Chapter 6

Chapter Six

K enneth knew that the Dowager Duchess had a penchant for scheming, and tonight was no exception.

As he took his seat in the grand dining room, he could not help but notice that Lady Beatrice was positioned directly across from him. He also noticed that Lady Featherwell, seated a few places down, wore a look of clear displeasure, her thin lips pressed into a tight line.

He smirked inwardly. The Dowager Duchess was undoubtedly eager for another debate, perhaps hoping to spark the same spirited exchange about art that had occurred earlier in the gallery. Lady Bernmere sat nearby, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Kenneth suspected that the Dowager Duchess had already told her about his interaction with Beatrice.

As the first course was served, Lady Bernmere leaned forward, addressing the table with a smile.

"I heard there was a fascinating discussion about art earlier today. Kenneth, Lady Beatrice, would you care to share some of your insights with us?"

Kenneth remained aloof, unwilling to fall for the Dowager Duchess's scheme. He was determined not to be drawn into another debate, especially one orchestrated for the amusement of others.

Beatrice, however, did not share his reticence.

"Your Grace," she began, her tone polite but firm, "I was merely expressing that light, as used by artists like Westback, can convey hope and beauty, even without the presence of shadows."

Kenneth responded laconically, "A valid point, Lady Beatrice." He then leaned back slightly, seeming to concede.

Beatrice took this as a victory, a small smile playing on her lips.

Feeling a twinge of irritation, Kenneth couldn't help but add, "However, I find it intriguing that one would argue so vehemently for an approach that avoids the complexities of life."

Beatrice's smile faded. "Are you implying that those who focus on the light are avoiding reality, Your Grace?"

Kenneth leaned in, his gaze intense. "Not precisely, Lady Beatrice. But it does make one wonder if they are perhaps shielding themselves from the harsher truths."

Beatrice countered, "Or perhaps they are choosing to see the good amidst the bad. Not everyone has the luxury of dwelling on the shadows."

"Embracing the darkness can also be a sign of strength, a way to face adversity."

Beatrice met his gaze steadily. "And focusing on the light can be a way to inspire others, to show that there is always a glimmer of hope, no matter how dire the situation."

Kenneth's irritation grew, but so did his admiration. "You speak as if from experience, Lady Beatrice. One might almost think you have faced such adversities yourself."

Beatrice's cheeks flushed. "I think it is clear that I have, Your Grace. Does that make my perspective any less valid?"

Kenneth felt a pang of regret for pushing too far. "No, I am not suggesting that."

"Then perhaps we can agree that both perspectives have their merit."

Kenneth nodded. "Perhaps we can."

Lady Featherwell, who had been observing their exchange, chose this moment to interject. "My, my, such a passionate debate over mere paintings. One would think there were deeper issues at stake here."

Beatrice straightened, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Art reflects life, Lady Featherwell. Our perspectives on art can reveal much about our own experiences and values."

Lady Featherwell's eyes gleamed with thinly veiled malice. "Oh, I see. And what exactly do your views reveal about you, Lady Beatrice?"

Kenneth's gaze sharpened. "That she has a keen mind and a deep appreciation for beauty, Lady Featherwell. Qualities to be admired, wouldn't you agree?"

Lady Featherwell's smile was all teeth. "Of course, Your Grace. It's just… unusual to see such fervor from someone in Lady Beatrice's position."

Beatrice's eyes narrowed. "And what position is that?"

Lady Featherwell turned to face her. "Oh, you know, with the recent… events surrounding your family. One must admire your resilience."

Beatrice's hands clenched in her lap, but she forced a calm smile. "Thank you for your concern, Lady Featherwell. I assure you, my appreciation for art remains undiminished by personal trials."

The room fell silent, the intensity of their exchange captivating everyone at the table. Kenneth felt the weight of Beatrice's gaze, her blue eyes locked onto his.

The Dowager Duchess broke the silence with a laugh. "Finally, some entertainment for our dinners. I very much look forward to hearing more of your riveting debates, Duke."

Kenneth tore his eyes away from Beatrice. The Dowager Duchess's words echoed in his mind as he considered the unexpected challenge that Lady Beatrice presented.

He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the table. "I regret to inform you, Duchess, that I will be leaving tomorrow. There are urgent matters that require my attention back in Dunford."

It wasn't just an excuse to get out of the tedious socializing his aunt had subjected him to; there really was work to be done back home.

And despite his urge to stay and get a proper taste of Lady Beatrice, duty called. And nowadays, Kenneth was a man who put that first.

The Dowager Duchess's face fell, genuine disappointment evident in her eyes. "Must you leave so soon, Duke? We were just beginning to enjoy your company."

"I am afraid so," Kenneth replied firmly. "The estate requires my presence, and I cannot delay any longer."

His aunt, Marjorie, leaned in, her brow furrowed. "Kenneth, surely another day or two would not hurt. You have only just arrived."

Kenneth shook his head. "I appreciate your concern, Aunt Marjorie, but the matters at Dunford are pressing. I must return promptly."

Beatrice, sensing the tension, and unable to resist a touch of sarcasm, spoke up. "Please do not let us keep you, Your Grace. I am certain Dunford will appreciate your swift return."

He wanted to chuckle. Goodness, how he enjoyed it when she showed teeth.

Before he could respond, Lady Featherwell interjected, her tone dripping with false sweetness, "Oh, but it is such a shame for you to leave so abruptly, Your Grace. We will miss your presence dearly."

Kenneth watched as she shot Beatrice a sly smile.

"And, Lady Beatrice, I am sure you understand how important it is for a man of the Duke's station to fulfill his duties. Not everyone can afford to linger in leisure."

Beatrice's expression tightened, a flicker of anger crossing her features before she quickly masked it.

Kenneth observed this exchange closely, feeling a surge of protectiveness. Lady Featherwell's words seemed innocuous on the surface, but there was an underlying cruelty that he could not ignore.

He turned his attention back to Beatrice, who kept her composure admirably. "Lady Beatrice, your understanding is appreciated," he said, his tone sincere.

Lady Featherwell, not missing a beat, continued to draw the conversation back to herself, recounting some trivial story designed to capture everyone's attention.

"Oh, did you all hear about the new exhibition at the Royal Academy? They are displaying works from various artists. Though I must say, some of them are quite pedestrian. I much prefer the grandiose portraits and landscapes that truly capture one's attention," the young widow prattled on.

Lady Bernmere and the Dowager Duchess politely engaged with her, nodding and making noises of agreement.

"The Royal Academy always has such diverse selections," Lady Bernmere said diplomatically. "It is wonderful to see the range of talent on display."

"Indeed," the Dowager Duchess agreed with a gracious smile. "Art comes in many forms, and it's always fascinating to see different interpretations and styles." With a glint of mischief in her eyes, she leaned forward. "Lady Featherwell, do tell us more about which pieces you found pedestrian. I am always keen to understand different perspectives on art."

Lady Featherwell hesitated, clearly unprepared for such a direct question. "Well, um, some of the landscapes lacked… a certain grandeur. They were… too simple, you see."

The Dowager Duchess raised an eyebrow, her expression both amused and inquisitive. "Too simple? In what way, dear?"

Lady Featherwell's smile faltered slightly. "Oh, you know, just… not as detailed as one would expect. The colors were rather muted, and the compositions somewhat… uninspiring."

The Dowager Duchess nodded thoughtfully. "I see. And what did you think of the brushwork? Did it convey the same lack of detail?"

Lady Featherwell's eyes darted around the table, searching for support. "Yes, the brushwork was… quite rudimentary. Not at all what one would hope for in a prestigious exhibition."

Lady Bernmere stifled a smile, clearly enjoying the Dowager Duchess's gentle interrogation. "How interesting. I suppose it's true that not every artist can capture the complexity and vibrancy of life in their work."

"Exactly," Lady Featherwell replied, seizing the lifeline. "That's precisely what I meant."

Kenneth hid a smile behind his hand, impressed by the Dowager Duchess's subtle maneuvering. He glanced at Beatrice, who had also noticed the exchange and was biting her lip to keep from laughing.

The Dowager Duchess continued, her tone sweetly inquisitive, "And what about the modern portraits, Lady Featherwell? Did you find any of those to your liking?"

Lady Featherwell's discomfort grew more apparent. "Well, some were… decent, I suppose. But they lacked the… the refinement of the old masters."

"Ah, yes," the Dowager Duchess said, nodding sagely. "The old masters do set a high standard. I recall there was a splendid exhibition at the Royal Academy just last month, however, featuring some modern portraits that truly captured the essence of contemporary life."

Lady Featherwell's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, yes, of course. Those were quite… remarkable."

The Dowager Duchess raised an eyebrow, her expression one of feigned confusion. "Oh, my mistake. That exhibition ended years ago. I must have been thinking of something else. Silly me! It's so easy to lose track of time with all the events at the Academy."

Lady Featherwell blushed, realizing she had been caught in her ignorance. "Ah, well, yes. Time does fly, doesn't it?"

The Dowager Duchess nodded, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Indeed. It's always wonderful to meet someone who appreciates art as much as I do." She exchanged a knowing glance with Lady Bernmere, both women clearly satisfied with the outcome of their gentle prodding.

Lady Featherwell continued, her voice taking on a slightly smug tone. "I do believe that the quality of art lies in its ability to capture reality perfectly. I have always said that if a painting does not look exactly like the subject, then it is a failure. Don't you agree, Your Grace?" She turned to Kenneth with a saccharine smile.

Kenneth raised an eyebrow, his disinterest evident.

"Art is more than just a replication of reality, Lady Featherwell. It is about evoking emotion and thought, capturing the essence rather than the exact likeness."

Lady Featherwell, undeterred, continued to prattle on, "I remember when I purchased my first painting. It was a grand landscape, so detailed that you could see every leaf on the trees. That, to me, is true artistry."

Kenneth tuned her out, his eyes drifting back to Beatrice. She was listening, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying a hint of frustration. He could see the effort it took for her to maintain her composure and not rise to Lady Featherwell's bait.

Beatrice glanced up, catching his eye for a brief moment.

In that silent exchange, Kenneth felt a connection, a shared understanding of the charade they were both playing.

Lady Featherwell's voice faded into the background as Kenneth found himself drawn to the memory of the night Beatrice had walked into his chambers.

The image of her standing there, the color rising to her cheeks, haunted him. He recalled the way her gown had hugged her curves, the soft candlelight casting a warm glow on her skin. The scent of roses mingled with her unique fragrance had enveloped him, stirring a desire he had not felt in a long time.

His thoughts became more heated, imagining how it would have felt to pull her into his arms, to feel her softness against him, and to taste her lips. The desire that surged through him was potent, and he had to fight to maintain his composure.

Her way of debating, her stubbornness, her refusal to back down—they all infuriated him, yet they also fascinated him. Kenneth enjoyed her spirit, her intellect, and the way her eyes sparkled with determination. It was a stark contrast to the simpering women who usually sought his favor, and he found himself increasingly captivated by her.

Lady Featherwell's chatter became nothing more than background noise as Kenneth's focus remained on Beatrice. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck, the way her hair framed her face, and the grace with which she carried herself. The desire to close the distance between them, to feel her warmth and softness, grew stronger with each passing moment.

Soon, I will find a way to be alone with her again.

After dinner, the Dowager Duchess called everyone to the drawing room for drinks. The grand space was filled with plush seats, elegant green draperies, and the soft glow of candlelight.

As the guests settled in, Lady Featherwell quickly made her way to Kenneth's side, her intent clear.

"Oh, Your Grace, you must tell me more about your estate in Dunford," she purred, leaning in just a little too close. "It sounds absolutely enchanting. I have always wanted to visit such a grand place."

Kenneth maintained his polite demeanor though he felt a twinge of irritation.

"It is quite a serene place," he replied coolly. "Very peaceful."

Lady Featherwell fluttered her eyelashes. "I do love peaceful places. Perhaps I could visit sometime, Your Grace? It would be delightful to see it with someone who appreciates its beauty as much as you do."

Before Kenneth could respond, another young lady approached them.

"Good evening, Your Grace," she greeted with a friendly smile. "Lady Featherwell."

"Ah, Miss Stenham," Lady Featherwell said dismissively, barely glancing her way. "His Grace and I were just discussing his lovely estate."

Kenneth nodded to Miss Stenham, grateful for the interruption. "Good evening, Miss Stenham."

Miss Stenham seemed eager to join the conversation, but Lady Featherwell immediately turned her back to her, effectively cutting her off.

"Do tell me more about your gardens, Your Grace," she insisted, her hand lightly touching his arm.

Kenneth's smile was strained. "The gardens are well-maintained, Lady Featherwell. I am sure you would find them quite pleasing."

His eyes wandered across the room, seeking an escape from Lady Featherwell's relentless flirtations.

He spotted Beatrice talking to another lord, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a confident air. Kenneth recognized him as Lord Cranfield, a regular attendee of social gatherings.

Beatrice appeared to be engaged in a lively conversation, her face animated and her eyes sparkling.

Kenneth felt an unexpected pang of jealousy which he quickly dismissed. He told himself that he simply disliked Lord Cranfield, whose presence always managed to annoy him. It had nothing to do with the fact that Beatrice's attention was focused on the man and not him.

Lady Featherwell continued her attempts to monopolize his attention. "Your Grace, I do believe you have the most fascinating stories. Tell me, what is the most exciting thing you have experienced at Dunford?"

Kenneth barely suppressed a sigh. "Dunford is quite tranquil, Lady Featherwell. I am afraid there is not much excitement to speak of."

Lady Featherwell leaned even closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Surely there must be something, Your Grace. You strike me as a man who seeks adventure."

Kenneth's patience was wearing thin, but he remained polite. "I value peace and quiet, Lady Featherwell."

His eyes drifted back to Beatrice and Lord Cranfield. She laughed at something the man said, her whole demeanor light and relaxed. Kenneth felt another surge of irritation. He tried to convince himself that it was merely his aversion to Lord Cranfield, not the sight of Beatrice enjoying someone else's company, that bothered him.

Lady Featherwell's voice cut through his thoughts again, but he barely registered her words. His attention was fixed on Beatrice and the inexplicable pull he felt towards her.

But then he forced himself to look away, his jaw tightening.

This is ridiculous! I do not get jealous.

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the undeniable truth remained: Beatrice Wickes had gotten under his skin, and he wasn't sure how to rid himself of the growing desire to be near her, to get to know her, and to understand the fire that drove her.

As the evening wore on, Kenneth found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else.

Lady Featherwell's attempts to engage him in conversation fell flat, and he responded with curt, polite remarks, his mind constantly wandering back to Beatrice.

Why does she affect me this way? I must find a way to understand this… and her.