notion of our club before even hearing the details. He went so far as to imply I was dishonest, and now, no doubt, he suspects I have some hidden motive for wanting to participate. Like you, I am certain that he thinks I will, and the other ladies will want to be the next duchess.”
As I am sure the others will want to be.
