B eatrice was shaking. Victor couldn’t have done that. He knew that she would never marry for anything other than love, and if no one was willing to marry her as she was, so be it. She would simply live her life alone. Her brother knew Beatrice would refuse to speak to him again if he arranged for her to marry someone of his choosing.
Now he was dead, he could do whatever he wanted with his final wishes.
Beatrice shook her head. “I don’t believe you.” Her blood was making her head throb. “Victor would never do that.”
“Well, he did.” Cornwall said with a darker scowl. “And I am carrying out my promise.”
Beatrice shot to her feet. There was no way she would do this. “No. No, I won’t marry you. Never.”
“And why not?”
“Because I don’t love you, and I don’t know you.” Beatrice returned Cornwall’s scowl with one of her own. “I’m not even sure I like you.”
Cornwall’s mouth twitched in a slight smile. “The feeling’s mutual, Miss Turner.”
“Charming!”
“Listen, we don’t have to like each other. I was telling myself I would be forever a bachelor. I was happy to do that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But a duke does need a duchess, and you need stability. Both of us get something out of this.”
Beatrice didn’t see what she would get. She turned away and started folding her brother’s things more vigorously, resisting the urge to pick up something heavy and throw it at the duke. “No,” she said firmly. “I won’t.”
Why wouldn’t he let her be? He just stood there, watching her as if she was a child having a tantrum. Beatrice hated it when people looked at her like that. Whenever she had a voice, anyone who wasn’t her brother rolled their eyes and metaphorically patted her on the head. Beatrice wished she could hit them over the head for patronizing her.
She had been forced into this and Victor wasn’t here to yell at for it.
“Tell me, Miss Turner,” Cornwall said lazily, “What have you got to offer anyone?” He smirked. “Nothing. What have you got to lose? Everything. Marry me and you can have whatever you want.”
Beatrice bit back a growl. There were several things she wanted to say and none of them were very ladylike. She glared at the duke. “This is blackmail,” she spat out. “Victor should’ve told me.”
“I don’t think he wanted you hating him as he died.” Cornwall’s smile had faded, and he looked impatient. “Look, he just wants your welfare looked after. I said I would do it, but it’s only for convenience for both of us, nothing more.”
Beatrice didn’t like it. At all. This was not how she wanted to live her life. Anyone else in her position would have killed to be married to a duke, to become a duchess. But not Beatrice. Not with the strings that came with it.
But he was right. She didn’t have any other choice. It was either this marriage she didn’t want or becoming penniless and practically homeless. Beatrice didn’t fancy the idea of being way below the poverty line. She gritted her teeth and huffed.
“All right. Fine. I’ll marry you. But it’s just for show,” She added, giving Cornwall a warning look, “I don’t want anything out of it.”
The duke nodded once. “That’s good. Because neither do I.”
***
The ceremony had happened in the nearby chapel, quick and emotionless. Beatrice knew she couldn’t expect anything less, but it still hurt to be practically slung around like a piece of meat. The duke had been polite but distant, barely giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek when the priest said he could kiss his bride. And he didn’t touch her more than he absolutely had to.
Beatrice was disliking married life already.
What hurt even more than the awful wedding ceremony was the fact she would have to leave Pencroft. Beatrice had been under the impression she would be staying there with only Cornwall’s title to keep her in money. Cornwall didn’t want her around, and she didn’t want to be around him. Even though she admitted to herself he was a very handsome man, Beatrice didn’t want to be stuck in a room with him.
But the duke had other ideas. He said that she was coming down to his estate in Stanford Park that she would be staying there with him. She would be accompanying him to special occasions, outings, and everything that needed her presence so they could look like a married couple. But that was it. Beatrice didn’t mind attending balls, but she didn’t want to do it under a forced pretence.
She didn’t want to leave Pencroft.
They barely spoke the entire journey down to Stanford Park. Cornwall sat opposite her, either reading or writing notes. Beatrice didn’t bother to ask what he was writing, she didn’t want to talk to him. She tried to read, but the jostling of the carriage was too much for her. Finally, she set the book aside and glowered out the window, huddling in her cloak.
She wanted to go home.
“You need to stop sulking.”
Beatrice looked around. Cornwall had raised his head from his book and was glaring at her. Beatrice glared back. “I’m not sulking.”
“Yes, you are. It’s not very ladylike.”
Beatrice snorted. “Why would you care? You don’t want this marriage any more than I do. And how would you feel if you were told you have to leave the only place you’d known as home?”
“You haven’t lost Pencroft.” Cornwall went back to his book and turned a page. “It belongs to me now. Pencroft can be our holiday home. Where it is in the country, it would be perfect.”
“I don’t want it to be a holiday home.” Beatrice knew she was whining, but she didn’t care. “It’s my home.” She could feel the tears welling up and blinked them away. Crying would not get the man’s sympathy. He had been very cool towards her, and Beatrice wondered how she could have found him attractive in the first place. The man had an ice-cold heart.
“Well, Stanford Park is now your home.” Cornwall didn’t look up. “You’ll have to get used to it.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’m doing this for Victor, not for you. I don’t have to like every step of the way.”
That was when the duke looked up at her. Beatrice shivered as his dark eyes took her in, drifting lazily over her face. A ghost of a smile touched Cornwall’s mouth. “Victor always said you had a fiery spirit.”
“That’s not what I would call it,” Beatrice mumbled, slumping into her seat.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. Finally, just as the sun was starting to lower in the sky, they pulled through a huge set of gates leading to a long, sweeping driveway. Beatrice looked out and saw trees and a huge expanse of grass. Hills were in the distance as were houses that were smaller than her thumbnail.
The carriage pulled up outside the house, a huge building that was practically twice the size of Pencroft. Cornwall was out first and didn’t wait for Beatrice to alight, the footmen helping her out. Then he led her into the house, brushing by the butler and into the foyer. Beatrice ducked inside and gave the middle-aged butler a small smile as he took off her hat and cloak.
A buxom woman in her mid-thirties came into the foyer, walking briskly across the floor. Cornwall turned to her and gave her a nod as the woman dropped into a deep curtsy before rising with not even a wobble.
“This is Mrs Hodgkinson, my housekeeper.” The duke gave Beatrice a vague wave. “This is my wife, Lady Beatrice.”
That sounded so cold. Beatrice watched as Mrs Hodgkinson rose and gave her a warm smile that reached her eyes. “Your Grace. Her rooms have been made up, sir.”
“Thank you.” Cornwall beckoned Beatrice to follow him. “This way.”
Beatrice had no choice but to follow her husband up the sweeping flight of stairs. “My rooms?” she asked.
“Yes.” The duke barely glanced over his shoulder at her. “You have a suite of rooms to yourself on the west side of the house. With the angle you’ve got, you’ll get a spectacular view of the sun setting.”
That sounded nice. But it sounded very clinical. Beatrice gulped. “And your rooms?
”
“On the east side.” The duke stopped and turned to her. Beatrice had to jump sideways to stop herself bumping into him. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean we share a room.”
“No.” Why did that make Beatrice feel deflated? She forced herself to nod and give him a quick smile. “Thank goodness for that.”
“Yes,” Cornwall said faintly.
Then he turned abruptly and hurried up the stairs. Beatrice followed behind, trying to figure out why she was feeling off about living in a completely different part of the house as her husband. They didn’t like each other so why was she so upset?
Chapter 4
Off on the Wrong Foot
C ornwall took her through the house and opened a door near the far end of the hall. Beatrice stepped past him and into a huge room that looked bigger than her bedroom back at Pencroft. A fire with chairs around it was at one end. A huge four-poster bed was up against one wall, and opposite, floor-to-ceiling windows and curtains, which the maids were closing. What little sun was coming through cast an orange glow across the blue carpet.
It was big. Far too big for one person.
“There’s a washroom through there.” Cornwall pointed at one door near the fireplace, then at one near the window. “And that’s through to your own sitting room. I’m guessing that’s where you will spend most of your time. There’s a writing desk and everything in there.”
Beatrice liked to write letters. She liked to draw and have her own space to do it. But this felt like she was being shoved into a gilded cage.
“What do you think?” Cornwall was watching her with a disgruntled look.
Beatrice guessed he was annoyed she wasn’t fawning over everything and gushing about the décor. She wasn’t that type of person. “It’s… nice.” That was as best she could muster.
Cornwall’s look darkened, and he nodded at the two maids standing nearby, Mrs Hodgkinson standing behind them. “You will have the maids here to help you unpack and you can have a bath after the journey. Mrs Hodgkinson, would you help Lady Beatrice?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Cornwall grunted and turned towards the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Beatrice felt a gust of wind hit her in the face as the door slammed shut. She frowned at Mrs Hodgkinson, who had moved to her side as the maids began to open her trunks. “Is he always so cold?”
“Not always.” Mrs Hodgkinson smiled. “But I don’t think he was expecting to come home with a wife.”
Beatrice sagged into a chair. Her legs were feeling weak and her frustrations were making her tired. “I wasn’t expecting to have a duke as a husband,” she said quietly.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Your Grace, how did you and the duke meet?”
Beatrice wasn’t going to lie. Their marriage wouldn’t be the first time the ceremony had been performed for convenience. And if the duke was going to be sulky towards her, Beatrice was not going to hold back. And it would be nice to have a few of the servants on her side and in their good graces.
She told Mrs Hodgkinson everything, including her brother’s promise. The older woman listened with a sympathetic expression. The two young maids were clearly listening as they unpacked, but neither of them said anything. Beatrice didn’t care. Right now, she just wanted to burst into tears. This wasn’t what she wanted for her life.
When she finished, the housekeeper sighed. “Well, that is one thing we can say about the duke with certainty: he is a man of his word. And he is a good man.” She knelt before her new mistress and took her hands. “Just give him time.”
Beatrice snorted. “I don’t think I have much chance of seeing that side. He already hates me because he was forced into this.”
Mrs Hodgkinson smiled and squeezed her hands. “You stick with me, love. I’ll look after you. Now, let’s get you in a bath and get you warm. Your hands are like ice.”
Beatrice wasn’t about to argue with that.
***
He had a wife. And she was under his roof. Cornwall had thought years back that this would happen but with a completely different woman. Now he was stuck with Beatrice Turner.
Pretty as she was, she didn’t hold a candle to Josephine.
Cornwall stomped through to his own suite of rooms and found his valet laying out his bedclothes. Cornwall shut the door and began to undress, kicking off his shoes.
“Thank you, Jasper.”
Jasper Rollins looked up. His valet had been with him since they were both fifteen. Rollins was one of those people who were very good at their job and loyal to their master. His loyalty to Cornwall hadn’t faltered in over a decade.
Cornwall saw him as one of his closest friends outside of Society. Rollins saw the world through different eyes and had a separate insight on the same situations. Maybe he could get a different perspective on this mess.
Rollins frowned when he saw his master’s face. “Are you well, Your Grace?”
“No.” Cornwall tossed his jacket across the back of a chair, tugging at his cravat. “I’m not happy. Sometimes I wish I didn’t keep my word.”
Rollins knew all about the marriage. He had been there as a witness for the ceremony, and then he had come on ahead to get things ready at Stanford Park. The valet had shown himself to be polite and respectful towards Beatrice. Cornwall saw him like that with everyone, but not with the added warmth. Did his valet have an attraction towards his wife?
Why did he suddenly want to punch his friend if that was the case?
“You did the honourable thing and helped out a friend.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Cornwall growled as he tried to untie his cravat. “I feel like I’ve sullied myself.”
Rollins rolled his eyes and approached him, swatting Cornwall’s hands away and deftly untying the cravat. “From what I can tell, Lady Beatrice is a very nice young woman.”
“And she is.” Cornwall sighed. “But she’s not Josephine.” He could concede that. Beatrice was nice, a genuinely nice person. But that didn’t help their situation, not when Cornwall was very reluctant about her living there.
“May I be blunt, Your Grace?”
Cornwall chuckled dryly. “You always are, Jasper.”
“You need to forget about Lady Josephine. You are not married to her. You are married to Lady Beatrice.” Rollins took the cravat and the waistcoat that Cornwall held out to him and he snagged the jacket from the chair. “And it would be respectful of you, at the very least, to treat Lady Beatrice accordingly.”
Cornwall didn’t expect anything less when his valet was blunt. He was the only one who could get away with doing it. “I didn’t think you would be that blunt.”
“I saw the way you two interacted before I left, and you were cold towards her.”
“It’s a marriage of convenience. Who said I had to play nice?”
“That doesn’t mean you have to treat her unkindly.” Rollins shook his head. “Be kind to her, Your Grace, treat her like a friend if you can’t treat her like a wife. You may not like being married, but you shouldn’t need to make it unhappy for either of you.”
He was right. As usual. Cornwall scowled. “I just wish…”
“Don’t wish.” Rollins said sharply. “She’s not Lady Farley. That woman is married now. Focus on your own wife and your own marriage.”
Cornwall watched as Rollins picked up his shoes and headed towards the closet. “You know, if I didn’t value our friendship, I’d have thrown you out for talking to me like that.”
“But you know you need someone to talk sense into you at times,” Rollins responded, opening the closet door. “Just like now. Don’t be mean to Lady Beatrice. I think she could do you some good.”
Cornwall wasn’t so sure about that. But Rollins was right. Being unkind to Beatrice because of something neither of them could control was unfair. He had to make some sort of effort.
After all, he was stuck with her now.
***
Beatrice wa
s grateful when dinner with the duke had finished, and she was allowed to escape. She practically ran out of the room and into the library, sagging onto the window seat as she tried not to cry.
That had been the most awkward dinner she had ever experienced. Beatrice could hardly speak, and it was just the two of them. She had only managed to focus on eating her food, which had been delicious, but Beatrice couldn’t enjoy it as she wanted to. Having the duke sitting opposite her and staring at her had made her lose her appetite.
Why had she been stupid and agreed to this? Because she would have been homeless and with no money. She had had to swallow her pride and marry a man who detested her as much as she disliked him.
This was not going to work at all. Beatrice could tell. Maybe she could ask for her meals to be served in her sitting room so they wouldn’t need to interact. If she kept to her suite for most of the day and not in the same room as her husband for any long period, Beatrice knew she could get through this. With the house as big as it was, they could live together without meeting the other one.
Chapter 5
Reaching a Truce
“B eatrice?”
Or she had thought they could avoid each other. Beatrice looked around and saw Cornwall in the doorway. His forehead was creased in a concerned frown, and he headed across the room towards her.
“Are you well?”
“I’m fine.” Realizing she had tears streaking her cheeks, Beatrice dabbed at her face with a handkerchief and stood hurriedly, clutching the handkerchief between her hands with her eyes at the floor. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to check on you.” Cornwall stopped just out of reach. “You were quiet during dinner.”
“I don’t like dinner talk.”
“Was the food not to your liking?”
Beatrice shook her head. She still couldn’t look up at him. “Mrs Fanning’s food is delicious.”
The duke was silent. Beatrice could tell he was running out of things to say. Then she heard his footsteps moving across the carpet, away from her. For a moment, Beatrice thought he was leaving and glanced up. But Cornwall was moving over to a table set by another window, a chessboard set up and ready to go. He picked up one of the pieces and raised his eyebrows at her.
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