Chapter Twenty-four

“Dratted needle!”

Astrid sucked on the finger that she had pricked for the fourth time, while Mabel shot her a laughing look. It was a Mabel look, full of innuendo and mischief. Astrid laid her embroidery hoop aside. With the amount of times that she’d drawn blood, she would have been better off threading the needle through a piece of scarlet cloth.

“Though I’m usually competent with a needle, I loathe embroidery,” she said, pouring herself a fresh cup of tea.

“It’s good for the spirit.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Yes, if one wants one’s spirit to depart one’s body prematurely from sheer boredom.”

“It’s a feminine accomplishment.”

Astrid darted a look at the older woman, focused studiously on her hoop. She wouldn’t have taken the duchess as someone with a penchant for needlework. It was too…uninteresting for someone of her passions. But perhaps she was wrong. Isobel hated reading, and they were sisters.

“Learning is an accomplishment. Education. Not threading a needle endlessly over a hoop in ridiculous patterns.”

Mabel arched her brows. “So get a book and read, if that pleases you.”

Astrid had tried to read. She really had, but her body had felt too on edge, her mind too busy to concentrate. She had read the same essay a dozen times before giving up. A few days ago, Thane had been called back to Beswick Park…something to do with one of his tenants, he’d said. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone, which meant she and Mabel were on their own for Lady Hammerton’s spring ball that evening. And Isobel’s planned scandal. Perhaps that was why Astrid was so on edge. She worried for her sister.

“Do you know Lady Hammerton well, Aunt Mabel?” she asked. Though Astrid knew that she must, considering it was because of Mabel that Astrid had managed to receive an invitation to the exclusive ball.

“Quite well, dearest. We went to finishing school together.”

“I haven’t seen her or been introduced to her in Town,” Astrid said.

“She’s been in Bath,” Mabel said, her needle flying with small, precise strokes. “Taking the waters there.”

“Her house parties, are they usually sedate?”

Mabel smirked. “You do know me, do you not? Suffice it to say that Eloise is twice the rakehell I am.”

“Rakehells are male,” Astrid pointed out.

“Who says? There are female rakes.”

“They’re called something else,” she said dryly.

“Yes, rakehellions.” Mabel huffed. “Eloise’s parties are nothing more than a buffet selection for her to choose her latest lover. And it is a testament of my fondness for you that I am not in attendance, since I, too, am currently between paramours. Why do you ask?”

“Isobel is planning something.”

Mabel perked up. “I knew that dear girl had a spine! What is she doing?”

“Apparently three of her suitors will be there, including Beaumont, and she intends to cause a scandal to end all scandals, she says.”

The duchess upended her embroidery hoop, sending it flying across the room, and burst into laughter. “Your sister has some big shoes to fill. The scandal to end all scandals went to me nearly thirty years ago when Eloise and I were caught frolicking in the Serpentine at midnight.” She paused with a dramatic flourish. “In our undergarments.”

“You didn’t!” Thirty years ago, Mabel would have been thirty-five, a few years after being widowed.

“We egged each other on terribly. No society rule could bind us.”

“Didn’t the ton shun you?”

“They tried, but I am a duchess. And Eloise a marchioness. After our husbands died, we were untouchable. They deemed us eccentrics and moved on to the next casualty of English superiority.”

Smiling, Astrid grabbed the hoop from where it had rolled and stared at it, horrified. And then Mabel’s earlier concentration suddenly made sense. The lovingly stitched image was not a leaf motif as hers had been. Instead, it was a…phallus. A very large, very detailed specimen, complete with a pair of embroidered testicles.

“Aunt Mabel!” she whispered. “What is this?”

She grinned without apology. “You’re a married woman; surely you know what that is.”

Astrid coughed. “I do, but why would you sew such a thing?”

“I said we had to do needlework,” she answered, taking the hoop, her expression all wide-eyed innocence. “I didn’t say we weren’t allowed to have fun.”

Astrid couldn’t help laughing, her eyes watering. “How many more of these have you done?”

“Oh, scores of them. I’ve made quite a study of it. They’re all different, you know. Long, short, thick, thin, light, dark.”

Astrid choked. “I don’t know.”

Mabel stood and put her stitching away into a closed basket, which she handed to one of the young footmen with a wink. Astrid’s eyes widened with a sneaking suspicion, and then she felt her cheeks burn as she shook her head. Mabel did have good taste, though—he was very handsome. And if her embroidery was anything to go by, well endowed, too.

She smothered a giggle.

“It’s a good thing it’s hard to shock me,” Astrid said as they walked into the hallway. “Otherwise, I would be properly scandalized.”

“That’s one of the reasons why I like you, dear.” Mabel gave her a fond shove. “Now, hurry along; we must make haste if we want to arrive in time for the scandal of the season. Or this month, at least.”

It was early, but Lady Hammerton’s country estate was a couple of hours away by coach. For the evening, Astrid dressed in a deep-midnight-blue gown with silver lace accents and embroidered stars that almost made it look like the night sky. She usually favored lighter colors, but the rich color had been chosen by her husband during the fitting with Madame Pinot. A rope of diamonds had been wound into her hair, and light-gray gloves finished the ensemble.

“You look like a duchess,” Alice breathed.

“Thank you, Alice. You’ve outdone yourself, truly.”

“I only wish the duke could see how beautiful you look.”

Astrid did as well. Perhaps he would be here back from his business at Beswick when she returned. She smiled fondly. Even though he’d been gone only a short while, she missed him. She’d rather be in bed with him than attending a ball, but she had to be there for Isobel. It hurt that he would not be in attendance, but she understood how uncomfortable being in public made him.

A few short hours later, they were off in the Duke of Beswick’s crested coach. The interior of the carriage was plush and sumptuous, but Astrid wasn’t looking forward to the length of the journey. She focused her attention on the duchess opposite, who had chosen to wear a wine-colored velvet gown that made her look twenty years younger. Her amber eyes sparkled with vivacity.

“Planning to break some hearts tonight, Aunt Mabel?” Astrid teased.

“At least one or two.” She reached for a basket at her feet that Astrid had not noticed and pulled out a flask. After taking a sip, she handed it to Astrid. “It’s just a spot of whiskey.”

Taking the flask, Astrid swallowed some of the liquor.

With Mabel’s animated company, the ride passed more quickly than she’d expected. More pleasantly, too, thanks to the whiskey. Astrid blinked as they came to a stop. Perhaps she’d had one too many sips. When they arrived in the gargantuan courtyard, Astrid goggled. Flickering lights were strung everywhere as they walked up the path to the doors, making it all look quite magical.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

Mabel grinned. “This isn’t the half of it. There’ll be entertainments and fireworks—just you wait. Apparently, the Regent himself might put in an appearance.”

Inside, the decor in the massive ballroom rivaled the outside, adorned in billowing panels of white and gold. And it was packed to bursting with every conceivable color. Mabel ushered her down another set of stairs, away from where the majordomo was making announcements of arriving guests, and they entered the ballroom from another entrance.

“We do not need to be announced,” she told Astrid and shepherded her over to where a turbaned woman was surrounded by men vying for her attention. Lady Hammerton, Astrid presumed.

“Eloise, darling,” Mabel said, kissing her old friend, who proceeded to shoo away her admirers and shriek with delight.

“You naughty old bat, missing my house party,” the marchioness scolded. “You’re lucky I even sent you an invitation to the ball.”

Mabel laughed. “I’m here now. Allow me to introduce my nephew’s wife, the Duchess of Beswick.”

Astrid found herself the subject of meticulous attention. “Beswick is a lucky man,” she pronounced and then narrowed her piercing green eyes. “You have a sister.”

“Yes, Lady Isobel.”

“Ah, lovely chit.” Her eyes sparked with recognition as she turned back to Mabel. “She’s the one you wrote me about?”

Astrid frowned. Mabel wrote Lady Hammerton about Isobel?

“Don’t worry—I’ve kept an eye on her as you requested. She has developed a partiality for Lord Roth. Beaumont, however, proved to be another, more complicated matter. Persistent and arrogant, he refused to take no for an answer. I’ve had the servants bar him from entry tonight. A pity, since rumor has it his stamina is—”

“Eloise!” Mabel said.

Astrid blinked and pinned her lip between her teeth. The two of them in their younger years would have terrorized England, she was sure of it. She searched the throng of dancers to see if she could find Isobel, but there were too many people.

“So, the Beast of Beswick,” Lady Hammerton said, causing Astrid’s attention to swivel back, while the duchess was in conversation with a gentleman. “Mabel has been extraordinarily tight-lipped about your marriage. Why did you marry him? We know it wasn’t for his good looks. Was it for his money?”

Astrid sputtered at the woman’s gall. “I have a fortune of my own, I assure you.”

“Beautiful and fiery. So why did you marry a man like Beswick when you could have had your pick of any gentleman with a face like yours?”

“Perhaps like you suggested with Beaumont, his value is elsewhere.”

The sexual inference hung in the air like a gauntlet, and then the marchioness guffawed and gestured to Mabel. “Oh, gracious, I do like her.”

“Have you seen my sister, Lady Hammerton?”

The woman sent her an indulgent smile. “Oh, of course. She went out on the balcony a while ago after her waltz with Roth. Lady Beswick, there’s something else I think you should know that concerns—”

But her host’s voice faded into the background as Astrid’s eyes traced the edge of the ballroom to where the balcony doors stood open. She couldn’t see anything beyond the shadowy evening darkness. What she did see on the other side of the room was the Earl of Beaumont cutting through the crowd despite being barred, his mouth tight, and all the blood left her cheeks in a rush.

Astrid didn’t care about being rude; she set off almost at a run, not waiting to hear what Lady Hammerton said. She debated threading through the middle, but there were too many bodies. Instead she headed for the perimeter. She’d be lucky to make it before Beaumont did something unforgivable and history repeated itself.

By the time she arrived on the northeast corner of the ballroom, huffing for breath, a crowd had already gathered, spearheaded by none other than Lady Bevins and her entire prattling entourage. Beaumont was nowhere in sight, thank goodness. He must have been waylaid, or perhaps he hadn’t known Isobel was outside, unchaperoned, in the marquess’s company.

Astrid strove to see over the heads of the people in her path and almost started barging through when she caught a glimpse of Isobel, her cheeks red and eyes bright, standing in the arms of Lord Roth, who looked similarly disheveled.

“Scandalous!” Lady Bevins shrieked and fanned herself. “I saw the chit in a lascivious embrace with the marquess. Scurrilous, I tell you. Like her sister.”

Astrid froze. But her defense came from an unexpected source.

“Have a care, Lady Bevins,” a deep, familiar voice said that sent shivers through Astrid’s core.

The Duke of Beswick stood just inside the balcony doors, his ruined face shadowed by the brim of a hat. What on earth was he doing here? He hated balls and crowds. And besides, hadn’t he been called back to Beswick Park? Astrid glanced around the room as more people noticed his presence and the whispers mounted.

Astrid was gratified to see Lady Bevins go from red to white as she, too, recognized who had spoken. But then, through the shifting bodies, her eye caught something flash on Isobel’s left hand, caught in between the marquess’s fingers, something that looked suspiciously like a ring, and she forgot the odious woman altogether. By the time her comically sluggish brain matched the wide gold band on Roth’s left hand, her husband was already speaking.

“And since Lady Isobel is now Lady Roth, she may indulge in any displays she feels necessary with her husband. I’ve given my support for the wedding.”

The roar of the crowd felt like thunder in Astrid’s ears until it faded to nothing, and all she could hear was silence as time came to a standstill.

She had to have misheard.

But the swell of guests offering congratulations with lifted glasses filled her vision, offering their toasts and felicitations to the bride and groom. Isobel. Married. Astrid was filled with equal amounts of relief that it wasn’t the Earl of Beaumont and shock that she’d missed her own sister’s wedding. Was this the scandal that Isobel had intended? If so, she had to hand it to her sister…as far as making a statement went, it was remarkable.

“Let me be the first to wish the happy couple all of life’s many blessings,” Lady Hammerton announced from the center of the ballroom, drawing the attention away from the duke, though many prying eyes still remained glued in his direction. “We will celebrate with their first waltz.” With an imperious gesture to the orchestra, the strains of the interrupted waltz resumed.

Astrid took a deep breath and pushed to the place where Beswick remained, half hidden in the shadow of a potted fern, tears in her eyes at her sister’s obvious happiness as she danced with her husband.

“How did you do this?” she whispered, clutching his arm, her brain still spinning with the announcement and the fact that her recalcitrant duke was here. “You went against the Prince Regent? Didn’t Beaumont ask him to overturn the terms of my father’s will?”

“He’ll understand. I’m heading to Carlton House myself to make sure of it,” her husband said, his voice gruff, stepping away so that her hand fell uselessly to her side.

He did not meet her eyes even as he distanced himself. Something was wrong; she could feel the storm brewing in his body, and the fact that he wouldn’t look at her was a stab to the heart, knowing how far they’d come and what they’d each sacrificed to get there.

“How did you do this?” she asked, her heart in her throat.

“It was simply a matter of procuring the license. I spoke with the Archbishop of Canterbury myself. Now you no longer need to worry about Beaumont or your uncle.”

“I…thank you.”

“No thanks needed.”

“Thane,” she said, a familiar sense of dread filling her veins at his remoteness. “Talk to me. What’s the matter?”

“Your sister deserves to be happy,” he said so softly that she had to strain to hear. “As do you.”

“I am happy.”

He looked at her then, and the raw agony visible in his eyes for a single heartbeat before it was shuttered nearly drove her to her knees. “No, Astrid. The truth is you’re settling. You only married me to protect her, not because I was what you wanted. You deserve more. You deserve someone you truly want. Someone you choose without an anvil hanging over your head. I thought I could do this, that I could have you, but I can’t.”

His neutral words were like daggers.

“I don’t understand. I thought we were beyond this. We agreed in your study to give us a chance.”

“We made a mistake,” he rasped. “I made a mistake. Look at Roth and your sister—that’s what marriage should look like. The beauty gets the prince. That’s how this tale should end.”

“This isn’t a fairy tale, Thane. This is real life.”

“Exactly.”

Astrid gasped at the sudden, acute pain in her chest. Didn’t the daft man understand? He was the only one for her. She didn’t want a prince; she never had. No, she wanted the man who made her laugh, who challenged her intelligence, who matched her on every fundamental level.

She was aware of their avid audience, though she couldn’t begin to focus on any of them. The only one who had her attention was the man who was intent on smashing her heart into pieces. “Why are you doing this, Thane?”

“Because what we have isn’t real, Astrid. You’ve become infatuated with a man who was little more than your jailor, and no matter how much we pretend, we cannot argue how this all began. I release you from our bargain.”

She stared at him. At his overt lies. Did he truly believe them? “You’re wrong and you know it. You were never my jailor. You never kept me prisoner. I stormed into your life, when you categorically pushed me away. I chose this because it’s what I want.”

“You chose it to save Isobel.”

She faltered. “Well, at first, yes. But, Thane, you know this is so much more than that.”

“I was never meant for marriage. You’re more than I could ever deserve. I mean to petition Parliament for a divorce decree, on account that you were coerced into marriage under false pretenses. You did marry a beast, after all, and no one can fault you for wanting to escape that.”

He growled at the people no longer trying to hide their stares and strode from the room before she could form a reply.

A divorce?

Astrid wanted to rail and scream, but beyond the hurt, deep down a part of her understood his skewed reasoning. The Duke of Beswick had never felt like he deserved her love. He’d saved her sister, and now he thought he was saving her…by letting her go. A divorce was unheard of in the peerage, though one would be granted for a duke, and Thane fully intended for the shame of it to be his. This proud, broken man who shied away from polite society was pushing her away by humbling and humiliating himself.

Her heart clenched.

Oh, Thane.

Astrid pushed through the twittering crowd, ignoring the pitying glances, and caught Mabel’s eye where she stood with Lady Hammerton, her hands pressed to her mouth, eyes brimming with tears. She must have heard, along with half the guests in the ballroom. Astrid fought back her own tears, but she couldn’t afford to become derailed by emotion.

She had to get to the daft man before he rode off to London.

She had to stop him and set him straight.

With a quick wave of farewell to the duchess, Astrid made her way to the front of the enormous ballroom, only to be waylaid by a looming figure. At first, she thought it was her husband, but when he stepped into the light, she groaned.

“What do you want, Beaumont?”

“You did this,” he hissed.

Astrid pinched her lips thin. She’d had enough with men telling her things were her fault, making decisions for her, and trampling all over her. For once, she took a page from the duke’s book and straightened her spine, uncaring of who heard her in the ballroom. This man had silenced her before. Hell if she’d let it happen again.

“No, Beaumont, you did this.”

His brows shot to his hairline, his face going dark. “How dare you?”

She raised her voice, head high. “I dare because of what you did. You coveted a woman who did not want you, and when she did not instantly fall at your feet, you smeared her reputation with lies and tried to destroy her in the eyes of society. But you know what, you lousy excuse for a man? I didn’t let you destroy me. Instead, I found someone who is proud and honorable, who values me for me, who doesn’t treat me like a thing.”

“That disgusting beast?” Beaumont scoffed.

“He’s more of a man than you could ever hope to be,” she said. “I’m proud to be his wife, and I’d rather be married to a beast like him than a swine like you.” The earl’s eyes narrowed with anger, but Astrid wasn’t finished. “Sooner or later, Beaumont, you’ll try to ruin the wrong woman, and you’ll lose everything. But it won’t be me, and it won’t be my sister. So if you have nothing more to say for your sorry self, I’d advise you to get the fuck out of my way!”

“How dare you address me that way, you…you insolent…” he sputtered.

“Duchess,” she said. “The word you’re looking for is duchess.”

Astrid suddenly became aware of the thunderous silence. The music had petered out, and almost every eye was trained on them. She could have heard a pin drop in the ballroom, and then suddenly the sound of slow, measured clapping broke through. Lady Hammerton looked positively beside herself with glee.

“Well said, Lady Beswick. I’ll deal with this ball-crashing miscreant. Now, go save that fool husband of yours.”

Despite a few disapproving glances, there were quite a few gratified ones, including her sister and Aunt Mabel, as well as a number of other ladies who were enjoying Beaumont’s humiliation with undisguised relish. They might live in a man’s world, but she had a voice, and she wasn’t going to be afraid to use it. Not anymore. Astrid grinned, savoring the moment, but only for a second.

After all, she had a duke to rescue.