Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

“Pay attention, Miss Rose. You’re all in a daze today.” The duchess sat across from her, the plans for the ball spread out across the tea table between them.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Rosalie murmured, setting aside her teacup.

“I was saying I think I ought to move the Fords to table ten. Then I can move the Oswalds to table four and that will open space for the Chamberlains at my table. Make note of it.”

Rosalie scratched out the note. They’d been at this for two hours, making minute changes to set lists for the dances and moving couples to preserve the order of rank. All the while, Rosalie was distracted.

What is your allure for her, Miss Rose? We must speculate wildly…

“Tomorrow I’ll do a final check with the cooks, the florist, and Mrs. Davies,” the duchess continued.

An affair of the heart, perhaps?

Rosalie pushed his words away. “Shall I attend you, Your Grace?”

“Of course not,” the duchess replied. “You’ll need to be in town with the others to get your dress sized.”

Rosalie nodded, but she hardly heard the words. The duchess was showering Rosalie with blessings—debts and medical expenses paid, new dresses, a position in this house. What Rosalie didn’t understand was why. There had to be a reason beyond citing an old childhood friendship. She didn’t even notice she was standing when she spoke with a voice not quite her own. “Why are you doing this?”

The duchess frowned, peering over the top of her list. “I told you, Miss Rose, you can’t stand at my side dressed in whatever bit of old lace you brought with you—”

“I’m not talking about the dress,” Rosalie snapped. Her heart thundered in her ears. “Why do you want me here?”

The duchess lowered the papers with a huff. “We’ve been through this already—”

“No, not why you want me here,” she said. “Why do you want me here? Me, Rosalie Harrow. What am I to you?”

The duchess’ nostrils flared at being cut off. “Sit down, Miss Harrow, before your remarkable rudeness begins to offend.”

Rosalie sank back onto the sofa. “Your Grace, please don’t leave me in the dark. I must know. Why did you fall out with my mother? What did you do?”

The Duchess’ face was set in a determined scowl. “You dare presume I am at fault?”

She couldn’t back down now. “Yes, Your Grace…and I am not the only one with questions—”

“You’ve been speaking to my sons,” the duchess huffed again. “I thought you had the good sense to keep our conversations private, Miss Harrow. I don’t recollect giving you permission to speak freely as it concerns me.”

“His Grace approached me,” she protested. “And the others in this house hate me. They despise the attention you give me. If I am to weather it, I must know why.”

“Of course, George would rile you up. He’s been nagging me for weeks. James asked at first, but I cowed him with threats of exorbitant spending. He was always easier to manage.” She glanced up, eyes narrowed on Rosalie. “Let me put it to you like this. If I won’t tell my own sons my motives, what makes you think I would ever disclose them to you?”

Rosalie took a steadying breath. “Because I believe you when you say you loved my mother. And I believe the reason you fell out is because she wanted nothing more to do with you…and my mother was not the type to form resentments easily.”

The duchess watched her with pursed lips.

Rosalie leaned forward. “So, I believe you must have done something you regret that resulted in her walking away from you, denying herself the help and comfort of having a duchess for a friend, even when it could have prolonged her life.”

A flicker of emotion passed over the duchess’ face. The duke said guilt was her motivator. Rosalie had to use it. “It was brutal, Your Grace,” she said on a whisper. “Elinor suffered to the very end. The coughs, the fevers, the slow dying of it all. At any moment she could have reached out to you, written to you, begged your help…but she didn’t.”

A single tear slipped down the duchess’ cheek.

“Whatever you did was unforgivable,” Rosalie went on. “Beyond any pains suffered at the hands of my father—and believe me, there were many—your sin was sealed inside her heart. So, I find myself in the awkward position of either respecting my mother’s wishes and having nothing to do with you…or accepting your generosity. To make this decision, you must tell me: what did you do?”

The duchess wiped a finger under her eye. “I was married to the duke for thirty-two years. In all those years I never loved him…and he never loved me. I had his children, I supported this estate, I catered to his politics…I ignored his string of whores.” She paused. “The gambling, the debts, the poor investments…I kept this estate together and I never made a complaint. I made sure the names ‘Corbin’ and ‘Norland’ shined like silver.”

“I’m sure you’ve been essential—”

“And I never complained, because I made my choices, Miss Harrow. I chose advancement over love.”

Rosalie waited, sure the point must be coming soon.

The duchess narrowed her eyes at Rosalie. “I will tell you what you want to know, but it will go no further than the two of us. And once I’ve told you, you will never mention it again. If you ever dare speak it aloud, I will deny the truth of it as I see you to the door.”

Heart fluttering, Rosalie gave a slow nod of agreement.

The duchess sighed. “I never loved the duke, and he never loved me. He was in love with another…with my dearest friend.”

Rosalie’s heart skipped a beat as her eyes went wide.

The duchess knew she was understood. “Yes, the fifth duke was in love with Elinor Greene. They met in London at some society event. Elinor wrote to me and told me of their passion.” She paused. “I arrived in London. I saw their attachment and tried to win him away, but he was besotted.”

Rosalie felt an ominous air fill the room as the duchess went on.

“There was a society ball, and he became deep in his cups. I saw my chance, and I took it.” She cleared her throat. “When we learned of my pregnancy, he proposed. George was born eight months later.”

Rosalie leaned back with an ache in her chest. “And my mother?”

The duchess shifted uncomfortably. “Naturally, it broke her heart. Not only the betrayal of her lover, but the betrayal of her friend. Later I heard reports…from your Aunt Thorpe…she had a stillborn daughter one week after the birth of my George. You see, she was too late to tell the duke she was pregnant…and then too proud to ask him to break his promise to me. After all this time, that is the shame that has burrowed deepest in my heart. She didn’t fight. The duke wasn’t worth it…and neither was I.”

A tear slipped down Rosalie’s cheek. “You were both so young.”

“I knew better.”

“It was a mistake—”

“I knew better,” she snapped. “And my jealousy cost me everything. Cost us everything. I was trapped in a loveless marriage, and she trapped herself too.” She reached distractedly for her cup of tea.

Silence stretched between them.

“So, Miss Harrow, you have a choice to make. Walk away now, and hate me as you should, as your mother did until she died. Or accept my apology and let me care for you in the way I could never care for her. I denied her a chance at this life. I can rectify it with you. I’d like the chance to try.”

Rosalie’s mind raced. The duchess trapped her duke in marriage, breaking Elinor’s heart and resigning her to a life with a husband she hated. Elinor died wretched and alone with nothing but bad debts and broken dreams. Meanwhile, the duchess lived like a queen, surrounded by comforts. But Rosalie saw the truth: the duchess had lived unhappily too. She mentioned infidelity, debts, loneliness. Despite all odds, Rosalie found herself feeling sorry for a duchess. She glanced up, tears in her eyes. “Do you regret what you did?”

“Every day,” the duchess replied.

They were both quiet for another moment.

“Do you think it would have worked between them,” Rosalie whispered at last. “Was their love enough?”

“The fifth duke was entirely his own creature, with his own habits and failings. But they were young and in love…so perhaps.”

“I have no need for pretty words, Your Grace. Please, just tell me.”

The duchess pursed her lips. “No, Miss Rose. Knowing them both as I do…as I did…I doubt very much she would have been happy had they ever married…but she would have been rich,” she added with a sad smile. “And that is its own kind of happiness, I suppose.” She cleared her throat. “But enough of all that. You know my side now and you must do as you see fit.”

Rosalie’s heart was tight in her chest. “I think I need some time, Your Grace. I need…this is a heavy truth to ponder.”

The duchess narrowed her eyes but gave a curt nod. “Fine. Now, let us discuss George. Is he ready to make a sensible decision?”

Rosalie stilled. This felt like a new kind of trap. Gossiping about the other ladies was one thing, but she couldn’t possibly be expected to speak openly about the duke in front of his mother.

As if the duchess saw her thoughts, she huffed. “Come, come, surely the two of us have crossed the ocean of rank in the last ten minutes. Tell me your thoughts, for we cannot afford for this to go wrong. Which lady should my son pick? You’ve spent more time with them, and I need your opinion.”

Rosalie took another breath. “His Grace is a charismatic person. He is an entertainer…and he likes to be entertained. He likes spectacle…”

The duchess narrowed her eyes. “What are you implying?”

“None of the girls interest him,” she replied. “They are wholly unspectacular in his eyes.” She looked back on her own encounters with the lord and stifled a smile. “In fact, I think it possible he has not even bothered to learn our names.”

The duchess scowled. “You think he means to choose none of them.”

“I think if he does choose one, it will be under duress, yes. Perhaps if there was a lady with a little more…excitement. It may mean that Your Grace will have to do away with a few qualifications on your list…perhaps less fortune, or a name that is not quite so polished. But if she had an air about her of mystery or excitability or—”

“Shh, enough.” She stood, the sample menus tipping onto the carpet and scattering. “Oh, you are brilliant. I believe there is still time. I shall send out the invitation at once.” She rushed over to her desk and began scribbling a note. “Fawcett!”

The door opened and a footman entered. “Your Grace?”

“Tell Reed I have an urgent letter to post. It needs to get to London straight away.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” He bowed his way out and the duchess stayed at the desk, finishing her note.

“Shall I go, Your Grace?”

Silence as the duchess continued to scribble. Rosalie watched as she finished with a flourish and set the ink, already preparing wax to seal it.

“Your Grace?” Rosalie tried again.

“Hmm? Yes, off you go,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You’ve been most helpful. This idea is possibly one of my best.”

Rosalie turned towards the door.

“Oh, and Miss Rose…” The duchess’ voice was hard again. “Remember, breathe a word of this to anyone, and I will hound you to the ends of the earth.” She stood with her head held high, surrounded by all the finery of the estate she connived to earn for herself. She was not a woman to be crossed. Ever.

Rosalie swallowed and nodded, seeing herself out.