by Tia Siren
“Not—not at all,” Elizabeth said, as she overcame the initial shock. “I merely came out here for some fresh air. I did not expect to see the Duke.”
“Well, here I am.” He walked around to the bench and stood over her. “May I?”
“Of course.”
“What happened in there? Lady Barnes seemed quite angry with you.”
“Our fathers do not agree on many things.”
“I have heard,” the Duke said. “I have also heard that Lady Barnes can be sword-sharp with her tongue. You must tell me, how did you rebuff her?”
“I’m sure you have more impressive tales,” Elizabeth said. “War, France, the King.”
He waved his hand. “They are not nearly as impressive as a riposte as expertly executed as yours.”
“It is rather a scandal,” Elizabeth said, whispering conspiratorially. “If I were to tell you, I would need your word that you would not spread the rumor.”
“You have my word, upon the King,” the Duke said seriously.
“Charlotte, two years ago, had a night in the stables with her family’s gardener.”
“A night in the stables, you say? You mean they fucked?”
Elizabeth blushed to her ears. She looked down at her hands, into the bushes, anywhere but into his eyes. When she glanced back, she saw that the Duke was staring steadily at her, his eyes burning into her. She quickly looked away. “That is—err, I believe what happened.”
The Duke nodded, and then jumped to his feet. He offered his arm. “Take a stroll with me, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth accepted his arm and together they began to walk around the gardens. She was aware of the jealous eyes that peeped from behind every bush, but she didn’t care about that. All her thoughts were seized by the Duke’s presence beside hers, by his arm on hers, by the hard muscle that Elizabeth could feel through the fabric of the Duke’s jacket. He led them far to the back of the garden, where none of the other party were, and they sat on a bench.
“It is nice here,” Elizabeth said.
“It’s private,” the Duke said.
“Is that a good thing?”
“It is a great thing,” the Duke said. “I do not want to share you with the rest of the party.”
Elizabeth did not know what to say to this. She looked around the gardens, watching a butterfly chart its course from flower to flower, watching a caterpillar crawl over and around a leaf.
“Tell me, Elizabeth, what do you crave most in the world?”
Elizabeth was taken aback by this question and was not sure how to respond. What did she value most in the world? Was it riches? No. Was it love? Perhaps. Was it knowledge? Maybe. “I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “What do you, if I may, covet most?”
The Duke shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “I merely follow the King, and do as the King orders me.”
“That is a noble pursuit.”
The Duke shrugged again. “Tell me, Elizabeth, have you ever been kissed?”
Elizabeth was twenty years old, she had been an adult now for a long time, but she had never been kissed. She had thought impure thoughts before, and had felt horribly guilty afterwards, but in real life, she had never so much as been held by a man. “I have not,” she whispered.
She almost flinched when the Duke’s hand touched her face. He brushed her chin with his fingertips and then turned her face toward him, so they were looking into each other’s eyes. His face was calm and composed. Elizabeth made her face calm and composed, though within she was more scared and excited and alive than she had ever been. The Duke moved his hand down from her chin to her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.
The kiss was full of passion. Feelings Elizabeth had not even known she possessed woke within her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the Duke. He placed both his hands on her face and moved his tongue into her mouth. She allowed him, and then moved her tongue around with his, their tongues dancing. Her hands were on his shoulders, and then she pulled away, breathing heavily.
“I can’t,” she said. “We are not married. We are not even engaged.”
The Duke smiled. “The world is still so simple for you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know—”
“I want you to stay at the Castle for a week or so, after the other guests have gone. I will write to your mother and father. It will be impossible for them to refuse.”
“What ever for?” Elizabeth said.
“So I can court you, of course, my lady.”
Elizabeth felt herself blush a fierce red. A Duke had just told her he wanted to court her. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She only looked at him, straight in the eyes, to see if she could discover his intent. Why would a Duke want to court a poor girl from a minor family? Why would a Duke bother with her at all? Because you’re nothing like those backstabbing, two-faced, sadistic harlots in there, perhaps!
The Duke once again offered his arm. And Elizabeth once again accepted. The Duke leaned in and kissed Elizabeth on the neck. Her skin pricked with warmth, and a tingly pleasure permeated her body.
When they returned to the party, the Duke left immediately to write the letter to Mother and Father, which he would send by messenger this very day. Elizabeth could imagine her father’s fury at reading the letter, but the Duke was correct. He could not openly refuse without causing a scandal, and Father had had too many candles as it was.
No, as far as Father was concerned, she was safe. But was she safe from the Duke? What, exactly, did he want from her? Thoughts whirred through her head, impure, un-ladylike thoughts, and feelings warred in her chest, lustful and frightening feelings.
That night, as she laid her head down upon the guest bed, she dreamt of the Duke.
*****
Elizabeth woke the next morning to a knock at her door. She put on the robe the Duke’s servants had laid out in the room and went to the door. Opening it, she saw a young girl with a freckled face. “The Duke wants to know if you want to breakfast with him, misses.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Elizabeth said, sounding much calmer than she felt. “I will be there presently.”
She quickly dressed in a day dress and fixed her hair, so it fell loosely to her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror for a moment. Her skin was so white it was almost ghostly. Her eyes were dark blue, almost black. She was thin, with a thin waist and thin neck. Her cheekbones were set high in her face, and there was something behind her eyes: a hint of mischief, of dormant playfulness.
When she entered the breakfast room, the Duke stood from his chair and waved Elizabeth in. The table was laden with pastries and cakes. The Duke pulled out Elizabeth’s chair for her and then seated himself opposite her. He smiled. “Did you sleep well, my lady?” he said.
“Very well, thank you,” Elizabeth lied. In truth, she had woken twice during the night, each time hot and flustered after a dream about the Duke, each time wanting to touch herself in a most inappropriate way. She had wanted to reach down, and just once, just touch—No, that is wrong, Elizabeth. Wrong!
“Good,” the Duke said, in his calm, emotionless voice. “We will walk the grounds after we have breakfasted.”
Elizabeth nodded, and they ate in silence. Afterwards, the Duke gave Elizabeth his arm, and together they walked around the Castle, under ornate arches and through wide open courtyards, and then toward the wood with their thick, healthy green leaves. “I am not built for the ball life,” the Duke said, after a long silence. “I was glad to find you at the party yesterday, because it seemed you were not built for the ball life, either. There is so much pretending that goes along with a life like that. One must always be on one’s guard, lest one ‘let something slip’ and cause a scandal. They stand around drinking wine and laughing, and they have no idea what is happening just right across the Channel.”
“It must be hard, fighting in a war,” Elizabeth said.
“I used to think so,” the Duke sai
d. “And then the fighting stopped, and I returned to my Castle, and I was forced to mingle with lords and ladies for whom a crisis constitutes having to eat apple cakes instead of lemon cakes.”
Elizabeth laughed, and then swiftly covered her mouth.
“You may laugh, if you wish,” the Duke said. There was almost a hint of warmth in his voice, but not quite. It was more like there was the potential for warmth in his voice.
Elizabeth was so used to the cramped, suffocating atmosphere of her home life that the idea that she could actually laugh aloud was strange to her. She imagined the scenario at home: Father somberly drinking and smoking before the fire, Mother knitting, the only noise coming from her the click-click-click of the needles, and then Elizabeth reads something that makes her laugh, and she laughs aloud for the two of them to hear. No doubt Father would start raving about how his daughter finds their misfortune funny, and Mother would simply retire to her bedroom.
“Laughter does not come easily to me,” she said.
“Okay,” the Duke said. “What does come easily to you, my lady?”
Elizabeth tried to think of something, but nothing was magnificent: nothing was worthy of a scene like this. But then, she decided, did she want to be the sort of woman who pretends her life is grand and adventurous when in fact it was rather dull? Did she want to be a Charlotte-type woman? “I care for the pigs and chickens,” she said. “And I read a lot. Father did not sell our books, so I still have many to choose from. There are some Greek scripts, and I have taught myself the basics. Enough to get along with some simpler texts, anyway. I love to read. I forget everything when I read. I do not feel as though I’m even in the same world when I read. The pages eat me.”
The Duke nodded. “And lots of adventures happen in these books, do they?”
“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth said. “Adventures of all sorts.”
“What about solders-cum-dukes wooing beautiful ladies?”
Elizabeth smiled. “I have not read that tale yet, my lord.”
The Duke placed his hand on Elizabeth’s leg. Elizabeth felt the heat from his hand move up her thigh, up, toward her private area. She knew she should bat his hand away, or tell him to move it away from her. She was not that kind of woman. But he was not trying anything else, and his hand really did feel quite nice there. They sat like that for a time, and then Elizabeth laid her hand over the Duke’s. He squeezed her leg, and together watched the course of a bird as it ducked from the clouds, into the trees, and then back up into the clouds again.
“Will you dine with me tonight, my lady?” the Duke said.
“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth replied. “It would be my pleasure.”
The Duke stood and together they walked back through the gardens. Elizabeth did not know how to feel about all of this. One side of her was ecstatic and overly happy that she was here, in the Duke’s gardens, with this captivating man. Another half of her was wary. She had never dreamt, when she was among the pigs and chickens, that she would be in the Duke’s Castle alone.
Anything could happen here, she thought, with a mixture of excitement and fear. Anything at all.
*****
That evening Elizabeth donned one of the dresses the Duke had lent her – that he had left waiting for her in the dresser – and joined him in the dining room for a dinner of duck and potato. They ate in silence for a time, and then the Duke ordered wine and drank greedily. Elizabeth, who had never had lots of wine, decided to indulge for the first time tonight. She drank down a large glass and then another, and soon the room had become unfocused. The Duke laughed. “I believe you are drunk,” he said.
“Me! No, my lord, never!”
He laughed again, and Elizabeth laughed with him. The sound of her own laughter startled her, so rarely did she hear it. It was like listening to the laughter of a stranger. She sounded happier than she had sounded in a long time, this stranger; and Elizabeth was happy for her. After dinner, the Duke took her arm and led her from the dining room.
He led her through the Castle, past old paintings of previous Dukes and Ladies, past ornate suits of armor, past mounted animal heads, to a cavernous room. The room was dim, and the Duke rushed around lighting torches in the walls. When the torches plumed their orange light, Elizabeth took in a quick, frantic breath. The room was lined with shelf upon shelf, and upon each shelf sat dozens and dozens – or hundreds and hundreds – of books. Perhaps it was the wine, or the shock, but Elizabeth threw herself down in a nearby chair and looked around at the books.
“This is incredible,” she said. “This is absolutely incredible. How many are there? There must be thousands!”
“You like it?” the Duke said. “I am glad. This library is yours, if you will accept my proposal.”
“Your proposal?”
The Duke stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I wish you to be my wife, Elizabeth Hawk. Yes, we do not know each other well at all, but that need not hinder us. How many men and women become husband and wife simply through the exchange of letters? We are steps above them already, as one hour spent in person is worth one-hundred letters. I also believe it will be beneficial for your family. Of course, I will settle your father’s debts.”
“But why?” Elizabeth blurted, the only thing she could think to say. “You could have anybody.”
“I do not want anybody.” The Duke’s voice had not altered from the crisp deadpan monotone, in which no emotion was heard. “I want you. You are not like other women. You have not got their pretentiousness, their entitlement. You enjoy the quiet and nature and that is enough for me.”
Elizabeth knew she should say yes, but for some reason, the word simply wouldn’t part her lips. She didn’t feel comfortable marrying a man she had only known for two days, no matter how fine of a match it was. She knew he was right; marriages were often built upon the man and wife never having met once. But she had never wanted a marriage like that. In fact, had she ever wanted a marriage? She couldn’t recall fantasizing about it like other girls must have done.
“I need to think,” she said. “May I give you my answer at the end of the week?”
The Duke bowed slightly. “Of course. Now, let us enjoy the books.”
Together they walked through the stacks of books, occasionally picking one down and reading, sometimes just looking at the worn, ancient covers. Elizabeth found masses of French novels, which she picked up and looked over. She had enough French to read sentimental novels – some of her favorite novels were French – and she had a grand time reading over these. She began to amass a pile of a nearby table, which she would take back to her bedroom to read later. The Duke watched her with a sort of pride as she navigated the books. Whether it was pride for the books or pride for her, Elizabeth didn’t know. All she knew was that she liked the look in the Duke’s eyes. It was almost human. And a slight smile touched his otherwise straight-line lips.
“Are you having fun?” the Duke said when she had piled up around ten books.
“Yes, yes!” Elizabeth beamed. “I have never seen so many books. Even if I lived a hundred years, I would never be able to read so many books!”
“I know,” the Duke said. “It is a travesty, that people must go without books when I have so many which I rarely read.”
“You have lived it, though, haven’t you?”
“I have lived through much which is present in novels, yes,” the Duke said. “But I have not experienced all there is to experience. Who has?”
Elizabeth nodded and was about to pick up the books when the Duke rushed over and picked them up for her. She led him to her bedroom, and he walked in behind her and placed the books on the desk. “May I sit?” the Duke said.
Elizabeth nodded, and the Duke sat on the chair; she sat on the bed. They looked at each other for a time in silence. Elizabeth was feeling as though she had known this man her whole life. Perhaps it was because she so rarely attended social functions, or perhaps it was God’s interjection, but she felt as t
hough she were not getting to know a person for the first time, but reacquainting with an old friend. The Duke regarded her with his hard face. “I hope the room is to your liking,” he said.
“Very much so,” Elizabeth said. “It is a lovely room.”
“And the hospitality? It suits you well, I trust.”
Elizabeth assured him that it did.
The Duke stared down at his hands and then back up at Elizabeth. “I must confess, Elizabeth, I have not much experience in wooing a woman. Most of my life has been spent fighting and serving the King. When it comes to matters of the heart, I am afraid I am damaged.”
Elizabeth wanted to go to him then and hold him in her arms. But that would be crossing a line she was not sure she wanted to cross. You have already kissed, you silly woman! What other line is there to cross! But couldn’t go to him so soon after the proposal; it would send a signal. Instead, she sighed and said: “I am damaged, too. The prospects for my family were good when I was young. I was the only girl of four boys, the youngest of the family. Then two of my brothers were killed in the war. The other is abroad; we don’t know where. After their deaths, Father started to gamble. He gambled my birthright away before I was fifteen, and since then I have been drawn inward. Within I cannot feel the pain that I so often feel without. Within, I am safe. It makes it difficult to interact with people. I find myself being cold just to keep people away. I only feel like I can tell you think because you are as cold as me, if not colder. I only feel I can tell you think because you are the Duke of Ice.”
“Is that what they call me? The Duke of Ice?”
“Some call you that, yes,” Elizabeth said.
“It is a silly nickname.”
“It is,” Elizabeth agreed.
“If I am cold,” the Duke said, “it is because the world has made me cold. I have watched all of my closest friends die. I have killed more men than a man should ever kill. I have lived amongst enemies for two years and found most of their people to be kind, just, not unlike our own people. I have been warped and ill-used by war. If I were not a Duke I would be a madman. As it is, people merely whisper of me in nicknames. I remember one day, I had been hiding in a barn. The farmer discovered me and made me leave. I did not blame him. If the army found me, they would punish him.
