Bound To Bea

Chapter Twenty Five

"Where is Billy?" the dowager asked, interrupting Beatrice as she read to her from the newspaper that morning.

Biting down on her lower lip, Beatrice let out a shaky breath. Her fingers trembled as they clung to the newspaper and she fought to come up with a soothing answer to the dowager's question. Considering the fact that the dowager appeared to be in a constant foul mood, Beatrice didn't want to worsen her mood with bad news.

"Speak up, girl!"

Lowering the newspaper to her knees, Beatrice swallowed. "The duke journeys to Devonshire as we speak." She delivered the news with great apprehension, the frown that immediately settled on the dowager's face confirming Beatrice's fear; she was infuriated by the news.

The duke was on his way to Devonshire. Beatrice had only been informed of the news by a servant that morning, and she immediately knew she was the sole purpose for the duke's desertion of his home and mother. She didn't think it was a coincidence that the duke chose the morning after she had turned down his advances to return to Devonshire; even if she knew she couldn't blame him, for although she had tried to be polite about her rejection, she was certain she had bruised not only his heart but also his ego.

"Not a word of farewell? Perhaps I'm used to his abandonment, but Billy knows better than to leave town without first saying goodbye!" she barked at Beatrice, reaching forward so suddenly, Beatrice didn't see the flying teapot until it grazed her face and crashed to the floor behind her.

Horrified, Beatrice felt a trickle of something warm slide down her left cheek as fear constricted her lungs. Stiffly, she glanced at the shards behind her before turning back to the dowager because she feared she might hurl yet another object at her.

"And perhaps I might keel over before he returns?" The dowager was on her feet. "Perhaps he doesn't think of these things or of me. He cares nothing for me! Which is why he keeps me trapped here like a prisoner with no one else to keep me company but an unsightly widow!" she hissed.

Beatrice watched her pace the room with her stick, before reaching up to examine her bruised cheek. Indeed, the warm substance was blood. She stared at her blood for several seconds, anger replacing her initial fright. She didn't deserve the dowager's cruelty! She had done nothing but serve the dowager diligently, and perhaps the dowager was upset with the duke for his desertion, but Beatrice couldn't say she felt the same way about the duke. On the contrary, Beatrice envied the duke! At least he got to leave his mother's side! With a mother as vicious as the dowager, it was certainly no wonder.

"It's no wonder," Beatrice blurted, only realizing that her thoughts had found expression through her lips when the dowager stopped pacing and turned eyes of steel her way.

"What?" the dowager asked. "Do you have something to say?"

Tempted, yet knowing she couldn't give in to her anger, Beatrice clasped her hands before her and shook her head.

"Of course you don't. You're painfully dumb. Never say anything clever."

"And you're awfully wicked!" she blurted, losing her restraint. "It's no wonder the servants work extra hard to avoid your venom. It's no wonder you have no visitors calling on you." She watched the dowager's face turn crimson, but she wasn't certain she cared; she cared nothing for the consequences that would follow her decision to call out the dowager to her face. She only knew she had had enough of the dowager's horse shit. "It certainly is no wonder the duke labors to be away from you. He spends all those weeks in Devonshire and I envy him for it!"

"Get out!" the dowager erupted, pointing her stick to the exit. "Now!"

Beatrice stared at her, rage pumping through her veins until she feared she might pass out from it.