The Duke's Headstrong Woman (Strong Women Find True Love 2)

"Pardon, m'lady. If you were expecting a wellspring of conversation, perhaps we ought to ask Lady Henrietta to come back," he spoke, words utterly deadpan. Simultaneously shocked and pleased, Nadia couldn't stop herself from erupting into a completely ugly and unladylike laugh. Lord Beckham smiled mildly. "I'm fortunate that made you laugh, elseways I'd be expecting a long and firmly-worded scolding from the old woman rather soon."

"Oh, lord, no, we'd both be getting one if she knew I'd laughed at that," Lady Havenshire whispered, chuckling. "I wasn't aware her reputation was so well-known."

"You weren't aware? Shall I call her back to make you aware? None have been so vigorous in letting all of England know that Lady Henrietta likes to talk, than Lady Henrietta herself," Lord Beckham joked. Once more Nadia let out that ugly laugh, stifling it before she embarrassed herself, though Lord Beckham's smile invited her to continue. "Please, don't be concerned on the nature of your laugh around me. This is Lord Perrywise's event, after all." Nadia blinked; she could feel her defenses falter, her heart weak and inviting for just a moment.

"Such boldness," she grinned. "You're certain you belong here? You're not some manner of rogue who slipped in unaccounted for, are you?" Nadia snerked incredulously.

"I could certainly ask the same of you, with that laugh," he teased, inviting a playful slap on the shoulder from Lady Havenshire.

"That's most uncalled for, Lord Beckham," she exaggerated his title to tease.

"Quite so, Lady Havenshire," he responded with the same sense of gravity; she expressed surprise.

"H-how did you know my name?..." she intoned quizzically.

"Well, I've a secret to share," Lord Beckham's voice grew conspiratorial. "I've some great manner of otherworldly power, such that it would engender envy from the devil himself. I can see into the minds of the vulnerable, the weak-willed, and I can..." he drew closer, his voice falling to a whisper. "...read, the nameplate sat before them," he finished with a flourish, tapping on the plaque - LADY HAVENSHIRE - still set in front of Nadia. Embarrassed, she chuckled, her cheeks bright red.

"Weak-willed, huh?" she sniped back playfully. "Gullible, perhaps I'd admit, but weak-willed? Do you know who I am?"

"Of course I do," he answered without missing a beat, "You're Lady Havenshire." She blushed and tried to stifle her laughter again, her heart singing, odd yet comforting. This strange man had somehow proven himself to be different - at least, entertaining.

"That's not what I meant, Lord Beckham," she again repeated his name with that sarcastic weightiness. "You wouldn't call a woman weak-willed when she's spent the last few years traveling the world, all on her own, would you?"

"Is that what you've done? Am I meant to be impressed? I traveled across all of northern England, you know, and I'm certain that's a far greater trifle than traveling the world. Do you have any clue how many Lady Henriettas have sought to talk my ear off in the past few years?" he joked.

"I'm serious! It was no small task," Lady Havenshire responded incredulously.

"Yes, in fairness, I do have an inkling of who you are, Lady Havenshire. Have you forgotten that lovely introduction Lady Henrietta gave you?" he asked. Her laughter died away to grudging admission.

"I do indeed recall," she nodded. "I had good reason to be scared after that, frankly. Noblemen hear of a single woman with an ailing father, and..."

"Ailing father?" Lord Beckham's dry sense of humor faded to a voice full of deep concern. False tears could be conjured by many a skilled liar, and the aristocracy housed many such liars, but something... something, about the deep sound of his voice, about that face, something about... him, convinced Nadia of his sincerity. "I'm... I'm sorry, for..."

"You've nothing to apologize... for," Nadia's voice grew vulnerable as she thought on her father.

"I know the... pain, I watched my father..." Lord Beckham shamefully admits. "My sister and I could do nothing to help him."

"Your sister?" Lady Havenshire chimed in curiously. The subject clearly made Lord Beckham uncomfortable, as he shifted about in his chair.

"My elder sister, yes, Catherine. A wonderful... woman," he hesitated. Cold realization churned in Lady Havenshire's stomach.

"Elder sister. Catherine," she repeated skeptically. He, like every man, had benefited from the system she despised... no different from the others. "And so I'm guessing that as your father passed, he felt safe, having a male heir, yes?" Lord Beckham's expression grew cross.

"I did not... enjoy, seeing my father die, nor did I enjoy the trouble caused by my sister's—"

"Trouble? Is that what your sister was - a trouble? Women - we're such troubles, aren't we?" Nadia interrupted, her mind afire now.

"No, the trouble was in the manner of inheritance. I had no interest in... in feuding with my sister. I..." Lord Beckham's voice fell away. The conversation ended nearly as abruptly as it had began; Lady Havenshire, her arms crossed atop her chest, looked away.

It hurt her. It hurt her deeply; she thought she'd found a man different from the others, but that moment had come as a blistering reminder that no man cared for women as equals; none saw them as worthy, and every man benefited from a system that put men on top, even those who wanted not to benefit. She found Lord Beckham handsome, strange; that aura, and that charm, had even opened her up and made her vulnerable.

"I hope we're having a lovely time, are we not?" A chipper voice broke the silence; Lord Perrywise, the addled old man, smiling as he stuck his head between the two of them. "Lord Beckham, so pleased you could make it! We've not seen you in the hallowed halls of the manor here in so long! And paired with such a lovely woman, Lady Havenshire! Your father, he was so excited you'd be here, and..."

How perfectly timely an interference. Lord Perrywise, her father - real life, came crashing back down, and she and Lord Beckham simply sat in tense silence, enduring it.

CHAPTER SIX

Failure.