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B eatrice sat back and looked at her list.

A thrill of excitement rushed through her. If someone would have told her just a few months ago she would be so close to finishing her list she would have laughed. But here, in just a few short weeks, she had already officially crossed off three items.

Her eyes hovered on the sixth item as she chewed her bottom lip. She was steadfast in her belief that the life of a spinster was calling her, but damn that man for confusing her.

She rested her elbows on her desk and she rubbed her temples. She couldn’t deny how exhilarating it was to be in the Duke’s company while she discovered the more stimulating side of life, but she couldn’t possibly consider married life. Could she?

She closed her eyes. Her earliest memory of the marriage mart was watching in disgust as young women were paraded in front of the men in the hopes that one would ask her to dance.

Her young mind likened it to pigs being led to slaughter.

Which, consequently, was the first time her mother questioned what books she was reading.

From then on it was a constant struggle between the life her mother wanted for her and the life she envisioned for herself.

But could there be a part of her mother’s wish that was acceptable?

Would it be terrible if she found someone who would not only allow her to experience all that life has to offer, but would want her to do so with freedom?

Or, better yet, who would want to experience them with her?

She grumbled as her head fell to the desk. Was she pushing against what society wanted for her because she always had? Or did she truly still want a life of being alone?

Her heart sank. Last night shook her world in more than one way. Her body still throbbed when she recalled his kisses, his touch, but she had erected a wall that demanded she only allow her body to react, not her heart.

So why did thinking of completing her list, something that should be bringing her joy, bring her a touch of sadness?

A knock jolted her upright.

“Lady Beatrice? Your sister Eleanor is here. She’s with your mother in the parlor. They’re asking for you.” Candace’s voice drifted through the door.

Beatrice briefly thought it was curious her maid didn’t open the door to let her know but the thought dropped just as quickly as it came. “Please tell them I’ll be right there.”

She pushed away from the desk and gave herself a glance in the mirror to make sure she was presentable.

Beatrice entered the parlor and immediately knew why her maid spoke to her through the door. Beatrice had been a part of polite society long enough to know when scandal hung heavy in the air.

Candace stood in the corner with her mother’s maid, Elizabeth, both of which dropped their gazes as soon as Beatrice looked at them.

Her eyes fell on her mother who was sitting on the sofa, worrying a handkerchief in her hands, her gaze staring off into nothing.

Odd, and dramatic, but so was her mother, so she couldn’t gather much information from her.

It wasn’t until her eyes landed on Eleanor that Beatrice knew something was amiss.

“Eleanor. I didn’t realize you were coming today.” She tried to keep her tone light and casual, hoping their peculiar behavior was all in her mind.

Naturally, she immediately thought someone saw her in the Duke’s box last night. But, the Duke was right, once the house lights go out it near impossible to see the last row of box seats from another box. Unfortunately, the knowledge didn’t do much to quell the growing knot in her stomach.

Eleanor looked to her mother before forcing a fake smile on her face as she stepped towards Beatrice and embraced her.

“I was in town doing some shopping and had some time before I needed to get back to the children so I decided to stop in to see how everyone was doing.”

“I’m glad you did. How are the children? We didn’t get to talk much at the dinner party.” Beatrice started.

“Oh, can we stop with the niceties?” Charlotte wailed.

Eleanor rolled her eyes and dropped her shoulders. She mouthed apologies to Beatrice as Charlotte’s hysterics continued.

“We warned you, Beatrice! We told you to mind your business when it came to that Duke and look, just look!”

It wasn’t a handkerchief in her mother’s hands, but a gossip sheet. Beatrice’s heart dropped to her toes. With a shaky hand she reached out and took the paper her mother was holding out to her.

The words blurred in front of her as she scanned for her name, or the Duke’s. She squinted, clearing her vision. Her eyes raced over the page several times.

“Forgive me, I think I’m missing something. I don’t see anything of note concerning me or the Duke.” Beatrice looked to Eleanor.

Her sister stepped forward and pointed to a small line towards the bottom of the page. Beatrice read the lines out loud.

And it seems having the newly bestowed honor of Diamond of the Season has enabled Lady Beatrice to reenter the marriage mart with her eyes set on the formidable Duke of Graham. They have been seen dancing and conversing at several events.

Beatrice flipped the page over and back to the front.

“Is this it? On an entire page of gossip, there are two lines, at the bottom, that insinuate something that I already told you wasn’t true and you think there’s a scandal brewing?

Mama.” Beatrice admonished. “This is a bit dramatic, even for you.”

Charlotte balled her hands into tight fists. “People are talking, Beatrice!” Her mother’s eyes shot to the two maids in the corner who continued to find the floor particularly interesting.

Beatrice felt her blood begin to boil. She hated gossip, and while she was thankful the maids in her family’s employ were faithful and didn’t let information out, they had no problem taking part in other’s gossip. To Beatrice, taking any part in the circulation of gossip was deplorable.

“And what are people saying?” Beatrice asked the maids.

Charlotte began to speak when Beatrice held her hand up. “No, Mama. I’d like to hear it from the source, please.”

Candace’s cheeks flamed red but it was Elizabeth that stepped forward. “Lady Beatrice, you know your family has our loyalty and it is because of that loyalty that I came to your mother with what I heard.”

Beatrice’s resolve softened. “We are forever grateful for your loyalty, Elizabeth. Please, tell me what was said.”

Elizabeth glanced at Candace who shrugged slightly, while still keeping her eyes down.

Her mother’s maid took a deep breath. “Well, it’s like the gossip sheet said, people are talking about how two people who previously wanted nothing to do with society events are now not only showing up with interest, but engaging with only each other.”

Beatrice started, “I engage with other people,” but Eleanor interrupted.

“There’s more, Beatrice.”

Beatrice swallowed. The only other “more” involving the Duke had to do with her list.

Oh no.

Have they been caught? Beatrice sat on the sofa next to her mother. Her mind racing with ways she can explain her actions to her mother without sending the woman to an early grave.

“Go on, Elizabeth.” Eleanor encouraged.

Elizabeth looked to Charlotte who was staring out into the distance, chewing her bottom lip.

“Someone who looked like you was seen going into the Duke’s opera box last night.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened in horror while a whimper escaped Charlotte’s lips. Charlotte wiped a stray tear from her eyes as Beatrice’s world came crashing down around her.

Her mother’s greatest fear was coming true, Beatrice was ruined. And while spinsterhood was now her only option, she did not want to achieve her dream this way. Not at this cost to her family.

“However,” Elizabeth continued. “The Duke was seen talking with a woman after the opera who also looked like you. The widow Connors, so most likely it was her. But with people speculating that there was something developing between you and him, some think it was you. However, from what we heard,” Elizabeth gestured to Candace, “a majority of people think it was the widow and you are considered an injured party since they have resumed you took an interest in him. Most agree it was the widow since her and the Duke have known each other since they were children.”

Beatrice sat in stunned silence. Her emotions ran the gamut of dread, to horror, confusion, hurt and relief.

The widow Connors? She knew of the woman, but not much. Was the Duke seeing her? Was it a problem if he was? She had no claim to him, no right to him. He was a Duke. He could do whatever he pleased.

So why did hurt overwhelm the feeling of relief that most assumed it was the widow sneaking in and out of his box? She should feel elated that their ruse of acquaintances was still viable. Yet, a strange buzzing sounded in her head while her chest felt as if it were caving in.

“Finally, she gets it.” Charlotte proclaimed.

“Beatrice?” Eleanor’s frame came in front of her, even though Beatrice’s eyes couldn’t focus on her features. She was lost to her emotions, processing the information that was just given to her.

“Beatrice? This is good news.” Eleanor said gently, as she sat next to Beatrice, taking her hand.

“Most think it was the widow, and Mama mentioned that even the Duke himself said he saw you unwell and that’s why you weren’t in the box with Mama last night.

People will believe his word. But this is why you must be careful.

” She implored. “A simple line in a gossip sheet may seem like nothing, but it can be so much more when pieced together with other sources.”

Beatrice slowly shook her head. “I understand.” She forced the words out. She was beginning to feel nauseous.

“Candace?” Eleanor stood. “Will you see Beatrice back to her room? I think she needs some time to herself. Don’t you agree, Mama?”

Charlotte was holding the gossip sheet in her hand, her eyes now dry. “At least we have confirmation that Beatrice is the newly crowned Diamond of the Season!” She crooned.

“Mama.” Eleanor chastised. “Not now.”

Charlotte shrugged off her eldest. “I must write to Sarah!”

Eleanor returned her focus to Beatrice taking her head in her hands.

“Go rest. And remember, we only want what’s best for you.

” Her eyes flickered to their mother. “Even her, in her own way. If you were really in trouble she would be the first person to come to your defense, she just gets a little carried away.”

Beatrice trusted Eleanor’s words but her heart and mind were no longer on her mother’s silly obsession with marrying her off. Instead her heart was wrapped up in the perceived relationship of the Duke and widow.

“I know, Eleanor. I think you’re right. I just need to process this situation. It seems I’m a bit more like Mama than I care to admit. I must have gotten carried away and had not realized the spectacle I was taking part in.”

Beatrice knew she said the right words, but felt nothing. She said what she needed to say in order to escape the closing walls of the parlor. She wanted the refuge of her bedroom, away from the gossip sheets, curious eyes, whispering maids, and dramatic mothers.

Beatrice sat near her window watching the rain fall. She spent the majority of her day in her room. Her mind wavered between hating the man, deciding the widow can have him, to utter despair on how she will continue on her intended journey without his help.

She berated herself for caring who the Duke was seen with and once again affirmed her relationship with the Duke must remain as a partner in crime, of sorts, not a partner in life.

Candace knocked on the door as she opened it. “I hope I’m not intruding, Lady Beatrice, but a package arrived for you.”

“A package?” Beatrice never received packages. “Thank you, Candace, just put it on my desk. I’ll get to it.”

Candace did as she was told and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Beatrice stared at the box. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew who it was from and she was convincing herself she was not interested.

She stood and walked to her closet, pretending she needed something from it, as if there was some unseen authority who was watching her moves, judging them. She opened her closet then closed it and walked to her bed, passing her desk and the package. Beatrice sat on her bed, staring at the package.

“Oh for goodness sake, just open it. Even if it’s from him you don’t need to do what it says. You can return it and do what you want. Isn’t that the point of your whole list?”

She rolled her eyes. Great. She was talking to herself in the third person. She stood with a huff and trudged over to her desk.

The writing on it was nondescript, with no return address. She rolled her lips as she held the box in her hands.

With a groan she removed the twine and opened the lid. Inside was a very plain looking frock, something a woman in a lower class would wear. A note fell to the ground as she pulled the dress from the box.

My dearest mouse,

I hope you’ll do me the honor of meeting tomorrow

night at the usual time at our usual meeting place.

I am looking forward to crossing off number five.

G

Beatrice held the note in her hands along with the dress. She shouldn’t go. She was almost caught last night, it was becoming too risky. And, if there was something between the Duke and the widow she shouldn’t get in the way, especially since she didn’t want anything more from him.

Or did she?

No. A spinster’s life was for her. Which was why she should go, so she could finish her list, which was why this whole situation with the Duke started in the first place.

She could probably find someone else to help her with the last two, but that would be timely and she already had a willing participant.

Beatrice looked towards the window again. She had told herself that her relationship with the Duke was a means to an end. She should be glad she was told of the widow, even if there is nothing between the two of them it proved to her that her lines were becoming blurred.

She looked back down to the dress with a nod. She would continue with the Duke, but with a much stronger mental wall to protect her livelihood. She had to, her future depended on it.