Beauty's Rose (Once Upon A Regency Book 4) Read online

  “I’ll sit here with my embroidery,” Lady Judith said loudly. She darted a narrow-eyed glance between the duke and Beauty and gave a chaperone-like purse of her lips.

  Beauty’s anxiety eased some. She was not being left alone with the duke.

  “Come this way.” He limp-strode to the set of doors, his posture straight, his shoulders broad in his evening tailcoat. She trailed behind.

  He opened the doors to a dark room. “Let me fetch a set of candles.”

  Beauty stood back from the open doorway, the room beyond a sweep of dark on dark shapes. She was exhausted from the stresses of the day—travel, the unexpected treatment, dressing, shocking discoveries, and then the long dinner. But her heart kept a quick thrumming of unease.

  He returned, the candelabra he held lighting the sightless side of his face, casting his features into sinister planes and shadows. He frowned, his brows drawn down.

  He passed by her into the room. He set the candles before a mirror and lit several more, revealing a spacious room with a coffered ceiling.

  She lingered outside the door, torn.

  He frowned but walked back towards her. She edged back.

  “Do you not wish to speak to me, Miss Reynolds? I’m sure you have questions.”

  She stared at him, her heart picking up speed. She had so many questions, was filled with such outrage and confusion. “I do.”

  “Come, then. We can speak in here.” He moved away, leaving open space for her to enter.

  She took a deep breath and went through the door

  Chapter 8

  A wealth of musical instruments met Beauty’s eyes.

  “Oh, my.” She stared with amazement at the bounty of it. A pianoforte, a harpsichord, a clavichord, even a house organ with bellows for a servant to pump. Lutes, lyres, and violins in cases lined the walls. Panpipes and wood instruments, several lovely harps, ranging in size from lap to floor. Even drums, exotic in shape and decoration, and other instruments she couldn’t identify.

  “There is enough to outfit a small orchestra,” the duke said. “Though few are played. My grandfather was a collector. Many an antique instrument in this room. And foreign exotics. I did not inherit his passion, but we do keep all in the room polished and in repair.” He walked along the wall, looking at the display. “My music master used to salivate whenever he entered this room. I was a sad disappointment to him. I never got beyond competent with any instrument. That particular talent bypassed my generation.”

  The instruments begged to be touched, the strings plucked, the wind instruments blown into. Beauty kept her hands clasped before her.

  “The sheet music is kept here.” He walked to several ornate sheet music cabinets. ”Come, see what we have.”

  She forced herself to move to his side. He pulled out the shallow sliding drawers that contained the vocal music, the pianoforte pieces, and the harp.

  “There are scores by Hayden, Purcell, Dussek, and John Field. The eldest pieces here are hand-copies.” He pulled out a drawer. “This is in Mozart’s own hand. And here, one by Handel.”

  Oh. She daren’t touch those.

  “You may play anything you find here, and if there is new music you would like to have access to, make a list, and Mrs. Haskins will see that it is ordered.”

  She avoided his eye. She would do no such thing.

  He was staring at her, and his large frame was far too close.

  She edged away.

  “Miss Reynolds, you did not find the gown provided for you to your liking?” His question caused her to freeze, to look anywhere but at him.

  “Though what you’re wearing is lovely.” He spoke quickly, as if embarrassed by a gaffe.

  She swallowed. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I cannot be accepting . . . such items from a gentleman.” She shuffled through the pianoforte music before her, not seeing them.

  “Ah,” he said. “I see. Yes.”

  She moved to the vocal scores, two steps further from him.

  “Forgive my misstep, Miss Reynolds. I did not know if you would have anything appropriate, and I did not want you uncomfortable in company. I’m glad you had your own gown.”

  “It was my sister’s. She insisted I bring one evening dress. I did not . . . I did not expect to ever wear it.”

  “It is lovely.”

  Her shoulders were tight, and her back ached from how stiff she was holding herself.

  “Miss Reynolds. You have questions.” He took in a deep breath, as if fortifying himself. His voice was deep and gruff. “Ask them.”

  Yes, she had many questions, but she was at a loss of how to articulate any of them and remain respectful. As she must, to the man who held such power over her family.

  She looked up at him, and found she could not look away.

  The Will Grant she had known, with his workman’s clothes, broad shoulders, and clouded white eye possessed a brutish look but had a quiet and approachable manner. He had been kind.

  This man was not kind. This man was a duke—the duke who had done so much and then destroyed so much for her family.

  The dim light cast shadows over the duke’s face. His jaw was tight, and as she watched, he swallowed. The duke seemed . . . nervous.

  For the first time, Beauty caught a glimpse of Will Grant in the duke. Perhaps she could question him.

  “I do not understand anything, Your Grace.” She took a deep breath. “You bought up my father’s debts.”

  “I did.”

  “And then you demanded his repayment.”

  “I did.”

  “I came here to repay that debt, per the terms you set up. I am here to be a scullery maid, Your Grace, to earn money. But since I have been here, I have been treated as a guest. How am I to repay the debt if I am treated as a guest? I will not earn any money this way. Is the debt growing deeper, with this treatment, this food, and that room and . . . ?” Her voice grew higher and more strained as panic rose up in her.

  “No, no, of course not.“ He held out a hand, reached for her as if he would touch her. He drew back. He ran the hand through his hair, disheveling it, looking distressed. “Miss Reynolds.“ He looked away from her. “At the rate most scullery maids are paid, it would take around forty years to earn enough to cover your family’s debts.”

  She gasped.

  “But with a higher-paid position as, say, a companion to the duchess, with gifts of money from a generous benefactress, it might be much less than that.

  “And she is in need of an additional companion. It would be a great service to us if you would agree to fill the position.”

  “But what of Lady Judith? The duchess has a companion. ”

  “You would be a junior companion. A journeyman position, shall we say?”

  “I can’t imagine Lady Judith would welcome me.”

  “She is getting on in years, and she never has been talented at the pianoforte.”

  “I may not be talented at the pianoforte either. Not anymore.”

  “Then one of your duties would be to become skilled at it again.” He took a small step toward her. “Her nurse and manservant see to her needs, and Lady Judith is a shrewd conversationalist. But none play the pianoforte or read aloud so excellently.”

  She felt heat rise up in her face. Such flummery.

  “Do you read poetry?”

  “Of course.”

  “My mother’s favorites are Ben Jonson and John Donne.”

  “I can endure.”

  He laughed. “This position will require much reading aloud.”

  “I do not object to that.”

  “Hours and hours of it.”

  “I could strengthen my vocal cords with practice. And drink much water.”

  “Good. I think that would please my mother very much.”

  Beauty straightened herself. “Very well. I accept the position offered.”

  “Good. I am glad.”

  The
air between them had warmed.

  “Why did you . . .?” She couldn’t bring herself to voice the question. The room was too dim, too quiet. And he was so unknown.

  “Ask your questions, Miss Reynolds.”

  She screwed up her courage. “Your Grace.”

  “Yes?”

  “You are not Will Grant.”

  “It is a subset of one of my names.”

  She frowned and faced him. “But you misrepresented yourself. To me, to the entire village of North Lenton, to—”

  “And several other villages and estates besides.”

  She gaped at him. “Why?”

  He raised a brow. “Why? Anonymity, of course. As the Duke of Rosden, I am scrutinized at every turn. And surrounded by toad-eaters. Such bowing and scraping, so much as to drive a man mad. As Will Grant, I scarcely warrant a second glance.”

  She frowned at him.

  He smiled. “I keep watch over my further-flung estates this way. I come as a poor worker, or a surveyor, and evaluate without my status getting in my way. People believe me poor and wretched very easily.”

  “So you are either disregarded or overly regarded?”

  “Yes.”

  “I did not disregard Will Grant.” Her face heated. She should not have said that aloud.

  His gaze sharpened.

  ***

  William resisted the mad urge to pull her into his arms. She was so delicate and small beside him. Womanly, lovely . . . and skittish.

  She had regard for Will Grant. Hearing those words from her lips, seeing that alluring flush on her cheeks, his heart swelled with hope. If she had cared for his poor and simple self, surely she might be brought to care for all of him, despite the complications of rank, wealth, and their uncomfortable history.

  But he must tread carefully.

  When he had proposed that she become a companion to his mother, very different words had pressed the back of his throat, begging to be loosed. What he actually wanted from her, what had become clear as he watched her interact with his mother with grace despite being off-balance in the situation, and heard her read Rob Roy with an adorably uneven Scottish brogue, was everything. He wanted this woman completely.

  Marry me, Beauty. He forced the words back, swallowed them down, did not speak them. He couldn’t say that. Shouldn’t.

  He might be in love, but she was not.

  How could she love him with how he had treated her, her father, her family?

  No, he had much to make up for.

  Because even more than he wanted Beauty, William wanted to be loved by the woman he someday married.

  He knew from experience that women readily said yes to marriage to a duke, but their love did not necessarily follow.

  If he asked his vital question to Beauty, just as if he asked any other young lady in want of funds or position, the answer was a foregone conclusion.

  A girl who would take the position of scullery maid to protect her father would say yes to a marriage proposal from a rich man who could lift her family from penury.

  No matter if her feelings rebelled against his touch, never-mind if she hated his presence.

  So he could not ask, as much as he desired to. He would not ask.

  But he could try to win her affection. Despite everything, perhaps she could be brought to favor him.

  “It is getting late, Your Grace.” Cousin Judith spoke from the door.

  “Ah, cousin, you are so right. Forgive me, Miss Reynolds.”

  He stepped into the hall and found footman Charles there. “Could you fetch Miss Reynold’s maid to escort her back to her room? She is unfamiliar with the castle.”

  The man gave a nod and left on his errand.

  William stepped back into the music room. The women were silent, Beauty with her eyes cast down and hands clasped before her, Judith with her face sour.

  “Cousin Judith.” He eyed her. “Miss Reynolds has agreed to take on the position of a junior companion to the duchess, under your tutelage. Would you take her under your wing?”

  Judith’s mouth twisted.

  Beauty’s eyes darted between the two of them.

  William gave Judith a pointed look. She appeared to be sucking on something sour, but she nodded. “An honor.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Have you discussed this with the duchess yet, Your Grace?” Judith’s tone was ironic.

  “Not yet.”

  Beauty sucked in a breath. He had alarmed her.

  “But I will, immediately she is available tomorrow.”

  “See that you do.” Judith folded her arms, a finger tapping against her upper arm.

  Thankfully, Lucy, the maid assigned to serve Beauty, arrived to escort her.

  “I bid you goodnight, Miss Reynolds, cousin Judith. ‘Til tomorrow.” He forced himself to walk out of the room.

  Chapter 9

  “What is this, William?” The duchess raised a brow at William the next morning. “Who is this sweet-voiced young lady you’ve brought in? She is to attend me?”

  His mother sat in her sumptuous dressing gown, sipping her breakfast chocolate. If she could spear him with her gaze as she had in his youth, he knew she would be doing it now.

  ”Yes.”

  “What is her family?“ She took another sip.

  He was silent. Beauty’s family was nothing to speak of.

  Cousin Judith was not so reticent. “I hear she is from common stock and poor as a church mouse.”

  He dragged words out. “Her father was a merchant, once prosperous, but has fallen on hard times.”

  “Why such a person to attend me, then?”

  Judith scowled. “She would be better employed elsewhere. Her birth does not warrant such a position.”

  “She has had the education of a lady.”

  “Education alone does not a lady make,” the duchess said.

  “Did you have any objection to her manners?”

  “Some lack of polish, but I have had no other objection to her manners. How is she dressed?”

  “I’m told she has only the one evening dress,” Judith supplied. “It has been made over several times, and trust me, it appears the worse for the wear.”

  “I did arrange for a dress for her . . . and she refused it.”

  “Ah, interesting.” Mother set her cup in her saucer. “Now, that is something. You wish her to attend me, William?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Judith, does my son watch the girl?”

  “Like a besotted fool.”

  He clenched his jaw but could not dispute the claim. His face grew hot.

  “I see.” She reached unerringly for the precisely placed table at her side and set down the cup and saucer. “If she is to be my companion, she is to be properly dressed. I will take her into my wardrobe, and we shall find her gowns to wear.”

  “Your Grace!” Cousin Judith looked aghast.

  “I shall spend time with this young person and see if she can become the lady claimed.”

  Relief washed over him. “Thank you, Mother.”

  She called for her maid and dismissed them both.

  Outside her room, Lady Judith speared him with her sharp glare.

  “She is not here to usurp your position, Lady Judith, do not fear for that. She will merely be an assistant. Several of the tasks you do not enjoy, she does.”

  “Does she?” Cousin Judith raised a brow.

  “Reading and music, cousin. I do hope you will treat her kindly.” William frowned a warning at her. If she tried to foist servant’s work onto Beauty, he would have something to say about it.

  “It’s not my position I’m concerned with, William, but your mother’s. Is she to be usurped by a low-born wench with pretty ways?”

  Hot anger flashed. “Be careful, cousin. Mother’s position as the mother of the duke will never be supplanted. When she becomes dowager duchess, however, is up to me and
only me.”

  “The girl’s conniving to be a duchess. Are you fool enough to fall for it? Did you not learn anything the last time?”

  William reined in his temper. “I invited her here, cousin, and I value her welfare. You will do well to remember it.”

  ***

  Morning light streamed through the music room, bathing the pianoforte music before Beauty in warm brightness. Why was the fingering of this passage giving her such trouble? She used to have this piece memorized.

  She wore the fine woolen dress in light blue she had intended on reserving for Sunday services and pushed the worry of what she would wear tomorrow away from her mind.

  The maid, Lucy, had brought Beauty a breakfast tray in her room, explaining that all members of the family took trays for breakfast unless there were guests in residence.

  That was it, then. Beauty wasn’t a guest, and not quite a member of the family. She was a paid companion.

  She shook off amazement at the turn her life had made and repeated the musical phrase three times slowly, then played at speed.

  She did not know how to interpret the actions of this man, this duke. He was an entirely different person than the man she had thought of as Will Grant.

  The Will Grant she had known was not a handsome man, but his size and his intent gaze, even with only the one living eye, had caught her attention.

  When Beauty had spotted him at the inn on the way to Thornewick, amazed excitement had risen up in her. She had spoken to him—she’d babbled at him—with flutters in her stomach.

  That he had been there, that he had gazed at her with intensity, that he had promised to visit her at the castle, all this had caused a tentative happiness to form in her heart. A hope.

  But now, all that hope was dashed. It had plummeted into bewildered betrayal.

  How was the man who had turned her head in actuality a duke?

  How was it that he was so far beyond poor Isabelle Reynolds’ purview as to be laughable?

  How was it that the duke was so different in character and bearing from the Will Grant she had begun to adore?

  She felt ten times a fool.

  Her fingers stumbled again.

  She grimaced and tried the phrase at double time.

  Her fingers tripped, causing a discordant twang from the instrument.