Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

" B eatrice!" Kenneth's voice echoed through the entrance hall, his tone laced with desperation and exhaustion. "Beatrice, where are you?"

Thomas rushed into the hall, his eyes wide with alarm. "Kenneth, what in God's name are you doing, screaming bloody murder in my home?"

Kenneth ignored him, his gaze frantically searching the hall as he continued to call out, "Beatrice! Please, I need to see you!"

Thomas grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. "What's the matter with you, man? Have you gone mad?"

"I need to see my wife," Kenneth said, his voice hoarse from hours of riding without rest. "I have to speak with her, to make things right."

Catherine appeared at the top of the staircase. "Beatrice doesn't want to see you, Kenneth. She's made that quite clear."

Kenneth's heart clenched, but he refused to back down. "She should tell me that to my face, Catherine. I won't believe it until I hear it from her lips."

Catherine shook her head, her hand resting protectively on her swollen belly. "You've hurt her deeply, Kenneth. She needs time to heal, to find her strength."

Kenneth opened his mouth to argue, but Thomas cut him off, his voice low and warning.

"You will respect my wife's wishes, Kenneth, and you will respect Beatrice's need for space. I won't have you upsetting them further."

Kenneth clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He wanted to fight, to demand that he be allowed to see his wife, but the look in Thomas's eyes made him pause. He knew he was a guest in their home, and he had already pushed the boundaries of propriety by barging in unannounced.

"Fine," he ground out, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "But I'm not leaving. I'll stay here until Beatrice is ready to see me."

Thomas sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Very well. You may stay in the guest wing for tonight. I'll have a bath drawn for you because, frankly, you smell like a hedgehog that's rolled through a fishmonger's stall."

Kenneth glared at him, but he couldn't deny the truth of his words. He was filthy, his clothes stained with sweat and dust from the road.

Thomas led him upstairs, his footsteps heavy on the polished wood. Kenneth's gaze darted to each door they passed, his heart leaping with each one.

Which one is Beatrice's?

His fingers itched to reach out and knock. But Thomas seemed to read his mind, his voice firm as he spoke, "If Beatrice wants to see you, she'll come to you, Kenneth. Until then, you'll respect her need for space."

Kenneth wanted to argue, to demand that he be allowed to see his wife, but the long journey had rapidly caught up with him. His limbs felt heavy, his eyes gritty with fatigue.

As Thomas opened the door to the guest room, Kenneth stumbled inside, barely registering the opulent furnishings or the soft glow from the fireplace. He sank onto the bed, his body surrendering to the plush mattress and silken sheets.

I'll rest for a moment. Just a moment, and then I'll find a way to see Beatrice.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, sleep claimed him, dragging him down into a dreamless oblivion. The last image that flashed through his mind was of Beatrice's face, her eyes filled with hurt and betrayal.

Beatrice sat with Catherine in the library, their heads bowed together as they pored over a book of poetry. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room.

Despite the events of the previous day, Beatrice found solace in her friend's company, in the familiar comfort of the written word.

Just as Catherine was about to read a particularly moving passage, the butler entered the room, his expression grave. "I apologize for the interruption, Your Grace, but there is a visitor demanding to see the Duchess of Dunford."

Beatrice and Catherine exchanged a curious glance.

"Who is it, Mr. Jameson?" Catherine asked, setting the book aside.

The butler cleared his throat, his discomfort evident. "It is Lady Afferton, Your Grace."

Beatrice felt her stomach sink, a sense of dread washing over her. She had not seen her mother since her wedding, and the prospect of facing her now, after everything that had happened, filled her with trepidation.

Catherine placed a comforting hand on Beatrice's arm, her eyes filled with understanding. "We will face her together, my dear. You are not alone."

"You do not have to do this, Cathy. Especially with everything that happened with Patrick, I feel?—"

"No, Bea. You are my friend. What happened with Patrick is in the past. He is gone now. But you are here with me, and what kind of friend would I be if I let you do this alone?"

A smile formed on Beatrice's lips.

"Thank you, my friend."

"No need to. You're my best friend, and I love you. And I will not allow anyone I love to face their battles alone," Catherine said and pulled her into a hug, squeezing her.

Beatrice squeezed back as lightly as she could, considering her condition.

"Oh, for goodness's sake, Bea, I am pregnant, not made of twigs," Catherine teased.

Beatrice chuckled, some of the tension already leaving her body. She was so grateful for that.

After they pulled back, Beatrice took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confrontation to come.

"All right. I'm ready," she told Catherine.

The Duchess of Newden nodded to Mr. Jameson. "Please show her to the parlor. We will be there shortly."

As they made their way to the parlor, Beatrice could hear her mother's shrill voice echoing through the halls, her tone laced with anger and disapproval. She braced herself, jutting her chin with a quiet resolve.

Lady Afferton stood in the center of the room, her posture rigid and her face twisted with rage.

"Beatrice!" she snapped as Beatrice and Catherine entered. "How dare you behave in such a manner? All of London is whispering about how you left your husband's home in a hurry, and then the Duke ran after you on a horse like a madman. How dare you behave this way and tarnish our family name like that? You are a terrible daughter and an even worse duchess!"

Beatrice flinched at her mother's words, the familiar sting of criticism cutting deep. But before she could respond, Catherine stepped forward, her eyes flashing with indignation.

"Lady Afferton, I must ask you to lower your voice. This is my home, and I will not tolerate such disrespect towards my guests."

Lady Afferton rounded on Catherine, her face contorted with fury. "You! This is all your fault! If it weren't for you, my son would not be in exile. You ruined him, and now, you're ruining my daughter with your influence!"

Beatrice felt a surge of anger rise within her, a testament to the strength her friend's presence gave her.

She moved to stand beside Catherine, her voice firm and unwavering. "Enough, Mother! How dare you speak to my friend that way? Have you no respect for her condition?"

Lady Afferton's eyes widened, flickering with shock at her daughter's commanding tone.

Beatrice seized the moment, stepping forward. "And how dare you criticize me when Patrick is the one who has done the most abominable things?"

Her voice shook with years of pent-up anger.

"I have worked ceaselessly over the past year to take care of you. I was the one who pleaded with our relatives to take us in, I was the one who funded our lodgings—how do you think they managed to accommodate us, when they also struggled to find means? Did you think Patrick was the one doing all that?"

Lady Afferton gulped.

"No. Your dear son keeps drinking and whoring through our family's fortune. He did not send us a penny. Yet all you did was sing his praises. What a good son he was, what a misunderstood man he is. No, Mother, he's nothing like that. He never cared for anyone but himself."

The words spilled out of her like a torrent shattering through a dam.

"I have done nothing but follow your orders all my life, but I never received a single kind word from you, let alone love! God forbid, you showed me any affection. Your ‘prodigal' daughter. But you know what? I am done with you. If you so wish to be reunited with your precious son, go to him and see how he treats you!"

Lady Afferton paced the room, her skirts swishing angrily around her feet. "Do you think your precious Duke will stand by you when he learns of your true nature? When he sees what a shameless child you truly are?"

Beatrice could feel the heat of fury emanating from Catherine. She glanced over at her friend, giving her a look that told her she could handle her mother.

Beatrice stood her ground, her voice steady despite her trembling hands. "Kenneth knows everything about me, Mother. Unlike you, he accepts me for who I am."

Lady Afferton laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "God, how coddled you are. You are a na?ve child, Beatrice. You are nothing but?—"

" Enough ," Kenneth's voice came from the doorway, and Beatrice turned to its direction.

He'd entered the parlor alongside Thomas, their faces etched with concern. They had heard the raised voices from above and come to investigate.

Lady Afferton opened her mouth, ready to continue her tirade, when Kenneth stopped her again.

"You will not speak to my wife in such a manner. She is the Duchess of Dunford, and you will show her respect," he said with a stern expression.

Lady Afferton sputtered, her face flushing an ugly shade of red. "How dare you!"

Kenneth's eyes narrowed. "No, how dare you! Your daughter is an exemplary woman. A far better person than you can ever hope to be."

"Exemplary?" Lady Afferton scoffed.

Kenneth growled, "Yes. Exemplary. And the more I speak with you, Lady Afferton, the more certain I am she takes everything after her father."

Lady Afferton gasped, "You?—"

"You have said enough. As of now, I will provide you with funds to purchase a residence outside the country and live comfortably. But if you ever come near Beatrice again, I will cut you off, leaving you to a fate of your own making… or worse, your son's," he asserted.

A deafening silence followed his pronouncement.

Lady Afferton stood there, her mouth agape, unable to find her voice in the face of such a threat.

Thomas cleared his throat.

"Jameson, please show Lady Afferton out. I'm afraid she has upset all of us more than enough, especially my dear wife in her delicate condition."

With a curt nod, the butler ushered a flabbergasted Lady Afferton out of the room.

"Goodbye, Mother," Beatrice said.

As Prudence disappeared into the corridor, Beatrice felt the tension drain from her body, leaving her feeling strangely light.