Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“ H e’s beautiful,” Beatrice announced, a little surprised to hear a wobble in her voice. “He’s beautiful , Anna.”

That, at least, was undeniable.

Anna was propped up against the pillows, her sheets freshly changed and straightened. A fug of sweat and unpleasant smells hung in the air, blending with the coppery tang of blood despite the wide open windows.

That smell made Beatrice feel ill. It reminded her too much of the room where Jane had lain—although, of course, the smell of blood and death had been much, much stronger.

Anna smiled tiredly. She cradled her new baby in her arms, staring down at him as if dumbstruck.

Theodore, in his shirtsleeves, with the sleeves rolled up, sat on the edge of the bed beside his wife, using a cool, damp cloth to wipe the sweat from her forehead.

“It was a quick birth—quicker than I had imagined,” Anna said, her gaze still fixed on her baby. “The pain was bad, but it felt… it felt like I was meant to do it, that I was built to do it. Though I think perhaps I might not want another baby… or at least, not many.” She glanced up at Beatrice, offering her a faint smile, and they both knew that Jane’s ghost stood between them. “I’m quite alright, Beatty. I’m alright.”

Beatrice felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“I’m glad,” she whispered. “I’m so glad, Anna.”

She and Stephen were standing awkwardly beside the bed, peering down at the new parents and their newborn. Anna and Theo, it seemed, were so distracted and enamored with their new baby that they hadn’t even noticed that Stephen—who was not meant to be at home at all, or even in the area—was here.

“The contractions continued during the ride back from your place, after breakfast,” Anna explained. “They began to get worse quite quickly, and Theo sent for the midwife at once. I hate to say it, but I quite forgot to send a note to tell you until it was almost all over.”

Beatrice smiled wryly. “No need to apologize. I think perhaps you were preoccupied.”

Anna blinked, seeming to see Stephen for the first time.

“Stephen, we had no idea you were coming back! Welcome home.”

He gave a neat bow. “I think congratulations are in order. To you too, Theo.”

Theodore eyed his friend closely. “What brought you back, friend?”

Beatrice cast a quick, searching look at her husband.

Stephen met Theodore’s gaze squarely. “Oh, this and that. I believe I just wanted to come home.”

Theodore said nothing, but Beatrice was willing to bet that if the two men were alone, there’d be words exchanged.

“Have you thought about a name?” Beatrice asked, nodding towards the baby. “Will you name him after Theodore?”

Anna chuckled. “I should say not. I always think that children should have their own names—not simply borrow their parents’ names—and if he is to be named after anyone, it should be me . I am the one who gave birth to him, after all.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Theodore remarked with a grin, leaning forward and kissing her temple. “I’m not sure we’ve decided on a name quite yet.”

Beatrice nodded, shifting from foot to foot. They hadn’t been offered seats or tea. Not that she was offended, of course—her dearest friend had just given birth, after all—but it seemed suddenly that they were intruding on a very private moment.

As if reading her thoughts, Stephen spoke up.

“We should leave you both—the three of you, I should say—to rest and bond,” he said, smiling. “Gifts and well-wishes will arrive, I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” Anna and Theodore said at once, still staring at their baby, transfixed.

Kitty was there, too, but she was uncharacteristically quiet. She sat in her nurse’s arms, staring at her new baby brother, fascinated. Anna smiled at her oldest child, reaching out to touch her cheek.

“If you want to sit next to me, Kitty, you can hold your new brother. Would you like that?”

Kitty nodded, squirming her way onto the bed. Carefully, with a parent on either side of her, the swaddled newborn was eased into Kitty’s arms. The baby stared up at her, serious and wide-eyed.

A smile spread across Kitty’s face.

“We could call him Harry!” she suggested, beaming up at her parents. “Or Piper.”

“Piper?” Theodore laughed. “Is that another name from a book? Anna, have you been reading novels to our daughter again?”

“I certainly have.” Anna chuckled, smoothing Kitty’s hair back from her forehead. “I’m glad you came, Beatty,” she added. “I wish you could have been here during the birth. Can you believe it, Theo insisted on being in the room, along with the midwife? The woman was quite scandalized, I think.”

“Enough of that, I think,” Stephen remarked. “Come, wife.”

Blinking dazedly, Beatrice allowed herself to be led out of the room, leaving her friend behind to her new life.

“You’re worryingly quiet,” Stephen said.

Beatrice, who had been staring out the window in silence for the entirety of the journey, dragged her gaze over to him.

Her husband sat in the opposite seat, one leg folded elegantly over the other, and he was watching her.

“I’m just thinking,” she responded, which seemed suitably vague.

“Goodness. And to what conclusion have you come?”

She sighed. “Can’t my thoughts stay private? It’s bad enough that you’re coming to stay here…”

“Not coming to stay,” he interrupted. “Coming home. It’s not as if I plan to share your bed, so don’t fret.”

She snorted. “I should think not. I would not wish to lie with Mr. Blackheart, thank you very much.”

“That’s Duke Blackheart to you, dear.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, heavens.”

“I shan’t bother you, I promise. However, since you and I both have the day free—while the servants clean up that hellish mess in the house—I suggest we go out together. To silence those scandal sheets that say you are a despised and neglected wife.”

She glanced sharply at him.

Beatrice had regretted telling Stephen what she had felt in those early days when all the papers seemed to be laughing at her and her absent husband. It was just her luck that he’d remembered it so clearly.

“That’s not necessary,” she responded crisply, hoping she sounded bored and nonchalant.

“I think it is. It is your birthday, after all. Look, we are nearly home. Go on in and get dressed, and we’ll go out. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

She eyed him uncertainly. The simplest thing to do would be to tell him no, tell him that she was tired and had things to do, and that she would take herself back to her room to rest.

His room, actually, she reminded herself uneasily.

It had been silly to take Stephen’s room, but somehow that place just seemed comfortable, and it had much more light than the one Mouse had showed her to.

Why did he have to come back? I was doing just fine without him.

But really, what else will I do but sit around and nurse a headache all day?

“Oh, very well,” she heard herself say, with a very bad grace.

“Excellent,” Stephen responded, fidgeting with the tips of his gloves. “Since I doubt our reputations will recover from arriving in a hired cab, I shall chase down one of our carriages, and possibly a coachman to go with it.”

She eyed him uneasily.

Why is my heart pounding? Why is that awful fluttering in my chest again? Oh, dash the man!

I really was doing fine. And now here he is, come to steal my peace of mind and ruin everything again.

As if reading her thoughts, Stephen glanced her way, his eyes piercing and mesmerizing. Beatrice found herself trapped for an instant, breathless and yearning for something she could not even properly name.

The kiss replayed in her head, again and again. The last one, when he’d kissed her without a warning, without an explanation, without an apology for how he’d made her feel, for how he’d dredged up emotions like hot coals in her chest.

Giving her head a tight little shake, Beatrice tried desperately to think about something else, anything else, to ease the tight ache in her gut, the pulsing between her legs.

With impeccable timing, the coach rattled to a halt outside their home, allowing Beatrice to fling open the door and stumble out, suddenly keen to escape the too-warm interior.

“We leave in one hour!” Stephen called after her as she hurried towards the house. “Don’t be late! And wear something pretty—we’re going to give Society something else to talk about, mark my words!”

Beatrice eyed her reflection in the mirror critically.

It seemed that after they had left for Anna and Theo’s home, Mouse had galvanized the remaining servants into a semblance of order, getting the house cleaned up.

A flash of irritation pulsed through her.

I gave them the day off . Who is he to come home and countermand my orders?

Perhaps she had been reckless, and it would have been better to get the servants to clean the house before taking a day off so that they didn’t have to spend the entire day stepping around piles of broken glass and spreading stains of spilled drinks. Beatrice closed her eyes momentarily, trying not to think about Stephen’s horror and shock when he first stepped into the house.

She had chosen one of her new gowns—she had plenty of money to commission new clothes, after all—and hoped it would be suitable for wherever they were going.

The gown was a deep, vivid green, a rather daring color for today’s fashions, made of velvet and tightly fitted around the waist and bust. The neckline skimmed her shoulders, and her neck was highlighted by a simple silver necklace. Matching silver flowers glittered in her hair, and there was a silver bracelet on her wrist. The skirts of the gown were simply cut, without any of the ruches that were so fashionable at the moment.

The gown had been relatively inexpensive, due to its cut, even with the fine velvet fabric. Beatrice couldn’t decide what had drawn her to that style, but it certainly suited her, and there was a little thrill of delight in knowing that few women, if any, would be wearing a gown like hers.

Outside, the day was creeping towards night. The evening was resolutely here. She wasn’t entirely sure how long she had slept after breakfast, but after the business of seeing Anna and then dressing, it seemed that the time had flown by in a blink. It would be dark soon, and a cold night, too.

She shot her reflection one last inquisitive stare as the clock chimed the hour behind her.

Enough dilly-dallying . Time to go.

Heart thudding, she left her room.

Downstairs, a footman was sweeping up a broken wineglass from near the door, away from the dried red wine stain on the ground, ostensibly from where the glass had fallen and shattered. Beatrice bit back her guilt.

We really should have cleaned that up.

Stephen was standing near the door, his back turned, adjusting his cravat in front of the hallway mirror.

“Ready?” he said, not turning around.

“As I’ll ever be,” Beatrice murmured, reaching the foot of the stairs. “If you don’t like my dress, please keep it to yourself, by the way.”

“Why would I not like your…” Stephen began, turning around.

As soon as his gaze landed on her, his voice died down. Was it her imagination, or did his eyes bulge out of his head?

The silence formed a solid block between them, and Beatrice found her heart thumping inside her chest as if it were trying to get out.

“… dress,” Stephen finished lamely. “That’s not one of the gowns I bought for you before we got married.”

She swallowed. “Well, no. I bought it myself. It’s not exactly fashionable , but I do like it very much, and I think it suits me.”

Stephen snapped his gaze back up to her face and cleared his throat abruptly. “Yes. Yes, it does suit you. It’s a nice dress. Now, shall we go?”

She nodded, not sure where the flutter of nerves in her stomach had come from.

Stephen opened the door, revealing their largest, nicest carriage waiting outside.

There was nothing for Beatrice to do but snatch up her shawl and follow him, wondering where on earth the night was going to take them.

Either way, she realized with a sinking heart that she could not wait to find out.

“ Almack’s ?” she yelped, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. “We’re going to Almack’s ? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Stephen grinned at her. “Haven’t you been there before?”

“Of course I have, but not in… not in a gown like this one! You know how strict Almack’s patrons are about wearing the proper attire.”

She fingered the low neckline of her gown nervously. Stephen glanced down, his eyes following the movement.

“You worry too much,” he remarked. “Why, do you think we’ll be banned?”

“People have been banned from Almack’s for less.”

“Certainly they have, but those people are not the Duke and Duchess of Blackwood. Come, the music has started already. Are you coming or not?”

“I hope you don’t intend to entertain your opera singers at our home,” Beatrice said suddenly, staring out the window. “No matter what we agreed upon.”

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable in the dark. “Do you think that’s what I’ve been doing, then? In France? Entertaining dancers and opera singers?”

She met his eyes squarely. “Wasn’t that what you were doing?”

He only smiled in response. “I think that what I was doing is my own business, but I assure you that there were fewer opera singers than you can imagine.”

“Just one, then?”

He said nothing, and Beatrice frowned, feeling unsettled for reasons she could not explain.

He climbed out of the carriage first and then twisted around to look expectantly at her, his hand outstretched. Beatrice stared at him, her heart thumping.

In the weak lamplight, mixed with silvery moonlight, Stephen seemed younger than before, his hair ruffled in the breeze, his eyes wide and innocent.

No, not innocent. Not even the pure silver glow of the moon could make Duke Blackheart look innocent.

Not devilish, though. Something in between. Something intriguing, something vulnerable.

He’s so handsome , Beatrice mused silently, her heart sinking.

Why did he kiss me? Why can’t he amuse himself with his opera singers and leave me alone?

And now here they were, and he was looking up at her so expectantly.

He had taken off his gloves, Beatrice noticed with a jolt of surprise.

“Very well,” she said at last, feeling as though she were making decisions from outside of her body.

She took his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against her thin, thin gloves.

His smile widened. Devilish.

“Shall we go, then, Duchess?”

“Everybody is looking at us,” Beatrice whispered, clinging to Stephen’s arm a little more desperately than she would have liked. “Oh, I shouldn’t have worn this gown to Almack’s!”

Ladies were staring at her with expressions ranging between disgust and curiosity, their eyes raking over her gown, taking in every detail of her hairstyle. Gentlemen’s gazes dropped to her decolletage almost immediately, lingering on her collarbones, her exposed neck, and the silver necklace glittering there.

Stephen chuckled beside her. “You think they disapprove?”

“Certainly, they do.”

He shook his head. “Some do, I’m sure, but many of them feel differently. Now, I would be willing to bet that in a week or two, we shall start to see ladies—especially fuller-figured ladies—wearing simple, sleek velvet gowns in bold colors. Do you think you would like to see that?”

Beatrice bit her lip, glancing up at him. “Are you trying to say that they will be imitating me?”

He squinted down at her, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Do you think you are worth imitating, my dear?”

There was no chance to say anything in response because a group of acquaintances hailed them, and the chaos of conversation had to go on above the chatter and music in the background.

The conversation did not last long, as the music took a more definitive turn, and couples began to drift towards the ballroom.

Beatrice was looking around to find a comfortable seat near the wall when Stephen tapped her elbow, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Would you like to dance, Duchess?”

His voice, low and full of promise, sent shivers down her spine.

“Could you bring yourself to dance with Duke Blackheart?” he added, giving her a wry smile.

She raised her eyebrows. “You can be Duke Blackheart with your companions and enemies, Your Grace . But you had better be Stephen with me.”

Surprise flickered across his face, just for a moment. “Is that your answer, then? You’d dance with Stephen ?”

“I suppose so,” she managed.

Grinning, Stephen whisked her towards the dance floor.

The dance was, naturally, a waltz.

“I… I don’t waltz very often,” Beatrice found herself saying.

“Why not?”

“I am rather ungainly.”

That was not exactly the truth. Really, Beatrice had always felt uncomfortable, with her short, plump figure pressed up against some lanky gentleman.

She might have known that things would be different with Stephen. He peered down at her, his eyes piercing, the half-smile on his lips sending another shiver down her spine, goosebumps breaking all over her skin. His fingertips—gloveless again!—kept finding her shoulders, the touch making her shudder pleasurably.

Still a dream? she wondered dazedly.

“Do you see how they are all looking at you?” he murmured.

She glanced around as best as she could, taking in the blur of faces, many of them directed her way. “They are probably shocked.”

“Do you insist on thinking that you are shocking, my dear? I think perhaps you have no idea of the effect you have on gentlemen.”

She flinched. “Are you mocking me? I’m a notorious spinster.”

“You intimidate them.”

“Or I disgust them.”

The dance slowed, just for a moment. Beatrice did not notice the man approaching them until he was at their side, effectively stopping them both in place.

Beatrice recognized the gentleman’s face but not his name. He seemed pleasant enough, with a round, plain-featured face and hungry eyes.

“Would you mind, Your Grace?” he asked, gesturing towards her.

It took Beatrice a moment to realize what he was asking.

He wants to cut in. He wants to dance with me.

She blinked, baffled, and glanced up at Stephen.

The smile still lingered on his lips, but it had turned hard, his eyes steely. The gentleman’s pleasant expression began to fade away, and he shifted nervously.

“I think not,” Stephen purred, the smile on his face not matching the look in his eyes. “The Duchess and I are just stepping out.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. I am sorry,” the man gabbled, backing away.

Seizing Beatrice’s arm, Stephen led her away from the dancefloor and into the crowd.

“Where are we going?” she whispered. “Why are we leaving?”

“Because,” he said, his voice almost strained, “if gentlemen keep looking at you the way they are now, I will not be responsible for my actions, Duchess .”