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“What were you doing in our host’s room? And you were in a state of undress? You tried to seduce the Duke of Walford! Beatrice, what is going on? Please, tell me this is nonsense!”

Beatrice felt her face flush pink, and she tried her best to keep her composure so she could navigate the scandal. The Duke had informed her he would take care of it, but he seemed to have done nothing. He hadn’t even stopped the sheets from printing his name.

“What does it say, Father?” Beatrice asked.

“What does it say?” her father shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “I just told you what it says. If you have not denied it, then it must be true. First, you run away, and then you are seducing men when your husband-to-be is downstairs. What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing is the matter with me,” Beatrice claimed, trying not to be argumentative. “I will still marry the Baron or anyone else you choose, Father. I will soon be wed, and everything will be fine.”

“Fine!” Phineas spluttered, spitting out the tea he had just sipped. “Lord Mutton won’t want anything to do with you after this.”

Beatrice felt some weight lift off her shoulders. Perhaps she could become a spinster and pursue some hobby. Although, that might also mean her father would be angry with her for the rest of his life.

“No one will want to marry you after this,” Phineas continued. “Do you understand what you have done? This is the end of everything, Beatrice.”

Beatrice thought her mother might jump in to soothe the situation, but she was angry too.

“I’ll do anything. I’ll make this right.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. She had not meant to ruin anything. She wanted to make her father happy and make up for running away. She only didn’t want to marry the horrid Baron. It should have been a simple plan, but she had ruined everything.

The butler cleared his throat by the door.

“You will do what I ask,” Phineas said, ignoring the butler for the moment. “You will do as you are told for the rest of your life, but even that will not make this right. I should never have let you out of my sight last night, and—” He looked toward the door, where the butler stood. “Oh, what is it?”

“His Grace, the Duke of Walford, has arrived,” the butler informed them.

It was Phineas’s turn to turn white as a sheet. He looked at Beatrice and then his wife, unsure what to do.

“I can speak with him, Father,” Beatrice suggested.

He let out a scolding laugh. “Oh, no, you have done quite enough. I shall speak with His Grace and hope he is not as angry as I fear him to be. He will be furious if he has come this early.” He stood up. “He does not do a lot of business in the city, but he does have some influence. I pray he will not make trouble for all of us. I shall ask him to take pity on us.”

Phineas had lost his fight, and he wiped his chin delicately with his napkin before placing it on the table. He walked slowly out of the room, leaving silence in his wake.

Beatrice looked down at her plate, studying the shapes her half-eaten breakfast food made. Her eyes traced the perimeter of her toast, needing something to take her mind off the mess she was stuck in the middle of.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Hannah hanging her head, too. Letitia sat across at the table, glaring at them, but she didn’t speak a word. The three sat in silence as the minutes ticked by. Beatrice could imagine the Duke berating her father for her behavior.

He should berate me. It was my fault.

Finally, Phineas returned—alone.

“Beatrice, come with me. His Grace would like to speak with you,” he ordered.

“Me?” Beatrice said.

“What did he say?” Letitia asked.

“Beatrice, please,” Phineas pressed.

Beatrice got up from her chair and followed her father out of the room. She heard the soft scraping of chairs across the floor as her mother and sister followed close behind. Her father led her to the sitting room, where the Duke stood by the window, looking toward them. Beatrice quickly averted her gaze—she could not read his expression in the brief moment their eyes met.

She could read herself clearly. All she could think about was the warmth of his breath on her lips and then her ear when he had almost kissed her. She had to look away from his lips for fear of being exposed.

“Lady Beatrice, you must have read the scandal sheets by now,” the Duke began stoically.

“I have, and I?—”