Secrets of an Accidental Duchess by Jennifer Haymore Page A

eyes.
    “Oh, Beatrice, I’m so sorry…”
    Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut.
    “I’m so very sorry.”
    Beatrice sighed. “Never mind, Jessica. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have planned that dinner with you. I was overstepping my boundaries. I know he can arrive at any moment. I know I should be prepared. I should have known that that would be the night he’d choose to come home.”
    Jessica grimaced. That awful man had pretended to be surprised when they’d told him about the dinner. And though she’d been leery about accepting his excuse that Beatrice was already in bed, she’d found him pleasant enough. She’d believed him. Had he beaten his wife before or after Jessica’s visit?
    Fury at the marquis boiled through her, but compassion for his wife kept her in a state resembling sanity.
    Tears streamed down her friend’s face. Jessica reached out and took her into her arms in the gentlest hug she could manage. Although she didn’t want to simply hug Beatrice. She wanted to grab onto her and fly. She’d take her far away from here, far away from that horrible, disgusting man.
    “It’s not your fault,” she managed to grind out. “How could it be? No one deserves to be struck. No one.”
    “But… but…” Beatrice sobbed openly against Jessica’s shoulder, her body shaking. “I can’t do it properly, Jessica. I’m a very bad wife. He says I’m too fat, that I’m a disgrace and an embarrassment…”
    Jessica pulled away. “No! That’s not true. You’re lovely and sweet, and one of the prettiest ladies I know. You can’t be a bad wife. You aren’t. It’s simply impossible.”
    Jessica untied the ridiculous bonnet and tossed it into a chair. Then she drew her friend into her arms again and stroked her hair until she cried herself quiet.
    Finally, Beatrice drew away from her. Taking the handkerchief Jessica pulled from her reticule to offer her, she mopped her face with it. “I’m sorry.”
    “I’m your friend. Don’t you know that? Don’t be sorry.”
    Beatrice sniffed. “We’ve known each other for only a few weeks.”
    Jessica smiled. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you and I were going to be great friends.”
    Beatrice gave her a wavering return smile. “Really?”
    Jessica nodded. “Yes. Really.” She reached down and took Beatrice’s hand. “Come. Let’s sit for a while.”
    Beatrice nodded and allowed Jessica to lead her to the elegant pale green velvet sofa. Jessica watched as Beatrice dabbed away fresh tears with the handkerchief. When she lowered the handkerchief to her lap, Jessica touched her eye gently. “How many times has he done this to you?”
    Beatrice raised a shaky hand to her left eye, the one with the darker ring around it. “This?” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    “Do you mean you don’t wish to tell me, or you’ve truly lost count?”
    Beatrice stared into her lap. “I… I’ve lost count.”
    Jessica groaned out loud.
    “He has every right—”
    Anger heated Jessica’s cheeks. “I suppose he tells you that?”
    “But he does,” Beatrice whispered. “There is no law against disciplining one’s wife.”
    “Just because there’s no law against it doesn’t make it right. No honorable husband would treat his wife in such a way.”
    A tear pooled and rolled down Beatrice’s cheek. “I suppose I haven’t married a good husband, then.”
    No, she hadn’t. “Oh Beatrice, you deserve so much better than this. Tell me you know that.”
    “If I was prettier, if I wasn’t so fat… he’d be proud of me. He’d take me with him to London.”
    Jessica took a breath. The awful man hadn’t only abused his wife—he’d convinced her that it was her fault. Jessica had never thought herself capable of such hatred before this moment.
    She slid off the sofa and knelt before Beatrice, placing her hands on her friend’s knees. “Listen to me. It’s notyour fault. How can I convince you that you are pretty? Tell me, how many offers of