Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

" T hank you, Thompson. That will be all for tonight," Kenneth dismissed his valet, who had been assisting him with his evening preparations.

He returned from a long day of dealing with estate matters. A dispute between two of his tenant farmers had required his immediate attention and mediation, a matter that had unfortunately consumed his entire day.

It was not how he had planned to spend his first day on the estate with Beatrice.

"Very good, Your Grace," Thompson replied with a bow before exiting the room.

Kenneth removed his boots and hesitated, looking at the door that connected his chamber to Beatrice's. A part of him was driven by a raw desire to see her, to feel the magnetic pull that had been simmering between them since their first encounter.

With a deep breath, he stood up and, dressed in only his breeches with his shirt open, walked into her chamber.

Beatrice clambered quickly out of bed in alarm, clutching the covers to her chest. Her eyes were wide, and Kenneth could see the tension in her posture. She wore a simple nightgown that accentuated her figure in a way that made him gulp. He wanted her so badly but knew he needed to keep his desire in check.

"Duchess," he began, his voice coming out rougher than intended, "since we are now married, it seems only fitting that we… consummate our union."

He saw the flash of surprise in her eyes, and he softened his voice, allowing a hint of seduction to creep in.

"We should think about our future, about producing an heir for Dunford." His eyes roamed over her form appreciatively, and he added, "Besides, I find myself quite drawn to you, more than I anticipated."

"I am quite aware of my wifely duties, Duke," Beatrice replied, her tone a bit acerbic.

Kenneth approached her, his eyes locked onto hers. "Do you really know anything about marital duties?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Beatrice met his gaze squarely. "I am not an innocent debutante anymore."

Her words riled him up, frustration and desire coursing through him. "Since you are not an innocent debutante, I should warn you that you should not expect love in our marriage," he added, his tone sharp as he stepped closer to her.

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "I do not dream of romance, Duke. Especially not with you."

"Good," Kenneth replied, feeling his temper rise.

"Then get it over with," she said, her voice tinged with defiance.

She dropped the covers and closed her eyes, standing there like a sacrificial lamb which only exasperated him further.

"Get it over with? I do not just ‘get it over with' when it comes to this. You'll be writhing with pleasure, dear wife," Kenneth growled at her, and her eyes flew open at the low hum of his voice. "This is not just about duty."

He growled again and grabbed her, pulling her to him. He kissed her with a passion that surprised even himself, a fierce, consuming kiss that spoke of all the pent-up desire and frustration he felt.

Beatrice's initial shock melted into the kiss, and she responded with equal fervor. The tension between them seemed to ignite, and the kiss deepened, becoming a powerful exchange of emotions. Kenneth's hands roamed over her back, pulling her closer, while her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him to her.

In one swift move, he lifted her and laid her on the bed, pinning her hands above her head.

"Open your eyes, Beatrice," he commanded softly but firmly. "I want you to see me. I want you to feel this."

Beatrice hesitated then slowly opened her eyes, meeting his intense gaze.

For a moment, they stared at each other, the air between them charged with unspoken emotions.

He bent his head down and trailed feather-light kisses down her collarbone to the swell of her breasts. Beatrice let out a moan and arched against him.

When his mouth met the fabric of her nightgown, he heaved a momentary sigh of frustration. She tried to pull him back to her, but he captured her lips and slid his hand up her waist and then to the top of her nightdress. He tugged at the laces until her breasts spilled out.

His tongue explored a taut nipple, his lips gliding over the softness of her skin, leaving her shivering with desire. He kissed up her collarbone until his lips found hers, eliciting a moan from her that sent a shiver down his spine. His lips then moved to her neck, and he trailed molten kisses down the column of her throat.

"Please don't stop," Beatrice moaned.

Kenneth slipped his hand between her thighs and slowly circled the hardened nub at the apex of her sex. He increased the pressure until she was writhing beneath him and letting out small cries of pleasure.

Kenneth trailed kisses down her belly, never ceasing the pressure against her sex. His lips continued their journey until his tongue flicked between her soft, sweet folds. His tongue replaced his finger, and he licked her nub, making slow, lazy circles. Her inner thighs quivered, and her moans became louder as she opened her legs wider. When he flicked his tongue hard against her center, she cried out.

His shaft hardened to the point that he could not hold himself back any longer.

Just as he reached down to undo the buttons of his trousers, a knock sounded at the door, startling them both. They paused, breathless and caught off guard.

Beatrice quickly threw on a robe and moved to answer the door. Opening it, she found a young maid standing there, looking slightly flustered.

"Your Grace, I knocked on His Grace's door, but there was no answer. I assumed he would be with you."

Kenneth got off the bed, his frustration simmering beneath the surface as he walked to the door. "What's the matter?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

The maid curtsied quickly. "There's been a small leak in the west wing, Your Grace. The steward sent me to fetch you."

Kenneth groaned inwardly, the weight of his responsibilities crashing down on him. He glanced at Beatrice, seeing the concern in her eyes.

"I will go with her," he said, resignation in his tone.

Beatrice stepped forward. "Let me come with you."

Kenneth shook his head, a small, weary smile on his lips. "I will handle it."

He left with the maid, feeling a deep sense of frustration and unsatisfied desire.

The walk to the west wing seemed longer than usual, the silence of the castle amplifying his irritation. This was not how he had envisioned their first night together, interrupted by the mundane issues of estate management.

Beatrice awoke the next morning to the soft light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains of her chamber. The spot beside her was empty, a stark reminder of the night before. She had spent her wedding night alone, her new husband absent due to a leak in the roof of the west wing.

Her thoughts swirled; she knew Kenneth had responsibilities, that the management of an estate was demanding and often unpredictable. Yet, she couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. She had not expected romance or declarations of love, but she had hoped for at least a semblance of companionship on their first night as husband and wife.

She heaved out a sigh of resignation. This was her reality now, and there was no point in dwelling on unmet expectations. If Kenneth was going to be distant, she would find ways to fill the void herself. She would focus on her duties as Duchess, immerse herself in her art, and carve out a life independent of her husband.

I must make the best of this . If I am to find happiness, it will be on my own terms.

With a sigh, she pushed herself out of bed and rang for Anna. Moments later, the maid entered, her expression bright and eager to please.

"Good morning, Your Grace," Anna said cheerfully. "Shall I help you dress?"

"Yes, please, Anna," Beatrice replied, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

As Anna helped her into a soft rose-colored gown, the fabric cool against her skin, she relayed some news. "The Duke has gone out early to check on things around the estate, Your Grace. He seemed quite busy."

Beatrice's heart sank slightly, but she managed a nod. "Thank you, Anna."

Once dressed, Beatrice made her way to the dining room. The long table was set for breakfast, but she found herself alone. A servant brought in a tray of food—freshly baked bread, butter, jam, and a selection of fruits. She picked at her meal, her thoughts drifting back to Kenneth.

Why didn't he come back?

Was it truly the leak that kept him away, or was he avoiding her? She shook her head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. Kenneth was a practical man; his priorities were the estate and its well-being. She needed to be patient and understanding, even if it meant enduring some loneliness.

Determined not to let the day go to waste, Beatrice decided to throw herself into her duties as Duchess. She rang for the housekeeper, who arrived promptly, her demeanor efficient and welcoming.

"Good morning, Your Grace. How may I assist you today?" Mrs. Whitfield asked.

"Good morning, Mrs. Whitfield," Beatrice replied. "I would like to familiarize myself with the household and my responsibilities. Could you show me what needs attention?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Mrs. Whitfield said with a nod. "Let us start with the inventory and then move on to the management of the staff."

Beatrice spent the morning touring the estate with Mrs. Whitfield, learning about the daily operations of Dunford Castle. They visited the kitchens, where she met the head cook, Mrs. Potts, who promised to prepare a special dinner for the Duke and Duchess that evening.

"You're in for a treat tonight, Your Grace," Mrs. Potts said with a smile as they walked through the bustling kitchen. "His Grace always enjoys a fine meal. He's really turned things around here, you know. Quite the change from his father, bless his soul."

Mrs. Whitfield cleared her throat sharply, causing Mrs. Potts to falter.

"I mean, he's done wonders for the estate," Mrs. Potts corrected quickly.

Beatrice's curiosity was piqued. She had heard rumors about the late Duke's fondness for gambling halls and his less-than-stellar reputation, but she had never paid much attention to gossip. Still, it was interesting to hear how different Kenneth was from him.

"I see," she said, keeping her tone neutral. "It sounds like a lot of hard work has gone into maintaining the estate."

"Oh, indeed, Your Grace," Mrs. Potts replied, more cautiously now. "His Grace has been very dedicated."

Mrs. Whitfield chimed in, smoothly changing the subject, "Shall we move on, Your Grace? There is still much to see."

As the day progressed, Beatrice found herself in the grand ballroom, its ornate moldings and high ceilings reflecting the opulence of Dunford Castle. She walked slowly, taking in the intricate details of the room—the rich tapestries, the crystal chandeliers, and the polished wooden floors.

Mrs. Whitfield followed closely, ready to answer any questions. "Your Grace, we could change the draperies and perhaps consider a new color palette for the walls. The current decor is a bit dated."

Beatrice nodded thoughtfully. "I agree. Something lighter and more modern might breathe new life into the room. What do you think about pale blue or soft gold?"

"I think those would be lovely choices, Your Grace," Mrs. Whitfield replied with a smile.

As they discussed the possible changes, Beatrice glanced towards the large windows that lined one side of the ballroom. To her surprise, she noticed Kenneth watching her from across the courtyard. His figure was framed by the window of his study in the opposite wing. The moment he realized she had seen him, he turned and walked away.

Beatrice's curiosity was piqued. "Mrs. Whitfield, is that the Duke's study?" she asked, nodding towards the window where Kenneth had been.

Mrs. Whitfield followed her gaze and nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. His Grace spends a great deal of time there, attending to estate matters."

Beatrice continued to gaze out the window, her eyes drifting to another window on the east side of the castle. "And that room there? The one with the sea view?"

"That is the morning room, Your Grace," Mrs. Whitfield explained. "It offers a beautiful view of the sea, especially at sunrise. However, His Grace rarely uses it."

"Good," Beatrice said with a small smile. "I might make use of it someday."

Mrs. Whitfield's eyes sparkled with approval. "I think that would be a wonderful idea, Your Grace. It's a lovely room, and I'm sure you'll find it a pleasant place to spend your mornings."

Beatrice nodded, feeling a small thrill of anticipation. She could already imagine herself sitting in the morning room, the light of dawn streaming through the windows as she sketched or painted the sea. It would be her private haven, a place where she could find solace and inspiration.

As they continued their tour, Beatrice kept feeling that Kenneth was near, watching and waiting. It was as if the very walls of Dunford Castle held their own secrets, and she was determined to uncover them.

Her thoughts drifted back to the glimpse she had caught of him earlier. What had he been thinking as he watched her? Was he regretting their marriage, or was he simply trying to understand her better?

Later that afternoon, a footman approached her with a respectful bow. "Your Grace, a delivery has arrived for you from Wales."

Beatrice's heart skipped a beat. "Oh, my belongings!" she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over. "Please, show me to them."

The footman led her to the entrance hall where several trunks and crates were stacked. Beatrice's eyes lit up at the sight of her beloved items, wrapped and waiting to be unpacked.

She turned to the footmen with a bright smile. "These need to go to the morning room overlooking the sea. I will unpack them myself."

Mrs. Whitfield, who had accompanied her, raised an eyebrow and said, "Your Grace, the staff can certainly unpack these for you. There's no need for you to trouble yourself."

Beatrice smiled, shaking her head. "Thank you, Mrs. Whitfield, but some of these items are quite personal. I would prefer to handle them myself."

Mrs. Whitfield nodded, her concern quelled. "Very well, Your Grace. If you change your mind, please let me know."

Beatrice nodded, her mind already racing with plans for her new space. As she stood there, surrounded by her trunks, she felt a sense of determination settle over her.

Since I am all alone in this new place, I can spend time on my art. My sanctuary, my escape.