A Beauty for the Scarred Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  In the end, she re-lit her oil lamp, wincing at the sound of the match as she struck it and it flared. The room seemed suddenly huge, with all shadows banished and all clear space returned to her.

  Isabella looked all around the room, her eyes finally alighting on a white rectangle on the dark wooden floorboards by the door.

  It was a note, surely.

  Isabella got out of her bed as quietly as she could and made her way across the room on tiptoes. She swooped down to pick it up and hurried back to her bed, the feeling that someone was still on the other side of the door not having left her entirely. She climbed back into bed to read the note by the light of the oil lamp.

  “My Dear Isabella,

  Please forgive the dreadful tension of these last days and understand that I would not have visited such tension upon you purposefully. But regardless of that, I think there is still an apology to be made to you, and I shall make it now.

  I had wanted to find a way to apologize and think that I have found a very fine way. When you awake, you will find my apology in the library waiting for you.

  Thank you for your patience and your kindness in the tower. I shall never forget it.

  Elliot.”

  Isabella read the note over and over again. It was short and to the point, but she appreciated its sentiments nonetheless. And he had signed it simply Elliot, with no other term of endearment. But what, in all honesty, ought he to have done?

  They were married, yes, but they were still only just starting to get to know one another. Isabella would not have known quite how to sign such a missive herself and had a sudden image of Elliot leaning over the thing for hours as he tried to decide how to end it.

  With such musings out of the way, Isabella began to wonder what could be waiting for her in the library. She knew that an apology could not be literally waiting for her there in the darkness, silently whiling away the hours until she awoke. It must be a gift of some sort, or perhaps even Elliot himself, suddenly wanting to apologize to her in person.

  In the end, Isabella’s curiosity threatened to overwhelm her, and she was suddenly up and out of her bed once more. She lit a candle, thinking it to cast a more discreet glow for the midnight wanderer, and turned her oil lamp down once again.

  With a shawl around her shoulders, Isabella crept to the door, opened it, and listened. There was nothing.

  She continued along the corridor to the great staircase and stopped to listen again. The house was in complete silence. For a moment, she wondered if she ought to creep silently through the corridor to the other end of Coldwell Hall, to the room she knew was Elliot’s own. But her nerve had deserted her before she had even decided to do it and, in the end, she began to silently descend the staircase.

  In no time at all, Isabella was outside the library door. It was fully closed, which was most unusual.

  In the daytime, the door always stood ajar, and at night, if Elliot was in there playing his violin, there was just enough of a gap through which to peer into the darkness within.

  Isabella stood motionless and undecided for several minutes as she tried to strain her hearing for any tiny sound from within.

  When she discerned no movement at all, she finally turned the handle and slowly pushed the door inward. She held the candle out before her for a moment as she stared into the room. Elliot was not sitting in his ordinary place by the fire, and the fire was not lit. The room was empty, surely.

  Isabella made her way in further and realised that there was something in the library which had not been there before. With a gasp, she walked over to a large piano, its glossy wood glinting in the candlelight.

  Was that it? Was the piano his apology? She looked all around it for another note; anything that would give some indication as to the new piano’s sudden appearance.

  But there was nothing.

  She looked all around for anything else that might have changed in the library and could see nothing. So, the piano must be Elliot’s apology.

  With her curiosity almost assuaged, Isabella made her way silently back upstairs to her own room.

  Chapter 20

  The following morning, Isabella awoke early and with a feeling of anticipation, even excitement. She was keen to eat her breakfast and make her way back to the library to practice on her new piano. Assuming it really was for her, of course.

  But Isabella knew it was. Elliot had remembered that she had learned to play but had let her skill drift when her pompous younger brother had commandeered the music room back at Upperton Hall.

  When Kitty came in to help her dress, Isabella could not wait to tell her the news. And, for her part, Kitty seemed equally excited. There was a certain amount of satisfaction in Kitty’s eyes, and Isabella knew that her dear maid was pleased to discover that her master and mistress were truly back on speaking terms.

  “What a lovely surprise, Your Grace,” Kitty said enthusiastically. “Have you played it yet?”

  “No Kitty.” Isabella laughed. “It was after midnight; I would have woken all of Coldwell Hall with my playing. Especially since I have not played for some years. I would have been quite dreadful. And I will be dreadful.” She laughed again. “So you see, I really must practice or the Duke will think he has made a very grave mistake in giving me such a gift.”

  “I am sure there is no hurry.” Kitty smiled warmly as she turned Isabella’s glossy brown hair into a pleat at the back of her head. I am sure that His Grace is not expecting miracles.”

  “I know. And I did tell him that I had not played for years, «she said thoughtfully. “But still, I should like to have a piece practiced and prepared for when he first hears me play.”

  “What a lovely thought.” Kitty gave her a knowing smile.

  “Why are you smiling like that, Kitty?”

  “Oh, it just warms my heart to see how your feelings towards His Grace have changed.”

  “Well, I cannot say my feelings have changed exactly,” Isabella said uncertainly as she wondered if they actually had.

  “But, at first, you were afraid, which was quite natural. And then you were quietly getting on with things, almost as if you were resigned to some awful fate. But now I can see that you missed him when you did not see him for so many days and that you are relieved to be back on friendly terms. It is change, my dear, real change.”

  “Kitty, you really must not get your hopes up,” Isabella said cautiously.

  “But that is what hopes are for.” Kitty laid the brush down on the dressing table and surveyed her handiwork.

  “You really are the most exceptional lady’s maid. You must have missed your role these eighteen years.” Isabella wanted to change the subject, but she wanted to do it gently.

  “Yes, I did miss it. I had thought to seek another position for a while. I was still young enough, and I wanted to build on the skills I had learned with the last Duchess.”

  “Why did you stay?” Isabella thought of Elliot’s description of a devastated Kitty draped over the dead body of his sister.

  “As His Grace began to improve in health, I thought he would have no need of a lady’s maid here. May God forgive me, but I never thought he would be married one day, not with his scarring.” Kitty looked ashamed.

  “That is a very natural assumption, Kitty. You must not torture yourself over it.” Isabella wanted to be as much of a comfort to Kitty as Kitty had frequently been to her.

  “I thought I would be here with little purpose, and I did not want to return to being a maid of all works really. I had thought I had made progress for myself.”

  “But what happened?”

  “When the Duke seemed to be getting on his feet a little, I decided I would start to look for another position. But His Grace went out one day, to see his doctor as I recall, and when he returned, I knew I could not leave him.”

  “He told me about that day,” Isabella said quietly as she remembered how Elliot had been taunted by the laughs of cruel passers-by.

  “He hid h
imself away for many days and, when Mr. Maguire told me how the Duke’s own driver did not help him, I knew the household staff might prove a problem for the Duke to manage alone.”

  “But Crawford Maguire would have helped.”

  “He did, and he still does.” She smiled warmly. “Mr. Maguire and I manage the appointment of staff between us. After Mr. Maguire dismissed the driver, several others of the staff looked for positions elsewhere. They were afraid to look upon the once-handsome face of their master, and I began to fear for His Grace ever seeing any of his staff again. I began to imagine them all going about their business, careful not to cross their master’s path. And it near broke my heart.”

  “Oh, Kitty. It is little wonder the Duke holds you in such high regard. You and Mr. Maguire kept things going.”

  “He has a good staff now. Not one of them would hide from him nor look away. They were hand-picked for their characters first and experience second.”

  “So, you stayed.”

  “I found purpose again, Your Grace. I was no longer a lady’s maid, but my services in finding the right staff were needed, and that is what I chose to do.” Kitty tidied the things on the dressing table as she spoke. “And now I am a lady’s maid again, so I have the best of both worlds.”

  “I know that the Duke is very grateful to you both.”

  “He always had good manners and a fine character. Even when he was a naughty little boy, he still had a good heart.” She stared off into the distance as if she could see the young Elliot Covington standing before her there and then. “He was cheekier than anything. He would tease and try to get a rise out of me for fun, but it was never done in a cruel way. I think he liked to make me and the rest of the staff laugh at his antics.”

  “He was a fun-loving child?”

  “Oh yes, he was that. And adventurous too. He was forever having to be rescued from the tallest trees on the estate. He would climb up them with the skill and speed of a squirrel but could never seem to get down again.” She laughed, and her eyes looked glassy. “And he didn’t grow out of it until his sister was old enough to come out into the grounds. He became a real little gentleman then, looking out for her and worrying that she would fall or hurt herself in some way. He really took his responsibility for his sister to heart.”

  “They strike me as having been a very nice, close family.”

  “They were indeed. I have never known a family so close. That was why it was all so awful. His Grace seemed to lose them all at once. I know the old Duke had died months before, but His Grace was still grieving for that man when…” She faltered just a little. “When the Duchess and Lady Eleanor died too.”

  “It is unthinkable.”

  “It was a year before his own disfigurement even bothered His Grace. He was so overwhelmed by grief that his own suffering and scarring had not yet touched him. In truth, I think it was that first day out in the world which taught him how changed he really was. It brought it all home to him, and he retreated. And he has been here ever since.”

  “Almost a prisoner,” Isabella said sadly.

  “Yes, a prisoner. Some might think that he is a prisoner of his own making, but he is not. He is a prisoner of the circumstances that fell down upon him unwarranted.”

  “Who would not have retreated in those circumstances, Kitty? I know I would have.”

  “You understand, Your Grace, I can see that much.”

  “And yet I cannot think it would be a good thing for the Duke to remain a prisoner forever.”

  “No, he has missed out on so much. It would seem cruel and unfair for him to stay here for the rest of his life and him a man of just eight and thirty years.”

  “But I wonder if he could ever be convinced to go out again? Perhaps he has been here for so long that he could not bear to leave?”

  “That is very true, and I am sure that the length of time His Grace has kept to Coldwell Hall has made things worse. But perhaps now that he is married and his life is improving all the time, His Grace might be persuaded to make some move towards a different way of life? Maybe even go out in society a little and get back a little of what he has lost all these years?”

  “I wonder how such a thing is to be achieved,” Isabella mused and felt suddenly interested in the challenge of it all.

  “Little by little, I daresay. With loving kindness, I think His Grace could be persuaded that the world outside is not entirely filled with cruel and mocking people.”

  “Perhaps it is time to bring somebody from the outside here? That might be a very good first step. What do you think?” Isabella looked at Kitty, and it was clear to her immediately that the two women had just become partners in the thing.

  Kitty was as keen to see changes at Coldwell as Isabella was, and they seemed, with their continued conversation, to be silently signing some sort of pact between them. They would work together to improve the Duke of Coldwell’s life, and that was that.

  “I think it a very good idea. But nothing sudden or shocking. We must be careful that His Grace is not suddenly confronted with a visitor he was not expecting. It is a thing he greatly fears, I believe.”

  “Quite so,” Isabella said thoughtfully. “Ah, but he has already told me that I might invite my dear friend Esme Montague here for tea anytime I choose.” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Now that is very hopeful. I had not realised.” Kitty looked heartened.

  “But I did take him to mean that he would not be there when Esme came. He said that I could arrange things through you.”

  “Then it seems likely His Grace would keep out of the way. But it’s a start. He might see you and your guest from afar and start to wonder at his own solitude. This could be a very good thing.”

  “Indeed.” Then Isabella’s face clouded with worry.

  “Your Grace?”

  “If I can get Esme to come.” Isabella felt the old concern. “I cannot help wondering if she would be too afraid.”

  “I see,” Kitty said sadly.

  “Kitty, when Esme and I were little girls, we heard the same silly stories as all the other children. That there was a monster living in a ruined mansion behind a tangle of hawthorns. I am ashamed to admit it, but it is true. And if we are to get anywhere, I must be open and honest with you.”

  “You need not be ashamed. And anyway, shame does not help to get things done.” Kitty was bright again. “And you and Miss Montague could not have escaped the tales. That is just the way of things. But do you think your friend would still be so affected? Even knowing how things have worked out for you here at Coldwell?”

  “Perhaps not. And Esme is a hopeless romantic after all. Perhaps I could put it all to her in such terms that she could see how we are trying to help the Duke back into the world; to free him from his prison.”

  “A romantic heart could surely not resist.”

  “Indeed. And especially if I put it to Esme in such terms as she became part of things. As if she is helping him also, even without yet meeting him.” Isabella began to feel a little excitement.

  She felt sure it had to do with having a purpose. And not just any purpose, but a very fine one indeed, one which would help another human being.

  “That is a very good idea, Your Grace.” Kitty was equally enthused. “Shall you be writing to Miss Montague soon?”

  “This very day,” Isabella said and laughed at the obvious prompting. “I think the sooner, the better.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  “I shall practice on the piano for a while and hope to see the Duke this evening at some point. I can then revisit the idea of Esme coming for tea so that he is aware that I would seek such company. Then, before I retire tonight, I shall write a long and extraordinary letter to my dear Esme and lay it all out before her. I am certain that she will be only too keen to help when I give her all the facts.”

  “You have a very busy day planned, Your Grace. You had better make sure you take a hearty amount of food for your breakfast.” Kitty no
dded vigorously, and Isabella smiled.

  Kitty meant what she said and, as always, Isabella found her mothering most fortifying. It was something that she had never really experienced. Her own mother had left that sort of thing entirely to first her nurse, and then the governess. Unfortunately for Isabella, neither one of those two women had an ounce of motherly instinct to spare.

  Esme Montague had always cared for Isabella so well, but they were like sisters. Still, Isabella was always grateful for the sisterly relationship she would have otherwise missed out on and felt certain that Esme would be her very closest friend for the rest of her life.

  As long as Isabella did not ruin things by forcing Esme to attend Coldwell Hall, the lair of the monster, against her will.