Marriage Deal with the Devilish Duke Read online

  ‘I see.’

  ‘This should not have fallen to you. It is my responsibility to see to him at night. His governess needs rest. She is in a room far from him for that reason, after her day she is tired.’

  ‘I do not mind,’ she said.

  ‘Often, when he is here, His Grace sees to him. He must be in his study still.’

  As far as she could tell, His Grace was only ever in his study.

  She was relieved to hear he did see to his son. She had yet to see the two of them together.

  ‘It is all right,’ she said, stroking the boy’s head. She picked him up, his form limp. And she returned him to his bed. ‘Does he usually sleep after this?’

  ‘Yes. There may be another episode, but typically one is all he will have on a difficult night.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. But I will listen for him.’

  ‘If you insist, Your Grace,’ Mrs Brown said, clearly at her limit with how much she was willing to argue with the new Duchess.

  ‘Yes.’

  She was filled with a sense of purpose. For she had comforted the boy. And she could comfort the boy. She might not ever be a wife to Briggs, not truly. But she could be a mother to this boy. Because she had understood him in that moment. It might be an entirely different circumstance, and entirely different...everything, but she understood. On a deep, profound level. For he lived in a space that people could not reach him in, and she had spent much of her childhood doing the same.

  Being ill. Being shut up inside.

  Tonight had been like witnessing a person who was shut up inside themselves. She knew what that was like as well.

  As she had said. A spirit that was held back by the body she was in.

  She waited a while, and then she returned to her room, her heart rate slowing. And as she drifted off to sleep, she made a plan. A plan for the next day. She would not simply be a ward. She was going to take charge of her life. She was going to find out what she could do. What she wanted.

  And she would begin with William.

  * * *

  The next morning at breakfast time, she went in search of the child.

  She found him in the nursery with his governess, sitting at a small table and looking furious.

  ‘William...’ The woman was saying his name in a cajoling manner.

  ‘Good morning,’ Beatrice said, coming into the room.

  The boy did not look at her. ‘William,’ she said, saying his name purposefully. ‘Good morning.’

  He looked up in her direction. Though his eyes did not meet hers. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘You had a difficult sleep last night,’ she said.

  His expression went black and he turned his head away. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Did your father speak to you about the fact he was getting married?’

  The boy did not answer.

  ‘Did your father tell you that he was getting married?’ She restated the question.

  The boy nodded, his head still angled away from her.

  ‘I’m his wife. I am your stepmother. You may call me Beatrice,’ she said.

  He lowered his head, his focus back on his breakfast.

  Beatrice moved to him, and sat down. He looked up, startled by her presence. His eyes connected with hers for a moment before darting away. It was as if it was difficult for him to look straight at her.

  ‘I like to swing,’ she said, feeling as if there had to be a way to capture his interest. ‘I like to read. And I like to hide in the garden. What do you like?’

  He didn’t say a thing. But he stood up and went to his bedside table and opened a drawer, pulling out a small box. He opened it and held it out to her.

  Inside was a small collection of cards, with pictures on them.

  ‘This is the Colosseum,’ he said. ‘It is in Rome. It was inaugurated in AD 80. This is the Pantheon,’ he said, showing her the next card.

  He continued showing her sites from all over Europe, with a special focus on those found in Italy. His knowledge was breathtaking. He knew dates and locations, precise details. And he seemed perfectly happy to give her each and every one.

  ‘Do you wish to go to these places?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ the boy answered.

  ‘So, this is a box of your dreams,’ she said, smiling.

  His brow creased. ‘It is a box of cards.’

  He looked so like his father then. And the realisation sent a strange sort of twist through Beatrice’s midsection. He was part of Briggs. It was undeniable. She could see it so clearly now.

  ‘Well, they are very nice cards,’ she said.

  She sat with the boy, who said nothing more voluntarily throughout his breakfast. His governess stood in the corner, watching her with hard interest. It was not entirely accepting, but she had a feeling that the woman was protective of the boy. Beatrice herself had no real experience with children, so she did not know what she should expect of the child. He seemed different, though. That much she knew.

  She wondered if she did. For she had certainly not spent much time in the company of those who were not her family. She had her few very close friends, and that was all. She did not spend time out in broader society.

  ‘William,’ she said. ‘I should like to see the grounds today. Remember how I told you I like gardens?’

  ‘To hide,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. But, also to walk in them. Is there a spot in the garden here that you favour best?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘I see.’ She tried to think of another way to say it. ‘Is there a place that is interesting? Where you can tell me about the flowers?’

  Something in his expression changed. ‘Yes. There is a garden and it has statues. I like that spot best. It reminds me of Rome.’

  ‘Excellent. Shall you and I take a picnic for our lunch this afternoon?’

  ‘I do not eat outside,’ he said.

  ‘Well, perhaps you might try?’

  ‘I do not eat outside.’

  ‘Should you like to eat outside?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘All right. Then we shall try it. And if you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it.’

  He looked thoughtful about this. ‘All right.’

  ‘Then you and I shall see each other this afternoon.’

  She stood and walked out of the nursery, and heard the footsteps of his governess behind.

  ‘Master William does not like interruptions to his schedule,’ she said.

  ‘No, I imagine he does not. But I would like to begin a new schedule. I would like to spend time with him.’

  Beatrice had no experience of running a household, but she had watched her brother and her mother do it in decent fashion for a number of years. She did not feel fully confident in her position, but one thing she did feel confident in was her connection to the boy. It was loneliness. It echoed inside her, and she knew that it echoed inside him as well. She knew that he felt the same sort of isolation that she did. It did not matter if they were the same, or different, those feelings she knew.

  And she would not rattle around this house doing nothing. She could not do that.

  ‘Perhaps we should speak to His Grace.’

  ‘You are welcome to speak to His Grace,’ Beatrice said. ‘I am not sure where he is. I am not sure what his routine is. I only know that I must make my own. And I should like it to include William.’

  The governess was wary. ‘William can be a difficult child,’ she said.

  ‘I’m continually warned of this,’ she said. ‘I held him last night when he was overtaken by terror in his sleep. I understand. When I arrived he was quite upset. But I do not think that makes him difficult.’

  ‘I love him,’ his governess said. ‘That is not what I mean.’

  ‘I be
lieve you,’ she said. ‘And I wish for you to believe me. I do not wish to toy with this child. But I have married His Grace, and I... I must find a reason to be here.’ She had not meant to say that. Had not meant to expose herself in such a fashion. Or their marriage. For it was nobody’s business that it was not a true union.

  Though they had forgone the traditional honeymoon trip. And indeed any sort of honeymoon phase.

  She did not know how they might express that, but she had a feeling it was not as they had been these past days.

  ‘I want to be a mother to this boy.’

  ‘Forgive me, Your Grace,’ the governess said. ‘His own mother did not care for him, and I am quite protective.’

  Her stomach went tight. ‘My father did not care for me,’ she said. ‘I was blessed to have a wonderful mother, however. But even so, I know what it is to have a parent who does not care. And to lose that parent quite early. I do not wish to cause him harm. And I promise you that should he become upset, I will bring him to you.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace. What am I to do with my time?’

  ‘Whatever you wish,’ Beatrice said. ‘Take some time to rest. Or read.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t...’

  ‘Do not worry.’

  Beatrice went to the kitchen and asked about having a picnic compiled for herself and Master William. She was met with slightly quizzical expressions, but nobody openly questioned her. And she spent the next hour considering what she might wear out in the garden.

  While she was being dressed, she took a moment to ponder the absurdity of it all.

  She had been a spectator in her own life for a great many years. Subject to the commands or the whims of those in authority over her. Even if they did love her. And here she was, taking part in running a household, caring for a child. She was deeply surprised and pleased by all of it and she might be confused about everything with Briggs, but it didn’t matter. She had not had any of this a week ago. Not this home, not this child. Not the sense of purpose. Husband was inconsequential. And she did not have unlimited freedom, it was true. But she had more freedom. Or rather... A different sort of freedom. A different sort of life. It might not be an adventure around Europe, no grand tour. But she had taken a small one sitting on the floor with William this morning.

  And it was not mouldering away in the country. Well, she supposed she was mouldering away in the country, but it was a different part of the country. So, there was that to be cheerful about.

  * * *

  In the end, she was deeply satisfied by the blue dress that her lady’s maid put her in. It was a light airy fabric, and she attired herself in a fichu to cover the swells of her bosom. It was not ballroom, after all.

  But she looked... Entirely like the Duchess of the house, and not like the child she had felt like only a week before. She was a woman. As close to making her own decisions as she possibly could be, at least, to the best of her knowledge.

  * * *

  Time had passed quickly, and before she knew it was time to collect William.

  The boy that she found stubbornly sitting in the corner of his room, was not quite the amiable chap she had met this morning.

  His dark head was lowered, and his face was fixed into a comical scowl. He had dark-looking circles under his eyes.

  ‘Are you tired?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘He has had a bit of difficulty with lessons today.’

  ‘I sometimes had difficulty with lessons too,’ she said, trying her best to relate to him. She reached down, and tried to take hold of his hand, but he would not rise, and instead, leaned backwards, rooting himself even more firmly to the ground.

  ‘William, I have very nice food in this basket.’

  He did not say anything.

  ‘Shall we put your shoes on?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘I don’t want them.’

  ‘You must have shoes.’

  He only lay down on the floor, not answering her at all.

  ‘I will see to him, Your Grace,’ the governess said.

  ‘No,’ Beatrice said, confused, but determined. ‘William,’ she said, trying to sound stout. ‘I’m going to have a picnic. I will have one here if I must. But I am intent upon eating with you.’

  He rolled to the side, not looking at her.

  She took the blanket that was draped over her arm and spread it out over the floor of the nursery. Right atop the beautiful rug. Then she sat determinedly, placing the basket beside her and beginning to place the food all around them. ‘I am quite hungry.’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Well I am.’

  ‘I don’t like it. I don’t want shoes.’

  ‘If we eat here you don’t have to put on shoes.’

  ‘I don’t want shoes,’ he said.

  ‘I said you did not have to have them.’

  ‘I do not want shoes.’

  She did not know what to make of it. He seemed upset, though not inconsolable. He made his statement about shoes at least four more times before going quiet. As if the idea was firmly rooted in his mind and he required extra time to ensure it had been dealt with.

  Beatrice decided to change her tactics.

  ‘Do you like cheese?’

  The boy did not answer. He was involved in examining a spot on the wallpaper.

  ‘I quite like it,’ she said, firmly, cheerfully.

  She stared at him for a moment and wondered if she had miscalculated, in a fit of arrogance, imagining that she understood him. His loneliness seemed to be something he chose. For he did not look at her. And he did not seem interested in her overtures.

  But maybe he simply didn’t know how.

  ‘William, do you know it is polite to look at someone when they are talking?’

  He turned his head, sharply and only for a moment. And then he went back to staring at the wall. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘You don’t like to look at people?’

  ‘No.’

  She searched herself, trying to sort out the best way forward. ‘What do you like to look at?’

  ‘I already showed you my cards.’

  ‘You did.’

  For her part, she ate some cheese, because it made her feel soothed.

  She heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall, and stilled. It could be a manservant, but it made her think of...

  The door pushed open, and there he was.

  His eyes connected with hers, and he looked momentarily surprised. And then... Angry.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ he asked.

  She expected William to scramble upwards at his father’s presence. But he did not. Instead, he remained as he was, laying with his back to her, facing the wall.

  ‘I’m having a picnic with William,’ she said, smiling determinedly. ‘Would you like to join us, Your Grace?’

  He frowned. Which was a feat as he’d been frowning already, but he managed to do it again. ‘Would I care to join you...in a picnic?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said brightly. ‘I have not seen you these many days.’

  She looked at William, who was kicking his feet idly, but still not looking.

  ‘Good afternoon, William,’ Briggs said. ‘How are you?’

  He didn’t respond to his father.

  Briggs, for his part, did not look perturbed by this at all.

  ‘Don’t you want to say hello to your father?’ Beatrice prompted.

  ‘It is no matter,’ Briggs said. ‘Sometimes William does not feel like saying hello.’

  She was surprised by the easy way that he accepted this.

  Confused, she shuffled over, making more room on the blanket. ‘You want to join us. Surely you’ve not taken your lunch yet?’

  ‘I
have not. But I do not sit on the ground.’

  ‘That is very interesting as William informed me earlier that he does not eat outside.’ She adjusted her seating position on the floor and it made her dress go tight around her hips, which caught his attention more than it should.

  ‘And you told him what?’

  ‘I asked him to try.’ She looked like steel just then.

  His brows lifted. ‘And here you are, eating indoors.’

  ‘Far easier to accomplish than the moving of a large dining table up to this room, don’t you think?’

  ‘You think that you will win with me where you have not won with my son?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Have a picnic.’ It was William’s first acknowledgement of Briggs.

  They both stared at the child. Who looked serious.

  ‘Have a picnic,’ he repeated.

  ‘There,’ she said, smiling up at Briggs. ‘William wishes you to have a picnic.’

  Chapter Seven

  Briggs was... He didn’t know what he was. Of all the things he had expected when he had walked into his son’s room, it had not been to see Beatrice sitting with a determinedly cheerful expression on her face in the middle of a blanket on the floor, eating a picnic.

  Nor did he expect to see William laying on his side, staring at the wall.

  Beatrice might interpret this as insolence, but Briggs knew that it was not. He also knew that if William were unhappy with Beatrice’s presence, he would’ve made it known. He would not simply lie there quietly.

  He had been avoiding her.

  That was the truth. And now that he acknowledged it to himself he felt replete with cowardice, and cowardice was not something he trafficked in. He had told himself that it was for her own good. After all, the conversation in the carriage ride had steered far too close to intimate for what he had decided their marriage would be. But he had also decided that she was his. And he fundamentally could not excuse his neglect of her. Not when her care and keeping was his responsibility.

  What he had not expected was for her to be with William. And he felt... Oddly exposed, and angry about it. At war with the emotions that Beatrice created inside him.