Chapter 2

A Compromising Situation

Beatrice took a deep breath, plastering a polite smile on her face, and stepped forward to curtsy before the Baron.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lord,” Beatrice said as she curtsied again.

“It’s a pleasure for me, too,” the Baron replied. “Come here and let me take a look at you.”

Beatrice looked back to her father, and he raised his eyebrows just a little, silently ordering her to do as the Baron asked. She stepped toward the Baron, noticing him licking his lips—he did not look at her lustfully; his lips were dry and needed some lubrication.

He took her by the chin and moved her head side to side, as if checking a pedigree horse, then nodded.

Would he have rejected me if I were not up to his liking?

Beatrice could only hope. It didn’t matter now—the Baron had taken possession of his prized filly, and it would soon become official. She reminded herself of what was at stake. The Baron was a lot older than she had expected, and he was not handsome by any means, but she had known of other marriages where the husband and wife barely spent time together, so age and looks did not matter entirely. This was for her father—she could look past the superficial and do right by him.

It might be unpleasant to start a family, but she would have children and love them. Her mother and father had an arranged marriage, so why not her?

The Baron went to Phineas and clapped him on the shoulder, muttering something to him. Beatrice looked across the room to where they had left her mother, only to spot the horrified look on Letitia’s face. Her expression made it obvious that she had not met the Baron before, which weakened Beatrice’s resolve.

“Beatrice, now that you have been introduced to Lord Mutton, he would like to spend some time with you. There might not be another opportunity for the two of you to talk before the wedding.”

“When is the wedding?” Beatrice blurted out.

“We can worry about that later,” her father said. “Lord Mutton wishes for a speedy resolution to this courtship.”

Beatrice nodded, trying not to show her true feelings.

“Talk with him, Beatrice, and listen to what he has to say. This will be a favorable match,” Phineas urged.

Beatrice nodded again, wishing she could break down in tears. She looked at her father and could not be sure if she was projecting her feelings or if his resolve was breaking too. For a moment, she thought he might call the entire thing off. Instead, he took her hand and squeezed it, nodded, and left to rejoin Letitia.

Beatrice took a few seconds—her freedom was measured in seconds instead of minutes now. She schooled her features into her most pleasant expression and turned to face the Baron. When she looked at him from certain angles, he did not look all that old.

He licked his lips again, a habit of his that she would have to get used to. Moments ago, she had mistaken the fine gentleman for the Baron when he entered, and her thoughts quickly went back to her wedding night and the kiss that would come after the ceremony. She did not want to think about it, but her treacherous mind kept wondering whether Lord Mutton’s lips would feel dry when they kissed.

“My Lord, I—” Beatrice started.

“I did not ask you a question,” the Baron interrupted. “That is the first thing you must learn, now that we’re getting married soon. I have been informed you like to talk a little too much, and that is unbecoming of a woman. You can leave the talking to me, and that will benefit both of us.”

When she got going, Beatrice knew she could talk a lot, and she had a million things she wished to say, but she was so gobsmacked by the Baron’s comment that she lost the use of her tongue. It gave her the precious seconds to remember why she was doing all of this.

“We will be wed within the month, and you will find me to be a traditional man with traditional values. If you act suitably, I shall take care of you. I don’t ask for much in life—a chunk of meat for supper, a cup of ale before bed, and peace and quiet at night to read. I was assured you would be capable of this.”

Beatrice thought of his first command, and she remained silent, nodding politely.

“Good,” the Baron uttered. “You will do as I ask in the manor, and I don’t see the need for formal engagements and events—they are often the Devil’s work. I only came here tonight to meet you, but I find when men and women drink and dance together, they get funny ideas in their heads, and women are quite unable to control themselves at the best of times. They so often need strong men to guide them.”

Beatrice breathed evenly through her nose as she listened to the Baron. She had feared this moment ever since her father had informed her of a match, but it was so much worse than she could have possibly imagined.

“We will have three children,” the Baron continued. “If the first child is not a boy, we will have another child until I have an heir. I am not getting any younger, and I shall need someone to inherit my title. I hope you will be able to give me that?”

He stared at her expectantly.

“I am not barren,” Beatrice muttered, hoping a small joke would break the tension.

It did not.

“Good.” The Baron nodded. “Now that the official business is out of the way, we can move on to pleasantries. Give me your hand.”

Beatrice did not want to, but she found herself reaching out her hand for the Baron to take. Lord Mutton’s hands shook in gleeful expectation as he took her hand in his. She expected his hands to be warm and clammy, but they were cold. His entire body trembled happily as he held her hand, and she imagined he had not touched a woman in some time—if ever.

She knew she could not lie in the same bed as this man, or kiss his dry lips, or let his hands touch her body, or engage in the act that would create children. She knew she could not marry him, and from her mother’s expression, Letitia felt the same. Beatrice knew all of this, but at the same time, she knew she was bound to this arrangement.

That drove her to be compliant, but more than that was the thought of Hannah taking her place if she did escape the marriage. Not that escape was possible. She could not run again. If there were another way out, she would take it, but it was a dream.

“You are a fine woman,” the Baron said. “You will do very nicely for what I have in mind. Go and fetch me a drink, and we shall stand together for a time before I have to leave.”

Beatrice nodded. Perhaps she could become talkative or make a fuss and show just how much trouble she would be, but she did not know if that would make a difference. She did not know Lord Mutton very well, but she imagined he would ensure her compliance if he did not immediately get it, and that was a far worse fate.

She left the Baron, happy to have a few minutes to herself, and went to get him a drink. She took the longest possible route to get to the refreshments table and realized when she got there that she had not asked what he would like. Cognac would be a safe choice.

“Beatrice.”

Her name didn’t register for a moment, but when she finally turned around, she found Hannah standing before her. Beatrice smiled, happy to see a familiar face, even though it had only been minutes since her father had left her with the Baron.

“You are miserable,” Hannah noted.

“What?” Beatrice muttered.

“No one else can see it, but I can,” Hannah commented. “You try to hide it, but I can see it in your eyes. You are miserable—no wonder, seeing the man Father has chosen for you to marry. I did not expect him to be so old or horrible. He has an air about him.” She shivered.

“He is far worse when you speak to him,” Beatrice said. “I can’t marry him.”

“Then don’t,” Hannah suggested.

“That’s easy to say but much harder to do. I already feel guilt for what I let Charlotte endure, and I made a promise to Father—I can’t risk the same happening to you.”

“It won’t happen to me,” Hannah assured her. “Father has spoken at length about potential matches and taking time to consider the right one, and he won’t rush me into marriage for any reason. He has spoken a lot about you, too, Beatrice. You are not promised to the Baron as you were to the Duke of Hayward. He is merely the first gentleman that Father could find who was looking for a wife and had some wealth and business prospects. He does not care about the Baron, only about you getting married as soon as possible.”

“You can’t be suggesting that I run away again. I shall not do that to Father. And have you heard what they are calling me? If I run again, I will forever be known as The Runaway Bride, and no one will marry me. I can’t do that to Father.”

“You shan’t have to,” Hannah said.

Beatrice picked up the glass of cognac from the tray and glanced over at the Baron, who was watching her from far across the room. She could not see the direction he was looking, but she felt his eyes raking over her body. It was her turn to shiver.

“I know that look, Hannah. What do you have up your sleeve?”

Beatrice didn’t want to cause any more trouble for her family, but this was a crisis. A small amount of trouble might be worth avoiding a lifetime of unhappiness.

“Father wants you to marry, so that is all you have to do,” Hannah said.

“I fail to see how this helps my situation,” Beatrice huffed.

“He does not care who you marry, only that you do. So, all you have to do is find another man—a better one.”

“You do realize that I have been promised to the Baron. It is too late for that. If I had known Father would match me with him, I might have explored other options, but?—”

“You really do talk too much sometimes.” Hannah tutted. “There are other ways to get married quickly.”

She stared at her older sister, and Beatrice finally got the hint.

“You are not suggesting…?”

“Is it not worth a shot? One last hurrah before you have to spend the rest of your life with that awful man?”

“Compromise myself with someone else?” Beatrice hissed in a low voice. “Is there even time? The Baron is intent on us standing together. How would I even go about compromising myself, and with whom?”

“There must be a dozen eligible bachelors at the ball,” Hannah noted. “I shall talk to some of the known gossips and find out potential options. I shall work as quickly as I can.”

There is one man who is very dashing.

Beatrice’s mind went back to the man she had seen before she was introduced to Lord Mutton. She would not mind being married to a man like that.

I have no idea who he is. I must be more practical in my decision.

“Lord Pemberton,” Beatrice blurted out. “I only spoke to him for a short time, but he was very pleasant, and he was gracious enough to save us from Agnes’s questions. I don’t believe he is courting anyone. Would it be rude to do that to our host?”

“He should be glad to have you, Beatrice. You are a fine woman, and he will undoubtedly take a wife sometime soon. You would be doing him a favor.”

Beatrice thought about it, but it did not feel like doing Lord Pemberton a favor. It felt as if she were doing herself a favor. She already felt guilty over her disappearing act, and now she felt more guilty before even going ahead with the plan. Lord Pemberton was gracious, and she would be trapping him in marriage. It did not feel fair.

Life is not fair!

“I need a moment to think,” Beatrice murmured. “Let me consider it, and we shall talk again very soon.”

“I know you don’t like the idea, but I don’t want to see you unhappy for the rest of your life, Beatrice. You do not deserve that.”

Beatrice smiled at her sister before returning to the Baron with his glass of cognac.

“You took far too long. I saw you idly gossiping with your sister. I will not have other women in my house when you come to live with me.” The Baron took the glass from her. “Cognac? I am a brandy man. You have a lot to learn, Lady Beatrice. Now, our sexual relations shall occur once a week, always on a Sunday evening, and if you are pleasured by the time I am, then you are fortunate. Sexual relations are for the man’s pleasure, not the woman’s. The woman’s pleasure is in having a family. Are you listening to me, Lady Beatrice?”

Beatrice was listening, but her mind was wandering too. She thought she might need some time to think about the plan Hannah had suggested, but the Baron had convinced her of the plan’s wisdom. There was no other option—she had to compromise herself with Lord Pemberton and deal with whatever consequences came with that.