Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

" A nother commission," Beatrice murmured to herself, a smile tugging at her lips as she carefully opened the letter from her dealer.

Her heart raced with anticipation as she read its contents. The thrill of having her work recognized and sought after never ceased to amaze her.

But as she read further, her smile faltered. The client had given Westback a tight deadline of just two weeks. Beatrice glanced at her inventory, mentally calculating what she would need. It quickly became apparent that her current supplies would not suffice.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. She knew what she had to do. Gathering the letter, she made her way to Kenneth's study, her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

Knocking softly on the heavy wooden door, she heard his deep voice calling, "Enter."

Beatrice opened the door and stepped inside, finding Kenneth immersed in work at his desk

"Beatrice," he greeted, a small smile playing on his lips, "what brings you here?"

She walked over to him, the letter clutched in her hand. "I received a new commission from a lady in London," she began, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach, "but she's given Westback a deadline of only two weeks."

Kenneth leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. "Two weeks? Sounds like a rush."

Beatrice nodded, biting her lower lip. "Yes, and I'm afraid my current supplies won't be enough." She paused, gathering her courage. "I was hoping I could go to London to shop for new supplies."

Kenneth furrowed his brow slightly, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "London? Alone?"

She squared her shoulders, holding his gaze. "I can handle it, Kenneth. I've done it before."

He rose from his chair and rounded the desk to stand before her. His hand reached out, gently cupping her cheek. "I know you can, Beatrice, but I have some business to attend to in London anyway. I'll accompany you."

Beatrice leaned into his touch, a warmth spreading through her. "Are you sure? I don't want to disrupt your plans."

Kenneth's thumb brushed across her cheekbone, his eyes darkening with desire. "You could never disrupt anything, Beatrice. We'll go together."

She smiled, turning her head to press a soft kiss to his palm. "All right then."

Kenneth tilted her chin up, his lips capturing hers in a heated kiss. As they parted, he rested his forehead against hers. "You're mine, Beatrice. Don't forget that," he whispered, his breath warm against her lips.

She grinned, her pulse quickening. "I wouldn't dream of it. Though perhaps I need a bit more convincing?"

Kenneth's eyes darkened with desire. "Is that so? Well, I'd be more than happy to oblige." His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer. "How about we start the ‘convincing' right here on this desk?"

Beatrice gasped. "Kenneth! What would Jennings say if he walked in?"

"He'd say ‘Pardon me, Your Graces' and quietly back out of the room." Kenneth chuckled, his lips trailing along her jawline. "Besides, I'm the Duke. I can do as I please in my own study."

Beatrice's fingers tangled in his hair, her body arching into his. "Mmm, is that so? And what exactly does the Duke want to do right now?"

Kenneth's voice lowered to a growl. "Oh, I have a few ideas. All of them involving you, my dear, in various states of undress."

"My, my," Beatrice breathed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "And here I thought we were discussing a trip to London. How easily distracted you are, husband."

He smirked, his hands roaming teasingly over her curves. "Can you blame me? With a wife as enticing as you are, it's a wonder I get any work done at all."

Beatrice laughed, the sound rich with promise. "Well then, perhaps we should make this trip to London a quick one. After all, we wouldn't want to neglect your duties here at Dunford."

"Indeed not," Kenneth agreed, stealing another kiss. "Though I must warn you, my dear. Even in London, you won't be safe from my attentions. I plan to thoroughly ‘remind' you of your place as my Duchess at every opportunity."

She raised an eyebrow, a challenge in her eyes. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both," he growled, pulling her flush against him. "Definitely both."

Beatrice's breath hitched at the contact. "Well then, Duke, I look forward to our trip."

Kenneth grinned, his eyes alight with desire and amusement. "As do I, my dear. As do I."

The next day, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of their London townhouse, the bustling city streets a stark contrast to the serene grounds of Dunford Castle. Beatrice stepped out, her mind already racing with the tasks ahead. The two-week deadline loomed over her, a constant reminder of the pressure she was under.

Kenneth, sensing her unease, placed a gentle hand on the small of her back as they entered the house. "You'll have everything you need here, Beatrice. Don't hesitate to ask for anything."

Beatrice managed a tight smile, her fingers clutching her sketchbook. "Thank you, Kenneth. I just hope I can do this commission justice."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "You will. I have no doubt."

Despite his reassurance, Beatrice's anxiety continued to grow. She knew that maintaining the same quality in her work was crucial, and this commission could either solidify her reputation or shatter it completely.

The next morning, she sought out Anna, her trusted lady's maid. "Anna, I need your help. We must visit the art shops today to gather supplies."

Anna, ever loyal, nodded without hesitation. "Of course, Your Grace. I'll ready myself immediately."

As they navigated the crowded London streets, Beatrice's mind buzzed with calculations and color schemes. She carefully selected the finest brushes, the most vibrant pigments, and the sturdiest canvases. Each decision carried the weight of her secret identity, the fear of discovery always lurking in the shadows.

Upon their return, Beatrice wasted no time in setting up her workspace. She chose the study with the best natural light, the large windows offering a clear view of the garden below. Anna helped her arrange her supplies, the maid's quiet efficiency a welcome balm to Beatrice's frayed nerves.

As the hours passed, Beatrice lost herself in the painting, her brush dancing across the canvas in a frenzy of inspiration and determination. The colors blended and swirled, the image slowly taking shape under her skilled hand.

The next day, she continued to work tirelessly, her focus unbroken except for the occasional glance out the window at the bustling city below. By the time the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, she felt a sense of satisfaction at the progress she had made.

Just as she was cleaning her brushes, the door to her studio opened, and Anna appeared. "Your Grace, Lord Eastfold has arrived for a business meeting with His Grace."

Beatrice's heart skipped a beat. She had hoped for a quiet day to focus on her work, but she knew the importance of maintaining cordial relations with Kenneth's business associates.

She straightened up and nodded. "Thank you, Anna. I'll be there shortly."

Descending the grand staircase, Beatrice smoothed down the fresh dress she'd changed into, so Eastfold wouldn't see any paint stains on her, and took a deep breath.

As she entered the parlor, she found Kenneth and Eastfold deep in conversation. Eastfold's eyes lit up when he saw her.

"Ah, Your Grace," he greeted with a charming smile, rising from his seat. "It's always a pleasure to see you."

Beatrice offered a polite smile, keeping her tone measured. "Lord Eastfold, it's good to see you as well. I hope your journey was pleasant."

Eastfold nodded. "It was, indeed…" He paused before continuing, "I have a question for you, Your Grace. Have you ever considered that the finest art often comes from the most unexpected places?"

Beatrice smiled politely. "Indeed, My Lord. Art can surprise us in many ways."

Eastfold chuckled. "Much like this city, wouldn't you agree? Full of surprises and hidden gems. Speaking of which, I recently stumbled upon the most delightful, little gallery. They had a piece that reminded me of one of Westback's earlier works. Have you seen it?"

Beatrice's eyes lit up with genuine interest. "Oh? I would love to hear more about it."

Eastfold launched into an anecdote about the eccentric gallery owner, his animated storytelling coaxing a soft laugh from her.

"And then," he continued, "the owner insisted that the painting was haunted! Can you imagine? A haunted painting in a London gallery!"

Beatrice laughed. "That's quite the tale, My Lord. I can only imagine the look on your face when you heard that."

Kenneth cleared his throat, his expression unreadable. "Lord Eastfold, shall we continue our discussion in my study?"

Eastfold nodded, rising from his chair. "Of course, Your Grace. Lead the way."

Beatrice watched them leave, a small sigh escaping her lips. She picked up a book from the nearby table and settled into a chair by the window. The rhythmic turning of pages soon became a soothing background to the muffled conversation drifting from the study.

After a while, the door to the study opened, and the men emerged. Kenneth's expression was tight while Eastfold wore his usual charming smile.

As Eastfold approached Beatrice, he took her hand and raised it to his lips, a flirtatious gleam in his eyes. "Your Grace, it has been an absolute pleasure. Until we meet again."

Beatrice smiled politely, a slight blush bloom in her cheeks. "Thank you, My Lord. Safe travels."

Eastfold held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before releasing her hand and turning to Kenneth. "Kenneth, thank you for your time. I look forward to our next meeting."

Kenneth moved closer to Beatrice and gave Lord Eastfold a curt nod. "Indeed. Safe journey, Lord Eastfold."

As the door closed behind Eastfold, the tension in the room thickened as Kenneth turned to Beatrice, his eyes dark and questioning. "Why do you laugh at his every word?" he asked, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.

Beatrice bristled. "I was simply being courteous. He's your business associate after all."

Kenneth's gaze narrowed. "Courteous? It looked like more than that."

Beatrice met his gaze evenly, her own frustration mounting. "Lord Eastfold may be charming, but his views on art are entirely mercenary. He sees it as nothing more than a means to make money. It's disappointing."

Kenneth's eyes searched hers, his expression softening slightly. "I don't like the way he looks at you."

Beatrice sighed, feeling the weight of his distrust. "And I don't like being accused of something I haven't done. You need to trust me, Kenneth."

Kenneth's face hardened again, his jealousy flaring. "You think I haven't noticed how you laugh at his jokes? How you smile at him? It's as if you enjoy his company more than mine."

Beatrice's eyes widened in shock and hurt. "That's ridiculous! I am simply being polite. He's your business associate, and I have no interest in him beyond that."

"Polite?" Kenneth scoffed. "It seems like more than politeness to me. You looked so… comfortable with him."

Beatrice felt a surge of frustration. "Comfortable? Kenneth, I was trying to be a good hostess, nothing more. Why can't you see that?"

"Because I see the way he looks at you," Kenneth replied, his voice rising. "And I see the way you respond to him."

Beatrice's temper flared. "Respond to him? Do you think I would betray you? After everything, you still don't trust me?"

Kenneth stepped closer to her, his eyes blazing with jealousy. "I don't like seeing you with him. It eats at me."

"I can't believe this. You're letting your jealousy cloud your judgment. I've done nothing to deserve your distrust," Beatrice scoffed, her voice trembling with anger and sadness.

"You don't understand," Kenneth said, his voice low but still tense. "I can't stand the thought of losing you."

Beatrice's heart ached at his words, but her anger and hurt were too strong. "If you can't trust me, then what kind of marriage do we have? I can't live like this, constantly defending myself against baseless accusations."

Kenneth reached out as if to touch her, but she stepped back. "Beatrice, I?—"

"I need to be alone," she cut him off, her voice cold and resolute. "I'm going to my chambers."

Without another word, she stepped out of the room, leaving him standing alone.

Kenneth stood there, staring at the closed door. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. With a frustrated growl, he yanked off his boots, flinging them across the room with force. One hit the wall with a dull thud, and the other skidded across the floor.

He began to pace, his mind replaying the scene with Eastfold and Beatrice. The way she had laughed at Eastfold's jokes, the way her eyes sparkled as she listened to him—it all gnawed at him.

Why did she have to be so friendly with him? He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He was flirting with her for God's sake. How could she not see that?

His footsteps echoed in the room as he continued to pace. He thought about Beatrice's words, her hurt and frustration clear in her voice.

Maybe I was being unreasonable…

No, I wasn't. She needs to understand what it looked like.

He stopped by the window, staring out into the dark night.

I can't stand seeing her with him. The way he looks at her… It's maddening.

Kenneth sighed, running a hand through his hair.

I let my jealousy get the best of me. She's never given me any reason to doubt her, and yet I let my insecurities cloud my judgment.

He turned around abruptly, determined to make things right.

With a resolve born of a deep desire to mend the rift between them, Kenneth strode towards the door, his hand reaching for the handle.

But as his fingers touched the cool metal, he hesitated. The image of Eastfold and Beatrice's shared laughter, the way her eyes had sparkled as she listened to his tales, flashed through his mind. The uneasy feeling in his gut, the one he had tried to dismiss as mere jealousy, resurfaced with a vengeance.

He stepped back, his resolve wavering. He had seen the way Eastfold's eyes had lingered on her, the way his smile had held a hint of something more than mere friendliness. And Beatrice… she had seemed so engaged, so captivated by his every word.

No. I won't make a fool of myself. If there's something between them, I won't beg for her attention.

His pride, wounded and raw, wouldn't allow him to take that step. He couldn't bear the thought of going to her, only to be rejected—or worse, pitied. The very idea made his stomach churn.

Kenneth turned away from the door, his jaw clenched with a stubborn determination. He would not go to her, would not expose himself to the possibility of further hurt.

If Beatrice wanted to make amends, she would have to come to him.