Page 3 of The Beast of Barendale Manor

Edmund stood rigidly to attention as his valet tied his cravat.

Thompson was meticulous, as ever, his hands steady and sure against Edmund’s trembling skin. As the man moved away, Edmund caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. His dark hair had been swept back from his face, the premature streaks of grey at the temples showing the pain he had endured in his life.

The mottled array of scars over the right-hand side of his face was all he could see. He had once been handsome, but no more. Now, his face reflected the old wounds that life had inflicted.

Disgusted, he turned away, reaching for his glass of brandy to steady his nerves. It was still early morning, but he had not been able to shake the anxiety he felt since waking. He could hear the clop of horses’ hooves outside and the cry of a street urchin running through the streets.

How is the world continuing as though we are not all in turmoil?

He thought of his bride, wondering how she felt today. They had never even met.

This was madness.

There was a soft knock at the door, and as he bid him enter, Colin came into the room. He wore a dark coat and neat cravat, his buttonhole matching Edmund’s. Colin had never been an overly handsome man, not as Edmund had been in his youth, but today, he looked rather smart.

Edmund nodded to him, and Colin ran his eyes over the glass of brandy with concern.

“Are you feeling alright, old chap? It is not even eleven.”

“Yes, thank you. It is medicinal. I often have something to settle my nerves of a morning,” he stated quickly. It was a lie, but Colin wasn’t to know that.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Colin asked. It was the same rhetoric he had kept up all week. Edmund clenched his fists, biting his tongue to stop the sharp barb that threatened to escape.

“You, of all people, know that this marriage must take place,” he replied evenly. “We cannot afford to lose the dowry, and I have my tenants and my mother to think of. This will see us through to the end of the year until we can resolve the issue.”

Edmund drained his glass under his cousin’s watchful eye. He felt as though Colin was judging everything he did, and Edmund did not feel that the man had any right to do so. He had helped greatly with the estate and managed many things when Edmund had been recuperating after the fire. But those days were behind them. He was in full possession of his faculties now and intended to resolve the financial issues he faced once and for all.

“Shall we go down? The carriage awaits, as does your bride.”

Edmund nodded. He glanced at Thompson. His stoic valet bowed encouragingly, his dark eyes intelligent and calm. Edmund knew that his loyal staff would welcome the match. It would mean their security as much as anything, and Edmund wanted that, too.

“Let us be gone,” he muttered and pushed past Colin, his feet feeling leaden as he made his way down to the carriage.

***

Evangeline watched her mother fuss with her dress for the final few minutes before they descended. The gown her father had procured for the occasion was understated and beautiful. It flowed when she walked, reminding her of a fairy’s wings.

Her hair had been tied in intricate plaits all about her head and was covered by a lace bonnet that her mother could not help tweaking one last time. She looked at her reflection, her blue-green eyes stark against the white of her dress.

Evangeline glanced at her sister in the mirror, who gave her a brave smile. Matilda had been unusually quiet. Ever since her father announced that Evangeline would marry, it had signaled the end of many things—including her close relationship with her younger sister. Matilda was miserable that she was leaving her. Evangeline felt the same, although she could not show it. Her father had already grown exasperated with her sister’s moping; he would not have tolerated it from both his daughters.

It will not do to fall apart today, she chided herself. I must be strong and do my duty to my family.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” her mother asked.

Evangeline pasted on a smile, nodding her head. “I am well, Mama. Will I do?” she asked, turning on the spot, expecting Matilda to brighten at the chance to compliment her dress. Her sister did not even manage to turn her head, her gaze on the street below.

“They are here,” she said simply, her voice an unhappy monotone. Evangeline forced herself to stay put. She refused to run to the window like a schoolgirl, no matter how desperate she was to get a glimpse of her fiancée.

She could not believe that she was marrying a man who she had never even seen until today. The anger at her father, which had never fully subsided through the days leading up to the wedding, came back in full force. She saw it on her mother’s face, too.

Lady Longford rarely spoke against her husband, but she rebelled in other ways.

Evangeline looked at Sarah, her wonderful lady’s maid, who was finishing the packing of the final trunks for her journey. Inside, at the base, where they could not be seen, her mother had given her a multitude of fine literature and poetry.

Every now and again, Evangeline would sneak a book from her father’s library, and her mother had quietly condoned the practice by never calling her out on it. Now that her eldest daughter was being sold to the highest bidder, Lady Longford had rebelled more viciously. A few nights before the wedding, her mother had snuck into Evangeline’s room with no fewer than eight volumes for her to take to her new home.

Evangeline knew her father would not miss the poetry. He never read anything that did not further his business mindset, and poems were nonsense to him. She appreciated her mother’s support more than she could say.

“Everything is ready, Miss Evangeline,” Sarah said quietly, bobbing a curtsy and leaving the family alone. Evangeline knew it would also be an adjustment for Sarah in her new home—she would be leaving London for the first time in her life.

Evangeline held out her hand to Matilda, who came forward, looking as though she were being led to the gallows, not her wedding. Evangeline embraced her, feeling her sister stiffening in her arms. It pained her to know that her marriage would separate them, and where Evangeline’s anger had shown against her father, it was nothing compared to Matilda’s. Her sister was still irate and had spoken three words to him in the preceding week.

“You look exquisite, my dear. But we should go down,” her mother said hastily. “He has arrived.”

***

Edmund entered the Longford’s townhouse, flanked by his mother and Colin. An austere-looking butler met them at the door and escorted them into the drawing room.

The house was elegantly proportioned and meticulously decorated. It was just the right side of extravagant without being ostentatious.

As Edmund entered the room, he felt the same pulse of fear at the number of people standing before him. It wasn’t the volume he might have expected at a ball, only a dozen or so, but he was under scrutiny here in a different way.

The butler bowed to a tall woman in a mauve gown who could only have been Evangeline’s mother. Like his own, she was exceedingly beautiful, with hair tied up high on her head, her smile polite and formal.

“You are most welcome, my Lord,” she said quickly, her eyes lingering on the scars across his face. Edmund did his best not to wince.

“My Lady, it is an honour to finally meet you,” he said, bowing to her as she curtsied. A smaller woman beside her, with blonde hair that fell loosely about her shoulders, was eyeing him with such a look of suspicion Edmund almost gaped at her.

“This is my youngest daughter, Miss Matilda Longford,” Lady Longford remarked, pushing her daughter slightly forward. Miss Matilda glared at him even more when her mother couldn’t observe her expression, and Edmund was so taken aback that he had to remind himself to bow.

My reputation precedes me, he thought helplessly. Miss Matilda believes her sister is marrying a murderous wretch.

Lord Longford came forward then, shaking hands with Colin and bowing low to the Dowager Countess. Edmund risked a glance at his mother, but her expression was carefully neutral. She looked about the room with interest, her hands clasped rather tightly in front of her.

Colin, on the other hand, was all easy smiles, as he often was in company. He charmed Lady Longford immediately and made her laugh, breaking the tension. Edmund had always envied Colin’s happy disposition and calm demeanour—more so now than ever.

He wished he could be anywhere else but in this room. He felt as though he were slowly suffocating.

The drawing room had been set up with a few chairs for the ceremony. It should have felt strange that it was taking place in so small a room, but Edmund was glad of it. The thought of a church wedding and having all those people staring at him filled him with dread.

He walked up the makeshift aisle, shook hands with the vicar, and took his seat. Colin came to sit beside him.

He kept his head forwards so that the scarred parts of his face would be hidden from view from the majority of the company. He could not bear the staring. Most were too well bred to glare openly but many could not help themselves.

His heart thundered in his chest as he heard the hush fall over the room, announcing the arrival of the bride. Edmund tried to drag breath into his lungs, but nausea rose up his throat again, and he had to clear it to shake the feeling away.

God help me.

He stood up, feeling the weight of expectation and indecision almost overwhelm him, and then he turned around.

At the base of the aisle stood Baron Longshore, and on his arm was a fairy creature who could not possibly be his wife-to-be.

Edmund stared, utterly dumbfounded by the picture she presented. He had been mistaken. Lord Longford was not passing off his daughter because she was not beautiful—quite the contrary. Evangeline Longford was the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

Her honey-blonde hair was tied beneath her bonnet, and the lace gown fell in lovely waves down her body. She had a curvaceous and beautiful figure, her eyes a green-blue colour that reminded him of a shallow ocean. Full lips, sharp features, and dazzling eyes—that was the picture she presented.

Her gaze was fixed at a point just above Edmund’s shoulder, and he was glad of it. He was sure everything he felt was written across his face for all to see. The rest of the room faded to nothing. There was no sound, not a whisper of a breeze—all that existed for a small, shining moment was Evangeline.

And then her eyes looked at his face, moving across the scars for a splintered second, and Edmund felt the elation at her beauty wither and die as though it had never been.

***

Evangeline had not known what to expect, but the piercing, brooding gaze that met hers was unlike anything she had ever seen.

The Earl of Barendale was no less intriguing in person. The scars were truly terrible and dominated a large portion of the right side of his face. They trailed beneath his cravat and began just below his right eye.

But the rest of his face was startling. He had been, and arguably still was, an exceedingly handsome man. His dark hair, streaked with white strands, contrasted with his gray eyes and tanned skin. His long nose, wider in the centre and tapering down to his firm, full mouth, framed his face perfectly.

She caught her breath at his expression when their eyes met. There was vulnerability there, a pain hidden beneath the surface that lurked at the back of his eyes. But as soon as it appeared it was wiped clean, with a serious and stoic mask that settled into place like a shroud.

She gripped her father’s arm a little tighter as she continued up the aisle with slow, measured steps. It seemed mere seconds before she was standing before him.

Evangeline was not small by any means, but he was a head taller still. His back was strict and straight, and she could see premature lines around his mouth that spoke of the tension and pain he had seen since the death of his first wife.

As she looked up at him, uncertain what would be revealed next, something flickered over his expression. It looked akin to longing or perhaps regret, but once more, even as it appeared, it evaporated.

She turned to the vicar, feeling her hands trembling so violently that she clasped them in front of her to still the movement.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest began, his voice ringing out across the room. Evidently, the man was not used to holding a service in such a small venue, for he spoke far too loudly, and Evangeline attempted not to wince as he proceeded through the opening remarks.

Edmund was a solid wall of tension beside her. He did not move toward her until it was time to exchange the rings. Evangeline was too concerned by her trembling hands to concentrate fully on Edmund’s reactions until she saw how much his were trembling too.

The ‘beast’ is not as brave as he appears, she thought with relief.

But when Edmund pushed the ring onto her finger, their skin brushed, and in an instant, he had jerked away as though scalded. Evangeline flinched in unconscious response, aware of the eyes of her family observing their every move. Edmund’s throat worked as he swallowed convulsively and moved as far from her as he could without appearing rude.

She found it hard to gather herself following that reaction, even more fearful that perhaps he simply detested women and that her very presence was an insult to him.

However did father persuade him to marry me? She thought desperately. He clearly does not wish to be here. What kind of marriage will this be?

Her eyes found her sister and Matilda attempted an encouraging smile. It was ruined, however, by her gaze instantly fixing Edmund with a furious glare the moment she believed Evangeline wasn’t looking.

As the ceremony finally ended, the cold ring of metal seemed to brand her finger as she realized that she was now a wife . Edmund offered her his arm. It was an automatic gesture at best, and Evangeline accepted it, looping her own through his, uncertain how to feel about what had passed between them.

They turned to the small group who had gathered to observe the wedding. Evangeline could just imagine how they appeared—the image of propriety and good society. She was a countess now and had quite a different standing from when she entered the room.

But instead of basking in her newfound status, she was in turmoil. The stiff arm held against hers felt foreign and unwanted. Nothing about Lord Barstow’s demeanour suggested he was in any way pleased with the marriage. She was left with a thousand questions and no one to answer them.

How am I ever to survive this marriage if the touch of my skin makes him flinch away in disgust?