Beastly Duke and the Winsome Bride

by Charity McColl

  Beastly Duke and the Winsome Bride

  Regency Romance

  Charity McColl

  PureRead.com

  Contents

  Dedication

  1. A Personal Word From Charity

  2. Presence Of The Beast

  3. Isolation

  4. Desperation

  5. Evasion

  6. The Diversion

  7. Consternation

  8. Revelation

  9. Affliction

  10. Retribution

  11. Jubilation

  12. Want More Regency Fairytale Romance?

  Also by Charity McColl

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  1

  A Personal Word From Charity

  Some stories are timeless. I have often wondered why certain tales become so much a part of our lives - stories that are known across the world. Fairytales are an example of this phenomenon. This delightful regency take on the Beauty & Beast story is the result my love for such timeless stories. Thank you so much for choosing to read one of my books. A writer is nothing without readers and my utmost hope is that you will enjoy reading this story just as much as I enjoyed writing it.”

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  2

  Presence Of The Beast

  “It is all for your own good, my friend, that I advise you to leave London. Go away into the countryside, find a place to live out your days,” George IV, Regent Prince of England stood beside the bed in the dark room to which very few got admission. “Alastair, you’re a brave man indeed, for what you did for your country and how you saved many of your men at your own expense. Seeing you like this,” George shook his head, blinking rapidly. Let it never be said that the Prince Regent ever showed any emotions. “My heart bleeds for you, and being in London at this time isn’t the best thing.”

  “I understand, your majesty,” Alastair’s hoarse voice came from the shadows. “Whatever you want me to do, is my command.”

  “You do understand that it is all because I’m concerned about you, that I bring you this advice personally,” George took a deep breath. “We have always been honest with each other, and in my court you’re one of the men I count on to be brutally honest with me, and help me remain level headed at all times.”

  “Yes, your majesty.”

  “That is the reason I will tell you what those who know you are saying. You frighten them, and knowing how weak humans are makes it all the more terrible. The people you sat with, drank and mixed with, now cannot bear to look at you, and the guilt of not being able to visit you here in your townhouse is eating at them. Spare them the shame and humiliation and find a place where you can recuperate and get better.”

  “I understand everything you say, your majesty,” Alastair chuckled softly. “Survivor’s guilt is what it’s called, and I don’t blame anyone. I might have acted the same in their shoes, and as you say, I will spare them the humiliation and leave.”

  “Where have you decided to go?”

  “My maternal grandfather had a castle in Inverness, up north in Scotland. It is an isolated place, away from anyone that might get terrified of me.”

  “What of servants, do you have need of any? I could make arrangements.”

  Alastair shook his head then realized that the monarch couldn’t see him in the dimly lit room. “No, your majesty. Grandfather had loyal servants and, to my advantage, I have always kept in touch and made three to four visits a year so I know the place is well run. They will take care of me, at least a few of them. But what do I need an obeisance of servants for? My needs are few and as long as I can be fed and the castle maintained, that is good enough for me.”

  George grunted softly, “I don’t promise that we shall ever meet again, but if I ever find myself up in the north, yours is the place I will seek boarding, my friend.”

  “Fare thee well, your majesty.”

  * * *

  When Alastair was sure that the prince and his entourage had left, he slowly got up and sat on his bed, his long feet resting on the soft rug on the floor. He was grateful that the headaches weren’t as severe as they had been before, but any sudden movements could make his head pound as if drums were being played in it.

  Alastair sighed, knowing that his valet would soon be in to bring him his mid-morning tea. For a man who had once been active, all the lying in bed and staying in the shadows was proving to be torture and he was glad that George had come and given him the push he needed. For a while now he had thought about leaving London forever, just to escape the whispers that he knew were going around about him. One or two of his friends had come to see him when it was noised abroad that he had returned from Paris, where he had been in hospital for many months. He wasn’t sure what they had expected to see when they came to visit him, but the horror and revulsion on their faces was enough to make him reject any more visitors.

  Those who tried to come in by pushing their way in, found themselves talking to him in a dark room where drapes were never opened and there wasn’t any light. None of them dared return for a second visit. The few who saw him after he returned from France described Alastair’s face as terrifying or horrifying, and Thomas Jenkins, his valet and the only man who had been with him through it all, said that he was now being referred to as ‘The Beast.’

  Standing up was a challenge because he had been lying down for too long, and being cooped up in his townhouse was driving him crazy. He longed for the moors out in Inverness, where he had spent so many years as a child, and to which he still retired, from time to time, when he needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of busy London. Just like he had told George, he had an up-to-date report on whatever went on in the castle, and it was time that he sent a message to his servants that he was about to take residence there.

  * * *

  “Oh, Lord,” Samantha wept silently as she lay on her rickety bed in the small stuffy bedroom in the attic. “When will all this suffering and pain end?” She wondered. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been happy or had a trouble-free day, for it seemed as though her stepmother found fault with everything she did.

  The tea wasn’t hot enough, the stew didn’t have enough salt. The pillows weren’t fluffed well enough, the water was too hot or too cold. There was too much dust in the house, the flowers in the vases weren’t producing enough scent. Nothing was good enough for the woman who had come into her life when she was only a little baby.

  “Mama, why did you have to die?” Sam had never seen her mother, who died giving birth to her, except on a small picture that she kept hidden in a crack in the wall because Hannah, her stepmother, had burnt all the others. Sam knew that if Hannah ever found the small painting of her mother, she would be very cross. It was as if she wanted to obliterate every trace of the woman she claimed had been her best friend.

  Samantha never showed her pain to her father because she didn’t want to cause him any more sorrow. From time to time she saw how he looked at her with regret in his eyes, as if blaming himself for her plight, and she would smile at him in assurance. Hannah never let father and daughter spend any time alone, and rather than cause more trouble for each other, the two learned how to communicate with their eyes.

  Tracey and Abigail, Samantha’s half-sisters weren’t as
bad as their mother, but they were teenagers and sort of lost in their own world. They made their own demands which she had to fulfil and if she failed, they would pout and complain to their mother, who would in turn find a way of lashing out at Sam. She wished she had somewhere to run to, anywhere to escape this dreary life at home, but for her father’s sake she bore all the punishment.

  Sam knew that her father loved her and she tried her best to present a smiling face to him whenever he was at home, to avoid any hostilities with her stepmother. But she always prayed that one day things would work out for the two of them, and they would escape from this prison they called home.

  3

  Isolation

  It was a cold autumn day when Lord Alastair Callum, Duke of Sussex, rode into Inverness in his magnificent carriage, accompanied by Thomas and two footmen. The people of Inverness were used to seeing his carriage from time to time, so aside from a wave here and there, they mostly went about their own business.

  His grandfather had owned most of the land in Inverness and by default it was now all his, and he knew that the tenants and farmers supplied the castle with fresh produce from their farms, as well as kept their rent records up to date. Not that he was a harsh landlord, it was just that he had made it known to them when he took over the castle, that the best way for their interests to be protected was if they took care of the castle, like in times past. Should trouble arise in any way, the lord of the castle would then be in position to protect them as well.

  No one willingly or knowingly defaulted from paying their rents and Alastair had enjoyed good relations with his people, even though from a distance. He had a good butler, Peter Murray, a man who had been with his grandfather for years and still seemed like he could go on for many more. Peter was in charge of all the servants at the castle and the general maintenance of the place, and it was to him that wages were sent every four weeks.

  Thomas had sent Peter an urgent dispatch by courier, informing him of their coming and Alastair was pleased to see his grandfather’s flag flying high as they approached the castle. They had to cross a moat and as they approached, the bridge was let down and when the carriage rolled over it, Alastair felt at peace for the first time in almost a year. He hadn’t been here for that long because he was being treated first, in Paris and then, London. The doctors had finally said there wasn’t much they could do for him since he wasn’t really ill, but had horrible scars on his face as a result of the cannon that had exploded right in front of him. If three of his men hadn’t been shielding him at the time, he would have lost his head as they did theirs and other body parts. That he hadn’t been blinded was a miracle in itself, but removing the shrapnel and sewing him up together after the tragedy had taken doctors all their skills.

  The first time Alastair looked at himself, he was horrified at what he saw. His face looked like a patched quilt, and he had never touched a mirror again. He didn’t know how the servants at the castle would receive him, but he was about to find out.

  The carriage rolled into the well maintained courtyard and the two footmen jumped down. Because of the length of the journey from London to Inverness, they had spent many days on the road, stopping at secluded inns so as not to frighten the other boarders. Thomas would sometimes ride in the carriage with him, but most of the time, he sat outside in the box with the footmen, leaving Alastair to his own thoughts.

  The carriage door opened and Alastair prepared himself to step out and meet his servants. Thomas had told him that lately they had only four servants, and if needed, more would be hired from the village as had been the practice whenever he came home to visit. He doubted that anyone would want to be stuck looking at his face, and that was the reason he valued Thomas highly. The man had been at his side in the battlefield, in the Parisian hospital, the London hospital and at the townhouse. He never flinched or showed any revulsion whenever he looked at Alastair’s face, and most of all, there wasn’t pity either.

  He often told Alastair that all things considering, he was still alive and should make the most of it.

  Alastair took a deep breath, pulled down his hood and got ready to step out of the carriage. The sooner his servants saw his face, the easier it would be for them to adjust to his disfigurement, and those who couldn’t, he would ask Peter to dismiss without any prejudice.

  The four servants were two stablemen, the bridge operator and a house servant who also doubled as a cook. Peter had arranged it so that twice a month the five of them would clean all the rooms in the castle, a square building that had three stories and tens of rooms that were all unoccupied, but should the need arise, could be ready to receive guests at the drop of a pin. That was how efficient the castle was run.

  “My lord,” Peter stepped forward when Alastair stepped out of the carriage and his booted feet touched the ground. He bowed slightly, hands behind his back. Alastair smiled, which looked more like a snarl given the scars on his face, and Peter smiled back at him, not a hint of revulsion or pity in his eyes. “The castle staff welcome you.”

  “Thank you, Peter.” Alastair turned to his four servants who were waiting with bowed heads. He shook their hands, happy that they were the old staff that he knew, and also because they seemed to accept him as he was. And that was when he let out the breath he hadn’t been aware that he was holding.

  As Thomas organized for Alastair’s luggage to be taken up to his rooms, Peter took him around the castle, and he was pleased with what he saw. It was neat and clean, as if he had never been away.

  “Peter, I don’t want anyone to feel like they have to stay with me,” he said. “You can see that my face is frightful and I wouldn’t want anyone to have nightmares because they have to behold my face.”

  “My lord, we are all here because we choose to be here. We served your grandfather and in his day we saw many wounded in battles and skirmishes, dealt with injuries that were horrifying and yet we lived. The ones I’m not sure of are the young men and women who often come to the castle from the village, when they know that you are in residence. I don’t know how they will react or if they will want to stay, but we are staying and we are your most loyal servants, my lord.”

  “It makes me happy to hear you say that, Peter, and may I commend you for a job well done?”

  The castle gong sounded and Alastair looked at Peter in surprise. “My lord, that is the indication that there are traders and farmers waiting to be received. Being a Monday, we get our supplies from the traders, and also your tenants bring in whatever they have to reduce on their rents.”

  “Very well then, do you think it would be alright for me to meet with the traders and my tenants?”

  “That’s up to you, my lord, though I cannot speak for them as to how they will receive you. Please be patient with them and forgive those who might react negatively to you.”

  Alastair shrugged. “I don’t want to hide my face, I had enough of doing that back in London. This is my home, permanently, and the sooner my tenants and anyone who has dealings with the castle come to terms with my facial features, the better.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  Alastair kept on a brave face as he met the traders and tenants, most of whom averted their eyes. It hurt him to be shunned by the people who had accepted him before, but he didn’t blame them. He just didn’t want any of them coming upon him as he was touring the estate and faint in horror. Let them go and tell the others about him, at least people would be prepared for him.

  Later that night, as he stood in his large bedroom, that had belonged to his grandfather, he thought about what he was going to do in this place for the rest of his life, for he had no intentions of ever returning to London. Just before he left, he had had his solicitor put all his London properties on the market and they had fetched him a very tidy sum. He could live out here for the rest of his life without straining or struggling in any way.

  Alastair walked to the large windows and stood looking towards the village, where the lights were going off, o
ne by one, as households settled down for the night. Many times as a young boy, he had stood with his grandfather at this very window and the old man would ruffle his hair.

  “Alastair, if you look after your people, they will in turn look after you. As lord of this castle one day, you will be responsible for many lives. Teach yourself to know who your people are, their children and grandchildren. There’s nothing as fulfilling to a servant as when the master calls him or her by name. It gives them a sense of belonging, and makes them loyal.”

  And over the years Alastair had heeded his grandfather’s advice, getting Peter to record all births and deaths as and when they happened, as well as marriages and any changes in the villagers and tenants’ lives. He would take his time to go through the records and bring himself up to date.

  More lights went out and Alastair sighed. Grandfather Angus had been born and lived in this castle for over seventy five years, with his grandmother Catherine. They never had any sons, only seven daughters who had all married well, and Alastair’s own mother had married the Duke of Sussex who she had met when he came to Inverness on a hunting trip.

  His parents had loved bringing him to the castle, even though he rarely met any of his aunts and their families. Being the first grandson of Angus and Catherine, the castle and all his grandfather’s properties had come to him, and over the years he had done all he could to keep his grandfather’s name respected.

  Whenever he visited in the past, he would hold balls and banquets to which the villagers were invited, and he was always careful to ensure that he never brought any guests who would misbehave or take advantage of the village girls. These were his people, and their protection and wellbeing was of paramount importance to him.