Chapter 10
Beatrix headed up through the hall, a taper in her hand. The dark hour of night had fallen and the smile pinned on her lips had been there since morning. Life was going to be very interesting, indeed. It seemed impossible, now, that just days ago, she’d thought she’d be confined to her room for months. Unable and unwilling to face anyone outside the house.
But one morning ride had changed all that. For, though people had stared, she’d realized that it didn’t matter. There was something wonderful in exhibiting oneself and telling everyone to go to the devil. Especially, if a devilish man was beside you.
Oh, the pain was there. Even this afternoon, she’d felt waves of it and only taking slow breaths had helped to calm her. The depth of her loss could not be surmounted in a few pleasurable moments. But at least now, there was a light in all the darkness.
It was clear that Adam Duke did not quite know what to do with her or with her imagination of their hypothetical future together. Of course, it was just imagination. She doubted she would make a great sailor. Though, she had spent the night dreaming of a rocking ship, traversing vast seas, and the arms of the ship’s captain tight around her. Which was just impossible. For surely, despite the way she felt, as if her entire body were entirely alive with him, they were to be friends.
A man like Adam Duke would be a woman’s only for a fling, she felt certain. She had a mind to keep him about her for longer than that. So, she could not allow the fantasy of his embrace. For even she was not truly ready to fling herself into sin and a short affair. After all, if she were to make their passion a reality, she had a terrible feeling he would be gone from her life before the year was out.
That was unacceptable.
Still, it had been great fun to posit the idea. His eyes had darkened with desire and then horror.
It had been a most interesting combination. Shocking a man who was likely rarely surprise had been most rewarding.
“My dear.”
She paused as she mounted the landing. At the sound of Hyacinth’s voice from her drawing room, she felt not her usual dread but a surprising dose of hope. After all, few were more adventurous or full of naughty plans than the dowager duchess.
Just a few days ago, Beatrix would have tried to shuffle past the doorway, pretending she had not heard the woman’s voice. Today, she turned sharply, taper held high, and limped into the large room, decked with ornately-carved gables, glittering mirrors and paintings of Italy. Her cane made an emphatic tap, like an exclamation of her arrival. She spotted the dowager duchess lounging by the fire, a glass of wine in her hand, her voluminous, sapphire skirts spilling about her. “Yes?
The older but stunning woman bid her to come closer, her jeweled fingers winking in the firelight. She had embraced modern dress the moment it had arrived, and the lack of structure to the dowager duchess’ clothing looked marvelous. Beneath the beautiful silk, there was not a full corset. At least, not the kind that was so popular just ten years ago. It allowed the lady to ease back, her ivory arm resting atop the brocade chair.
Beatrix neared and she noticed the seriousness of Hyacinth’s visage. Suddenly, Beatrix felt ill at ease. Hyacinth usually smiled, always amused, always ready to cause mischief, always planning some delight.
The dowager duchess wasn’t smiling now.
“Sit,” the lady urged, gesturing to the burgundy brocade chair opposite her. “Take a glass of wine.”
Beatrix’s heart pounded with abrupt fear, for it was clear that Hyacinth had news to impart. What else could befall her? Surely, she had nothing left to lose and, yet, she knew that something serious was about to occur.
Hyacinth stood, those folds of her gown swishing elegantly. She strode to the grog tray, her beautiful gown brushing the blue and red woven Axminster carpet. As she gracefully picked up the crystal decanter, removing the stopper then calmly pouring out a large glass of deep red wine, she drew in an audible breath.
Beatrix licked her lips, setting the taper on the small table beside her chair. It did little to add to the glow of the fire. She rested her cane against the chair and clasped her hands in her lap. “What is it? Please, do not delay.”
Hyacinth turned, her still black hair teased over her shoulder in fashionable curls. She crossed wordlessly before Beatrix then held out the cut crystal glass. “First, drink.”
She did so, not bothering to argue. The faster she did as bid, the sooner she would know whatever calamity had occurred. It did not stop the clenching of her belly as she took a deep sip of the robust claret that, in most households, was reserved for gentlemen.
Hyacinth took up her own glass, the fire’s glow turning the contents ruby red. “What I am about to say. . . I do not know how you will take it.”
Trying desperately not to feel as if she were sinking through the floor, Beatrix replied, “Then let us find out.”
Hyacinth took her own fortifying drink of wine. “You know that your father’s title was to die out.”
She nodded, her stomach knotting further. It had given her great sadness to know the line would fade and that all the generations of her family that had served the monarchy, parliament, and their family seat would vanish in the matter of one carriage ride.
Hyacinth turned to the fire. “Parliament has met.”
Beatrix shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tightening about her glass. “They often do.”
“To little avail, yes,” Hyacinth replied with a little humor. “But in this case, since your brother, father and his father were so dearly loved by so many. . . There was a strong sense by many that the earldom should not be allowed to fade.”
“Who have they given it to?” she whispered, dread coursing through her veins. Would she soon have to hear her father’s title announced in papers? In gatherings? What strange face would be accompanied with the peerage her father had loved so well?
Hyacinth paused then replied firmly, “You.”
“What?” She laughed, a high sound of disbelief. “Me?”
Then Hyacinth turned back to her and said clearly, “To your heir to be precise.”
“But I do not have one!” she protested.
“No, you don’t. But you could.”
An heir. The implications went through her mind like a storm. To have an heir she would have to have a son. . . But first she would have to have a husband. And then with said husband, she would have to engage in intimacy with him until said heir was produced.
The idea that she would not do this did not even occur to her.
The chance to continue her father’s line and brother’s destiny coursed through her with a shocking force. She could carry on her family. All she need do was find a husband.
Adam Duke.
The name whispered through her mind like the serpent convincing Eve to take the apple. It sounded delicious. But the actual reality of it. . .
“Who?” she suddenly asked, shoving the idea of Captain Duke away.
Carefully, Hyacinth studied her. “You are amenable to this?”
“How can I not be?” she exclaimed, barely believing the good fortune of it.
Hyacinth smiled; a beaming, beautiful smile. “I am so relieved, my dear. I did not know if this would be too painful for you.”
“One of the hardest things was knowing my father’s life’s work was at an end,” she began softly, feeling a touch of melancholy. She gave herself a little shake, then took a fortifying sip of claret. “Now, I can at least continue it for him. And my family home?”
“Yours, of course,” confirmed Hyacinth happily. “Until you have your heir and then it will be his.”
Tears stung her eyes. She could go home. She could see the oak trees and grounds again. Travel down the halls that had been filled with so much laughter and happiness.
For some time, she had not dared return. Of course, the memories had seemed as if they would be too painful but there had also been the brutal fact that it was no longer hers. It belonged to whoever held the title. And that decision had been in the hands of parliament.
Hyacinth set her wine down then clasped her hands in front of her. “You needn’t marry right away. You can—”
“No,” Beatrix cut in quickly, feeling an abrupt urgency to go home and to begin her new life. “I must marry. As soon as possible.”
“But, my dear,” Hyacinth protested. “You are still recovering—”
“I know the vagaries of life,” Beatrix declared passionately, unwilling to be challenged in this. “Anything could happen. I must begin this work at once.”
“Work?” Hyacinth frowned, her slender hands bracing on her silk skirts.
“Isn’t that what it is?” Beatrix queried. “The most important work a woman can have? The making of a peer.”
Hyacinth’s eyes flared. “I should not go that far. I am proud of my children, but I am also a person not a mobile womb.”
Beatrix shook her head and pointed out, “A person made great by your husband’s title and now your son’s.”
Hyacinth sighed then tsked. “There is truth to that, though I’d like to think I was rather marvelous on my own.”
“You are.” Beatrix flushed. How terrible she must sound asserting that a woman could only be exceptional through her husband. Hyacinth could never be accused of that. “Forgive me. But this chance? I never considered it.”
“I understand,” Hyacinth soothed. “And I am glad it gives you happiness. Marriage is no easy thing and you should not rush into it. I hope, at least, you will listen to that.”
She only half-listened to the vague warning for she had a mission now. A goal in which to absorb herself. There would be no more idly waiting for something to give her life meaning. “I’m sure we can find someone that will suit, quickly.”
Hyacinth waggled her dark brows. “In fact, I have a list.”
Beatrix blinked then she lifted her glass of wine and drained it.
“Are you feeling a trifle overwhelmed?” Instead of castigating the quick consumption, Hyacinth rose and took up the decanter of claret. Refreshing both glasses, she assured, “We can continue this in the morning.”
“No.” She eyed the ruby wine, enjoying the way in which it made her feel as if she were floating. “I have not felt as if I had a purpose in months. This is—”
“You are more than just a brood mare, Beatrix,” Hyacinth said abruptly, holding the crystal wine decanter betwixt her jeweled hands. “Your purpose in this world is greater than bearing an heir.”
She nodded but, all the same, inched forward along the damasked chair, ready to ask for the list. But then a horrible thought occurred to her. “Will we be able to find someone?”
Returning the decanter and taking up her own glass again, holding it the light, she said, “I don’t follow.”
“Will we be able to find someone willing to take me on?” Swallowing back a wave of uncertainty, she managed to whisper, “I am terrible luck. And I am not what I once was.”
“Dear girl, I will not hear such things.” Hyacinth raised her glass in salute. “We will only accept the best for you.”
But then there it was again, that voice deep inside her whispering, Adam Duke. He was the best. Of all men, there were no better than he.
But he was American and knew nothing of raising an earl. Her aim now had to be very different than a man who pleased her. It had to be a man who would raise the next Westport heir as he should be raised, in the tradition of English nobility. She shook her head. “Let us begin.”