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fifteen

T he sense of guilt never really left Isabella after the visit to Anthony, but promenading in the park with Patrick lightened her chest and chased away the darkness.

Patrick’s impeccable dark coat enhanced the brightness of his golden hair and his straight shoulders but also his pallor. Compared to his brother, he was slender and elegant although his gaunt cheeks worried her.

Mother and Helen walked next to her, but Helen hadn’t stopped looking worried since yesterday. The visit to Anthony had shaken her deeply. Likely, she was thinking about her future as a shunned duchess next to a probably disfigured husband. Not quite the fairy tale she’d dreamt of.

“The rioters of the West End Riots damaged Hyde Park as well,” Patrick said, pointing at a broken wooden bench. “How shameful. They destroyed the city, and for what? The Tories want to tax importations and facilitate exportation. The socialists think this practice will ruin the country and cause the rise of unemployment.”

“And who’s right in your opinion?” Isabella asked.

He flashed a crooked smile. “You’re asking the wrong brother. It’s enough that I know this much about politics. I swear nothing is more boring than laws and bills. Thank goodness, my brother has to deal with that.”

“But you help your brother with his work, don’t you?” Isabella asked. “Especially now.”

“Of course. Anthony needs me. It’s usually the other way around.” His tone became serious. “He’s my elder brother. He’s always protected me. When I was a boy, I used to play cricket in the big dining room in winter. Mother hated that I played inside. More than once, she forbade me to do it. I didn’t listen. So one day, I broke her favourite mirror. Anthony took the blame.”

“Why?”

“I’d received many warnings, and destroying the mirror would have been the last straw. Mother would have punished me severely had she known I was to blame. He had never done anything to anger my parents, so he took the responsibility for the damage.” He drew his eyebrows together. “I should have told the truth.”

“How does His Grace feel?” Helen asked. “I mean, is he in good spirits despite everything, or is he distraught?”

Patrick took his time to answer. “He’s strong. He isn’t complaining or showing us how much he’s suffering. But he’s changed his mind about a few projects he wanted to undertake in the future.”

By the manner in which he lowered his voice and slanted a glance at them, Isabella suspected the projects he mentioned were of the bridal nature.

“When is the duke ready to resume his normal life?” Helen asked.

Patrick hesitated before answering again. He’d always been chatty and quick to talk. His hesitation was likely due to the fact he wasn’t at liberty to answer freely.

“I don’t know. But it’ll take weeks, perhaps months, before he’ll resume his normal life.”

Only sorrow for Anthony overwhelmed Isabella. He didn’t strike her as a cheerful man who enjoyed people’s company as Patrick did, and the incident must have demoralised him further.

“I’ll be happy to visit him if he likes some company,” she said.

“Absolutely,” Helen chimed in. “We’ll be delighted.”

Patrick’s smile held only sadness. “When he’s ready, I’m sure he’ll want to see you.”

Mother was flustered. “I hope we have the chance to see His Grace soon. My husband and I are leaving for Boston, heaven help me.”

“Boston? Are you really?” he asked.

Mother looked resigned. “My husband’s brother lives in Boston, and they do business together. If I think of all the coffee I’ll have to smell…We’ll be away for nearly a year.”

Patrick’s face remained deadpan. “I’m sure Anthony will be fully recovered by the time you return.”

* * *

Anthony forced himself not to grimace when the physician removed the bandages from around his head.

Eight weeks had passed since the incident. Weeks he’d spent at home, never setting foot outside. Weeks of medications, high fever, nausea, and few visits.

While he looked forward to getting rid of the bandages, he couldn’t deny being worried about his looks. He’d never cared much about his face, but if the pain he’d experienced matched the degree of damage, he would look like a monster.

“We’re almost done, Your Grace.” The physician gently peeled the last layer of gauze and bandage.

The air on his face was nothing new. The physician had changed the bandages regularly, and many times, Anthony had been half unconscious. But it was the first time the bandages wouldn’t be applied again.

“Your left eye might hurt for a while,” the physician said.

Anthony doubted he would notice any difference. Pain had been his faithful companion for weeks on end.

He blinked. The physician had drawn the curtains shut and lit only a few candles to give Anthony’s left eye the time to adjust. For a moment, he couldn’t see anything from his left eye aside from a blurred black halo. The bad left sight affected even his right side. Slowly, he made out the shape of his bed, armoire, and the concerned face of the physician.

“How do you feel, Your Grace?”

Odd. Sore. Angry. And as if his face were bloated by the stings of a thousand wasps.

“I can see.”

“Excellent. I’ll pull the curtains a little.”

The spring sunlight cut through the darkness, catching his bad eye. He lowered his gaze as a headache started to pound. The physician opened the curtains another inch until they were fully open.

“Is it bearable?”

“Yes.” He stood up and walked towards the wall mirror, but the doctor stopped him.

“Your Grace,” he warned.

Anthony cleared his throat. “I want to look at myself in a mirror.”

The physician collected the bandages, focusing on his leather bag. “I have to discourage you from doing that, sir. Let a few days pass. The flesh will be less swollen and red, and you’ll have a clearer idea of the…the…”

“Damage? Bad news doesn’t improve by ignoring it.”

“Of course, sir.” The physician kept arranging his bottles and tools.

Anthony couldn’t deny the rising anxiety in his chest as he approached the mirror. There was a reason why he’d asked Patrick and Grandmama to leave him alone with the doctor that day. He wanted to be the first to see his face after the physician.

Once he stood in front of the mirror, he raised his gaze. He suppressed a gasp. He should have asked to be alone. Although there was no escaping the horror in front of him.

His right side was normal, a bit pale, if anything. His left eye was whole, which was good, he guessed. But the flesh around it was bumped and torn, forming a sort of grotesque, blossoming flower across his cheek.

The point where the bullet had shredded his face was the centre of the flower with the petals stretching in every direction towards his nose, chin, and temple. The bullet hadn’t gone through his face, but the infection had done most of the damage, starting the tissue inflammation and causing further scarring.

“It’ll get better, Your Grace,” the physician said. “The swelling will settle, and…well, the scars will stay, of course, but they won’t be so evident once the flesh returns to normal.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Besides, he didn’t believe a word the physician had said.

The doctor put a hand on the doorknob. “Would you like to see your brother and grandmother?”

Another nod.

The physician slid out of the room quietly. The moment he shut the door, Anthony released a long breath.

Bloody hell . He looked like a monster who had been mauled by another monster. He tentatively touched the mangled flesh. It wasn’t as sore as he expected, but it felt rough and uneven to the touch and odd as if it didn’t belong to him.

The door inched inwards, and Grandmama and Patrick entered.

“How are you, darling?” Grandmama fell silent when he turned around. Tears welled up in her eyes as she clamped a trembling hand over her mouth. “Heavens,” she said among sobs.

Patrick stood frozen, his expression horrified. “Hell.”

“It is what it is,” Anthony said. “There’s little I can do.”

He barely finished the sentence before Grandmama hugged him. She was as tall as he was and managed to make him feel small and little. The hug broke something in his chest, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

Patrick joined them, hugging them both.

He took deep breaths, suddenly tired of feeling pain and being worried, of pretending he didn’t care about his face.

“Dear, dear boy.” Grandmama cupped Anthony’s good cheek. “We’ll go through this together as we always do. The Beauforts of Gloucester have never cowered in front of a challenge. We won’t start now.”

“You’ll grow a beard,” Patrick said. “And your hair as well. A long beard and long hair.”

Anthony smiled, but Grandmama glared at Patrick.

“How dare you make a joke?” she said.

Patrick shrugged. “I’m not joking.”

“Well, I disagree with the beard.” Grandmama tilted her chin up. “Anthony shouldn’t be ashamed. If anyone dares make a joke about you or disparage you, they’ll have to deal with me. You have nothing to hide.”

“Yes, we do,” Patrick said. “We didn’t reveal the real reason why Anthony was shot. Our silence coupled with that scar will have us drowned in rumours. People will make up their own stories about how Anthony got that scar. I’m ready to take the blame, as it should be.”

Grandmama stroked Anthony’s hair and took Patrick’s hand. “No one will hurt my dear grandchildren. Let the people talk. I don’t care what they say. Once Anthony is married and with an heir, the gossip will stop. Showing everyone that a lady married him is better than growing a beard.”

Anthony stepped back from her touch. Marriage. Just the thought of showing Isabella his face made him queasy. He had to accept his new face first before showing it to anyone else, and Isabella wasn’t the first one.

“I don’t want to think about marrying anyone now. I can barely tolerate staring at my own reflection. I can’t expect a bride to be happy to see my face every day.”

“That’s nonsense.” Grandmama regained her stern tone. “Your bride will be sensible enough to understand who you are without judging you for your scar. You’ve spent too much time cooped up in this room. Your spirits are low. Once you start going out again, everything will be better.”

“When I stare at myself without grimacing, I’ll be ready for a bride. Or for going out.” He was in no hurry. “I want Patrick to go to von Gruner’s meeting,” he said in the spur of the moment.

Grandmama and Patrick showed matching shocked faces.

“Me?” Patrick pointed a finger at himself.

“Anthony, you must go.” Grandmama didn’t show mercy.

“Von Gruner invited me to his house in Cabo Verde. Needless to say, I’m not able to undertake such a long journey. At the same time, if I refuse the meeting and ask for more time, he won’t send a second invitation, no matter how many times I tell him I have health problems. We have this one opportunity, and I can’t go.”

He expected Patrick to complain. Instead, Patrick nodded.

“If you trust me, I’ll go.”

“Brooks and my solicitor will come with you and instruct you on what to say. You have a few weeks before leaving.”

“And on what not to say.” Scepticism crept into Grandmama’s voice. “Patrick isn’t ready.”

“I’m not ready either. The infection might start again if I travel to Cabo Verde.”

She wasn’t finished. “Then you must show yourself to the House of Lords.”

“No.”

“It’s your duty. You’ve been away for weeks, and you don’t have any physical impediments to prevent you from going.”

“I would say a face like mine is a physical impediment.”

Grandmama opened her mouth, but Patrick cut her off.

“Grandmama,” Patrick said. “Have some mercy.”

“Mercy?” Her voice sounded like steel. “Our enemies will be at our throats the moment they believe the duke isn’t fit to do his duty. Anthony, you must go.”

“No.”

“You must leave the house! I understand a trip to Cabo Verde is too much, but you can’t stay in your room forever.”

“I will not show my face to the House of Lords until I’m ready.”

“Anthony—”

“No. I want to be alone. Out!” It was the first time he’d raised his voice with Grandmama.

The shock froze her, and she was about to say something, but Patrick led her out of the room.

Breathing hard, he turned his back to the mirror.

For once, he didn’t want to do his duty. For once, he wished the darkness would take him again.