Page 5 of The Duchess and the Beast
“Yes, indeed you are,” Lucy agreed. “But two days ago, you were not. Two days ago, I seemed to remember how aglow with anticipation you were at the prospect of attending a ball once more—despite your efforts to hide it. And the way you looked in that dress...” She sighed wistfully. “Stunning and elegant, as I’ve ever seen.”
“And look to what end it brought me,” Virtue fell back on her settee with a thump and a sigh.
“One misstep,” Lucy said. “That’s all it was. You were convinced before that you’d never leave the house again. That you wouldn’t want to. But time heals all wounds, makes people forget. You are still young, Virtue. You still have so much time.”
“They won’t forget,” Virtue mumbled bitterly.
Lucy tittered. “We will see about that. Why, I bet that before you tripped and fell, there was more than one lordling whose eye you caught. Your Prince Charming is out there, you just need to be patient.”
As was her mood lately, Virtue opened her mouth to argue, only she caught her tongue when she remembered what had happened just before she had embarrassed herself. Lord Tarrow... the handsome marquess whose attention she had captured from across the room. He had stared at her in a way she hadn’t expected possible, a manner which suggested he either didn’t know what had happened to her, or he didn’t care.Was it possible that the ton might forget about her constant shortcomings? Was it possible that come time, she might find someone?
Since she had been a little girl, all Virtue had wanted was to fall in love. The idea that it might never happen was enough to break her, but the thought that there was still a chance... it gave her a sense of hope that she so desperately needed to cling to, lest she truly become the crude old witch from her novels, bickering at all the young couples passing her way.
“Maybe you are right, Lucy,” she conceded softly.
“I almost always am.”
“Careful now, Lucy,” Virtue snickered. “Someone is becoming a little too pleased with themself.”
Lucy moved to respond, but then shifted and sat up suddenly. It took Virtue a moment to realize why, until she looked back from the room and caught the housekeeper lingering by the door.
“Yes?” Virtue asked of her. “What is it?”
The housekeeper’s name was Miss White, an elderly woman whose honey cakes held a special place in her father's heart, as did her inclination to gossip about anything and everything that occurred within the walls of Holmfield. So much so that she scarcely left his side, lest it be for emergencies. That had Virtue panicking a little.
“It is Lord Holmfield,” Miss White said carefully. “Your father, he wishes to speak with you... Now.”
Virtue felt her stomach churn. As well as avoiding the outside world, she had also been avoiding her father and done a great job of it. No doubt he was furious with her for the way she behaved at the ball, and no doubt he wanted to reprimand her for it. His aspirations for her marriage were even greater than her own after all. Given the disastrous events of late, his displeasure was all but guaranteed.
“Alright...” Virtue sighed deeply before pulling herself from Lucy’s arms. “Let him know I am on my way.”
“I shall make some tea,” Lucy offered hastily. “In case you need it.”
“If you intend on mixing in some laudanum,” Virtue murmured as she skulked across the room, preparing herself for the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. The last two days had been a travesty, and she sensed it was only going to get worse.
CHAPTER THREE
Virtue approached her father’s study with her heart thudding. As a little girl, the room had terrified her, as she had often associated its musty interiors with her father's stern demeanor and brisk temper. The few times she’d dared to enter it, she would always leave with her tail between her legs and tears welling in her eyes. He was a stern man, her father. He was a serious man, also. Not overtly cruel or ‘evil’ as the characters in her storybooks, just not the sort of man who was used to not getting his way. And he hated being interrupted when he was at work.
On this day, however, she had been summoned, which at least mitigated the risk of aggravating him by an untimely interruption. Nevertheless, she anticipated that his reasons for calling her were likely to be no less severe.
She tapped gently at the heavy, oak door of the study and waited. And waited. Several minutes must have passed before he finally called back.
“Come in!” His voice, a harsh bark from within, shattered the tense silence.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Virtue opened the door and stepped inside. Even as a grown woman, the study was an intimidating room. Not overtly large by any sense, yet it somehow always made her feel small inside it; dark and devoid of any natural light, a high ceiling, stacked bookshelves that seemed to tower over her, a work desk that only came up to her waist but felt as if it reached her shoulders. And then there was the man seated behind it.
Like Virtue, Lord Holmfield—as he commanded to be referred to, even by his daughter—was short, especially for a man. Stocky also, what was once a robust frame had since turned soft with age. His hair, a faded strawberry blonde, had receded significantly, and his skin bore the ruddy hue of blotches, his cheeks ample and his jowls wobbly. But it was his eyes that Virtue always watched, for they told of the mood he was in. Was he angry with her? Was he venomous? Or was he... she met his eyes, tried to read them, but found it impossible to do in the moment.
This, of course, only added to her nerves.
“You asked to see me, my lord?” she spoke softly as she lingered in the doorway.
“Yes.” He gestured to the chair opposite his desk, lifting his gaze for a moment. “Sit.”
She nodded and crossed the room, taking the seat, trying to get as comfortable as she could, all the while feeling her father study her with a sense of contempt. When her mother had been alive, her father had been far kinder and more compassionate. When she had died, over ten years ago now, he had turned cold and withdrawn. He had come to view Virtue less as a daughter and more as a chess piece, to be strategically positioned for familial advantage. His overarching ambition was to see her well-married.
And indeed, when he had successfully orchestrated her betrothal, she had noticed a change in her father that she could never have predicted. For a time there, he had treated her with something akin to pride and satisfaction, elated that she was finally living up to her purpose. Elated for what it meant for him, also.