Page 6 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Ironstone House offered familiar comfort after the tumultuous events of the morning. Beatrice retreated to the blue drawing room, seeking solitude to process the extraordinary turn her life had taken. She stood before the tall windows overlooking the garden, watching as the afternoon light cast long shadows over the manicured lawn.

“Bea?” Isabella’s voice broke into her reverie. She approached, concern evident in her expressive features. “Are you truly well? You needn’t pretend with me.”

Beatrice turned to face her sister, summoning a smile that felt more genuine than she had expected. “I am not distraught, if that is what worries you.”

Isabella studied her with the searching gaze that only a twin could employ with such devastating accuracy. “You should be furious. Devastated. Something. Yet you seem almost… relieved.”

“Well, a rather stressful problem has been promptly resolved,” Beatrice admitted, the confession surprising even herself. “Shouldn’t I feel relief?”

“Considering you were to marry Philip this morning and are now betrothed to his cousin? That is decidedly strange, dear.” Isabella perched on the edge of a nearby settee, her silk skirts arranging themselves in perfect folds. “Were you not in love with Philip?”

Beatrice frowned. She loathed lying to her sister. She hadn’t told anyone about the true nature of her engagement to Philip, as he had asked her not to.

Now, even though Philip had gone back on his word, she herself couldn’t.

Mercifully, the door burst open, admitting a whirlwind of childish energy in the form of her half-siblings, and saving her the trouble of having to answer at all.

“Bea!” Eleanor exclaimed, her seven-year-old exuberance untainted by any awareness of the day’s drama. She flung herself against Beatrice’s skirts, arms wrapping tightly around her waist. “Why aren’t you married? Mama wouldn’t say why the wedding didn’t happen.”

Henry followed at a slower pace, though his eleven-year-old dignity did not entirely mask his curiosity.

“Are you very sad, Bea?” he asked, his young features arranged in an expression of solemn concern that mimicked their father’s so precisely it nearly brought a smile to Beatrice’s lips despite the circumstances.

“I am quite well, darlings,” Beatrice assured them, kneeling to embrace Eleanor properly while looking at Henry. “Sometimes plans change, that’s all. And as it happens, I shall be marrying someone else very soon.”

“A different husband?” Eleanor’s eyes widened as she stepped back. “Is he handsome? Is he kind? Does he have horses?”

Beatrice laughed, the sound surprising her with its genuineness. “He is the Duke of Stagmore, and yes, I imagine he has horses. Though I confess I have not inquired about his stables.”

“A duke?” Henry’s expression brightened with boyish interest. “That’s better than a marquess.”

“Indeed,” Isabella confirmed, her tone suggesting she found little comfort in this hierarchical improvement.

“Then it’s good, isn’t it?” Eleanor insisted, her childish logic cutting through the complexities of the situation. “Bea will be a duchess instead. That’s better!”

“It’s not quite so simple, Ellie,” Beatrice began, but found herself interrupted by the appearance of her stepmother in the doorway.

“Children, your tutor is waiting in the schoolroom,” the Duchess announced, her gentle authority bringing immediate, if reluctant, compliance.

“But we weren’t supposed to have a lesson today!” Eleanor protested, clinging to Beatrice’s hand.

“I’m afraid plans have changed, sweetheart,” the Duchess replied. “You may visit with your sister at teatime.”

With final hugs and promises of later conversation, the children departed, leaving a momentary silence in their wake.

Isabella rose, clearly intending to resume their conversation, but Beatrice shook her head slightly.

“Not now, Bella,” she said softly. “I need some time to gather my thoughts.”

Isabella hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Very well. But this conversation is merely postponed, not abandoned.”

Left alone, Beatrice returned to the window, her reflection ghostly against the glass.

The Duke of Stagmore remained an enigma—commanding, assured, yet unknowable.

What sort of life awaited her as his Duchess?

She did not know the answer, but she could only hope that she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.