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CHAPTER 13

Beatrice had never been kissed, of course. Ladies weren’t, not until they got married. It hadn’t occurred to her that a kisswouldbe expected—perhaps she felt that their marriage was not ‘real’—and so it was something of a shock when the vicar urged them to kiss.

Part of her had expected the Duke—Stephen, his name was Stephen and he was herhusband—to demur, somehow. She had not expected him to pull her in his arms that way and press his lips to hers.

A kiss was a strange thing, she thought. It made her feel as though specks of ice were dancing over her skin, butterflies surging in her gut and fluttering most immodestly.

And then it was over, and he was pulling back, face blank, and people were applauding.

Beatrice blinked up at him, not quite able to understand that she wasmarried. It was over.

Or perhaps it is just beginning.

Stephen seized her hand and pulled her down the aisle. People were laughing and talking loudly, their eyes eating Beatrice up as she passed by, hands absently clapping. She caught flashes of familiar faces—Anna, looking anxious, her father, dazed, John, concerned, Theodore, resigned—and then they were outside, the air cool after the heat of the church.

A large carriage waited, decorated with flower garlands and greenery, and a footman in fine livery obsequiously opened the door. Beatrice tumbled inside, vaguely aware that some of the guests were coming out after them, talking and laughing, with the intention of waving them off.

Stephen climbed in after her, the door was shut, and the carriage lurched away.

Beatrice sat quite still, clutching the edge of her seat, trying to come to terms with it all. In the space of… what, five minutes? She had gone from a single woman to a duchess, from a noisy, crammed church to a quiet, still carriage with her new husband.

Stephen cleared his throat, picking at his cuffs. “That went well, I think. I do apologize for the kiss. I should have asked the vicar to omit that part.”

She cleared her throat. “We’re married, then.”

“Indeed, we are.”

Silence descended between them, and Beatrice began to wonder what on earth she was going to say to this man for the rest of her life.

It doesn’t matter,said a little voice in the back of her head,because you aren’t going to see much of him, are you? He was most clear on that point. This is not an ordinary marriage. You aren’t even friends, and that is not going to change anytime soon.

“Where are we going?” she heard herself ask, her voice pitched a little too high.

He glanced briefly at her. “Home. Well, back to my London residence, where the wedding breakfast will take place. We will be there in a few minutes. I hope you’re ready to greet the guests. My mother will be there, by the way. She wants to meet you.”

Beatrice was still reeling by the time the coach pulled up outside the Duke’s familiar home, and the door was flung open.

This is the third time I’ve been to this house,she thought, climbing out,and this time, it belongs to me.

The house didn’t feelas if it belonged to Beatrice.

The place was full, full of people who she either did not know or had cut her in the past, all suddenly keen to speak to her and rekindle their acquaintanceship now that she was a duchess.

Anna was certainly around, but Beatrice could not seem to find her. Or Theo, or her parents, or John, or even her husband. Beatrice was in the process of being cornered by a tall, thin, disdainful-looking woman who kept trying to invite her to a musical evening when a more robust, tall woman with graying black hair and a sparkle in her eyes came to her aid.

“Come, Mrs. Harris, we should let the bride mingle,” the woman exclaimed, giving Beatrice what seemed to be a wink and looping her arm through hers.

Mrs. Harris mumbled something uncharitable but obediently moved away, leaving Beatrice with her new companion.

“I… I beg your pardon, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Beatrice said, with something of a gasp. “Or if we have and I’ve forgotten, I cannot apologize enough. I have met so many people tonight, so many people wanting introductions, and?—”

“Not to worry.” The woman laughed. “We havenotbeen introduced, although I have been looking forward to meeting you. I am the Dowager Duchess of Blackwood, Stephen’s mother.”

Beatrice blanched. “His… hismother? I had no idea. I?—”

“Yes, yes, I imagine he told you I was traveling,” the Dowager Duchess said, laughing.

Beatrice said nothing. In fact, Stephen had told her no such thing, nor did he mention his mother. They had not had a conversation since she agreed to marry him up until the actual wedding.