"No respect for the dead." His words came out in silent whispers, his teeth clenched.
A small smile tugged on her lips. "Respect is earned in life, my lord. When a man fails to earn respect in life, it cannot suddenly be bestowed on him simply becau...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The dowager turned out to be quite the fusspot; finding faults in the minutest things, and making certain to make known her displeasure with disparaging remarks.
Four days ago, the overly sweet nature of the dowager's tea was not because Beatrice was recently employed and couldn't possibly know how the dowager liked her tea. Rather, it was an obvious proof of Beatrice's idiocy and perhaps a revelation of her plot to kill the dowager with sugar.
Then there was the afternoon the dowager's dress was caught on the banister. Impatient and unwilling to endure the ridiculously long period it appeared to be taking Beatrice to help untangle the dowager's dress from the banister, the dowager had done it herself, ripping the dress in the process and blaming Beatrice for it in the end.
There wasn't anything about Beatrice that didn't upset the dowager. Beatrice's slouching irritated her, even claiming her shoulders hurt from having to endure the sight of it. Her ears rang with the sound of Beatrice's loud chewing, and she hated the cheap smell of Beatrice's perfumes.
For a while, Beatrice feared the dowager might fire her. But as the days progressed, she realized the dowager couldn't. Not only did the duke make it compulsory for the dowager to have a companion, there was no woman from the higher or middle class who could stand the cur that was the dowager. It certainly explained why Beatrice was hired.
In response to the dowager's behavior, Beatrice merely smiled. While she found the dowager's presence beyond loathsome, she was unwilling to give the old crone the satisfaction of seeing her quit. She would remain in this cage, not merely for the money, but to further pain the dowager with her continued stay.
Sighing, Beatrice replaced her comb on the dresser and stared at her image in the mirror, reluctant to leave the confines of her room and have to face the dowager once more that morning. Still, she knew she didn't have a choice, and turning from the mirror, she made her way out her door to the Dowager Duchess's bedchamber.
Voices drifted to Beatrice's from behind the closed doors. She recognized the dowager's snippy tone and the duke's soothing one.
Heaving a tired breath, she made a fist and pounded on the door.
Nothing.
For a second, Beatrice contemplated turning around and returning to her room, but as she made to turn, the door gave way before her to reveal the duke's tired hazel eyes.
"My lady." He smiled at the sight of her.
"Your Grace." She curtsied. "I was going to check on Her Grace, but then I heard voices..."
He shook his head, stepping further into the hall and closing the door behind him. "Mother's in a foul mood this morning. Best to leave her be."
Beatrice nodded, agreeing with him. She had also learned to avoid the dowager when she was in one of her exceedingly foul moods.
