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A Kind Lady Defended an Elderly Dowager Being Insulted — Never Knowing She Was the Duke's Mother

A Kind Lady Defended an Elderly Dowager Being Insulted — Never Knowing She Was the Duke's Mother

Chapter 12

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"I am here because my mother required a stage," Leopold said. "She wanted to make a point, and the Ashbornes do not make points quietly.""A point?""Yes." He spun her, the plum silk of her skirt flaring out against his black trousers. "She wanted to demonstrate to London what actual grace looks like. She wanted to humiliate the Finch family for their vulgarity. And, mostly, she wanted to see what you would do when dragged into the light."Beatrice's eyes narrowed. "I am not a performing monkey, Your Grace, nor am I a pawn in your mother's social games.""I know." Leopold's grip on her waist tightened fractionally. "If I thought you were, I wouldn't have asked you to dance. I would have sent you a lovely bouquet of flowers with a polite thank-you note and left you to your precious invisibility."The music swelled, signaling the final bars of the waltz. Leopold slowed their movements, bringing them to a stop near the edge of the floor. He didn't step back immediately; he kept her close for one second longer than necessary."You are angry," he noted, his voice a low murmur meant only for her."I am annoyed," Beatrice corrected, stepping back and dropping into a quick, sharp curtsy. "I do not like being manipulated, even by duchesses.""Good," Leopold said. There was a dangerous, fascinating gleam in his eye now. "Keep that anger, Miss Hastings. You are going to need it."Before Beatrice could ask what he meant, the Duke offered a stiff, formal bow, turned on his heel, and walked away, disappearing into the crowd toward the card rooms.Beatrice stood alone on the edge of the dance floor. She felt exposed, stripped of her armor. She turned to find Louisa and Richard, but before she could take a step, a shadow fell across her path.It was the Dowager Duchess. She had materialized from the crowd, leaning heavily on her cane, the sapphire at her throat glittering violently in the candlelight. She looked at Beatrice, her sharp blue eyes crinkling at the corners."Well done, my dear," Agatha rasped. "You didn't step on his toes once.""Your Grace," Beatrice said, her tone guarded. "Your son informs me I am part of a demonstration."Agatha chuckled, a dusty, dry sound. "My son lacks tact. He thinks everything is a cavalry charge. I apologize if we have overwhelmed you, Beatrice. May I call you Beatrice?""You may call me whatever you wish, Your Grace. It appears you dictate reality in this room."
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A Kind Lady Defended an Elderly Dowager Being Insulted — Never Knowing She Was the Duke's Mother

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