Page 98 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Isabella burst into the room then, her riding habit streaked with mud, her cheeks flushed from exertion.

“Beatrice!” she exclaimed, surprise and delight mingling in her voice. “What are you doing here? Where’s your brooding Duke?”

“Isabella,” their father reprimanded mildly. “Mind your manners.”

“It’s all right,” Beatrice said, forcing a smile. “Leo is occupied with estate matters. I came alone.”

Her twin’s eyes narrowed, suspicion replacing surprise. “Estate matters,” she repeated skeptically. “In London?”

“Some business with his solicitor,” Beatrice elaborated, the falsehood bitter on her tongue. “Nothing of interest.”

Isabella looked unconvinced, but before she could press further, Christine intervened smoothly. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast, Beatrice? We were just about to ring for more tea.”

The morning passed in gentle domestic activity—breakfast with her family, watching Eleanor’s watercolor demonstration, listening to Henry’s serious discourse on his latest history lesson. Beatrice moved through it all as if in a dream, her responses automatic, her smiles never quite reaching her eyes.

Isabella cornered her in the library after luncheon, shutting the door firmly behind them.

“Something’s wrong,” she stated without preamble. “Don’t insult me by denying it.”

Beatrice turned to the window, watching the rain pelt the glass. “Nothing’s wrong, Isabella. I simply missed my family.”

“Nonsense.” Her twin’s reflection appeared beside hers, blue eyes identical to her own but blazing with determination. “You got sick, yet now you’re here with us. Did you quarrel with Leo?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here without him? The two of you have been inseparable for weeks.”

Pain lanced through Beatrice’s chest at the reminder, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. “We’re husband and wife, not conjoined twins. We can exist separately.”

Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “Something happened. Aside from your illness. I can see it on your face.”

“Nothing happened,” Beatrice insisted, turning away from the window. “I’m simply tired, Isabella. The Season has been exhausting.”

Her twin studied her face, clearly unconvinced. “You know you can tell me anything, Bea. Whatever it is?—”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Beatrice injected firmness into her tone.

Isabella’s lips pressed into a thin line, frustration evident in every line of her body. But after a moment, she relented. “Fine. Keep your secrets for now. But I know you, Bea, better than anyone. And I know when you’re hiding something.”

Beatrice maintained her composure until her twin departed, then sank into the nearest chair, suddenly exhausted. The effort of pretending that everything was fine drained her more thoroughly than any physical activity could have.

She spent the afternoon with Henry and Eleanor, reading stories and playing chess, grateful for the distraction their innocent chatter provided. Dinner was a quiet affair, her father discussing estate matters with Christine, while Isabella watched her with barely concealed concern.

“Will you be staying long, my dear?” Christine asked as they retired to the drawing room afterward.

“Just a few days,” Beatrice replied, settling before the fire. “Leo will send word when… when his business is concluded.”

Her stepmother nodded, though something in her eyes suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced by the explanation. “Well, we’re delighted to have you, however long you choose to stay.”

When it was time for the younger children to retire, Beatrice volunteered to tuck them into bed, reading Eleanor a fairytale while Henry pretended not to listen from the adjoining room. Their simple affection was a balm to her wounded heart, if only temporarily.

“Beatrice?” Eleanor asked sleepily as she tucked the blankets around her small form. “Are you sad about something?”

Beatrice’s hands stilled. “What makes you ask that, sweetheart?”

“Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes,” Eleanor said simply. “Father says that’s how you can tell when someone’s truly happy—if their eyes smile too.”

Throat tight, Beatrice leaned down to press a kiss to her sister’s forehead. “I’m just tired, love. Nothing for you to worry about.”