This was how she was spending the day after their wedding?
As that rather absurd thought shot through his brain, he recalled he was also doing work the day after their wedding.
He was not a bloody hypocrite.
Truly.
Still, this was not exactly how he imagined she would spend her time as a duchess. Accosting people on the street.
He strode toward her, determined to make a point that ladies did not petition person-to-person with leaflets.
And then he stopped himself.
What the blazes was he about to do?
Metaphorically hang himself, that’s what.
This was Beatrice.
She was an independent woman, and if he attempted to lecture her, she might murder him in front of everyone. And it’d be the greatest dishonor to her, for he had assured her he did not want some other lady who would bend to his will and act as society dictated.
No, he had liked her for her independent spirit, and here he was, the first day of their marriage, preparing to castigate her for it.
Men really were the devil, but he was determined to turn a new leaf.
He had to. He was the one who had blurted out a proposal. It did not matter that it all felt so…strange. As if he were standing on sand, waiting for it to slip out from under his feet.
So instead of marching up to her, a lecture on his lips about duchesses and suitability, he paused, drew his shoulders back, and pulled in a breath.
What bothered him about all this?
Was it because she was doing something that was slightly different than what he saw as correct?
Ladies did engage in such endeavors in crowds.
Several aristocratic women had campaigned for Charles Fox and other politicians over the years. They’d gone door to door, for goodness’ sake.
Some even gave out kisses.
How was this different?
Actually, this was quite tame.
This was not undignified or below a duchess. This was her actively trying to make change.
And so he swallowed his silly prudishness, bid North adieu, and strode into the crowd, which, spotting him, immediately parted like a veritable Red Sea.
His wife continued to shout “Ladies’ rights! Ladies’ rights!” until at last she swung and thrust a pamphlet in his direction.
He took it in his hands. “Hello, Your Grace,” he said to her.
She hesitated for a single moment as if she was certain that he was going to say something unkind, and he was abruptly very glad that he had checked himself.
When he did not, she smiled up at him, her eyes dancing with delight. “Hello to you, too, Your Grace.”
That delight alone had been worth his self-assessment.
“May I be of assistance?” he inquired.