Page 7 of The Duchess and the Beast
Virtue felt a stir of unease. The way her father mentioned the Duke's history implied there was more to this man than his titles and accolades. What had happened with the Duke of Greystone that made him considerhera suitable bride, of all people, despite all her recent shortcomings? Worse, what might it mean for her future? “I have not. What happened?”
As her father divulged the details, Virtue's initial spark of excitement rapidly extinguished, replaced by a creeping dread. She did indeed recognize the name—the Duke of Greystone.And with recognition came the flood of chilling rumors that accompanied it, each more unsettling than the last.
Fear was what replaced her excitement. Fear and bitter remorse.
Ever since she was a little girl, Virtue had wished for nothing more than to marry. Well, to fall in love and marry, but at this point, she was willing to settle with the latter. Now that her fate had been set before her, however, she wondered if the prize she sought was worth the cost. Love and happiness were things she associated with marriage, but if the rumors about His Grace were true -- and she had no reason to believe otherwise -- love and happiness were likely the last things she would ever feel again.
A murderer? A madman? A monster ripped straight from her storybooks? These rumors swirled menacingly through her mind, her anxiety mounting with each passing moment. As her father prattled on, his enthusiasm starkly contrasting her growing unease, Virtue couldn't help but wonder: What in good heavens was he thinking?
It appeared he wasn’t, at least not with any regard to her well-being.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lucy lingered in the doorway to Virtue’s bedchamber, a tray in her hands. “I have brought some tea, my lady.”
“I do not want tea,” Virtue replied from her writing desk, barely paying Lucy a glance.
“Of course you do!” Lucy swept into the room, balancing the tray of freshly brewed tea atop her arm. “It is infused with those exotic herbs we had imported from Spain earlier today. I even added honey and dried lavender, like you enjoyed last summer in Bath. It took some charm to convince Mr. Thompson at the market.”
“I am simply in no mood, Lucy,” Virtue sighed and folded the diary she’d spent the evening scribbling in.
“Not in the mood for tea? Now, I never thought I'd see the day,” Lucy remarked, a hint of playfulness in her tone.
Virtue pressed her lips together and eyed her friend with a frustrated glare. She was far too bubbly for the moment, far too spry considering the circumstances. Yes, Virtue loved tea. Further to that point, one of her favorite pastimes was sampling tea from the far reaches of the world, relishing the different flavors and tastes that bridged cultures. But if Lucy assumed that would be enough to brighten Virtue’s mood, she had seriously underestimated just how dour that mood was.
“I see right through what you are trying to do, just so you know,” Virtue remarked as Lucy set the tray down and began to pour a pot of the truly fragrant blend.
“I am sure you don’t.”
“Why are you so cheerful!” Virtue groaned. “Have you not heard the news? Surely you must have. But no, it appears not. For the Lucy I know and cherish would not carry on so lightly if she had. She would be right here, complaining with me!
“Oh, Lucy knows you well enough by now to know there is scarcely a point in even trying. When you are in this sort of mood…” She pretended to shudder. “One would think that winter had come early.”
Virtue’s expression was unamused. “I am glad one of us is enjoying ourselves.”
“Well, someone ought to. Though I must admit, Iamrather taken aback by your current disposition. The Lady Hartleigh I comforted in the library mere hours ago was eager to be wed.And now, presented with her wish, she does nothing but lament. Very strange.”
Was she being serious? Virtue studied her bubbly friend, looking for the conceit or the sense that she was putting on this facade as a means to try and cheer her up. For it was inconceivable she was being serious here. It was inconceivable that she viewed the recent developments as anything but terrifyingly distressful!
On the surface, one might mistake this for a boon. And indeed, when Virtue had first been told she was to be wed, excitement and joy were the primary emotions that backlit her heart. True, she had harbored hopes of meeting the gentleman beforehand, of assessing any potential for affection. Love, she firmly believed, could blossom over time, and she was fully prepared to nurture it.
But then she learned of who she was to marry… and all hope was dashed like a clod of dirt being tossed at a stone wall. It was simply untenable. There was just no chance! Truly, shewantedto be positive. She wanted towantthis marriage. But the more she thought on it, the more she deliberated and wrote and really considered, the clearer it became—it was simply not right.
Had her father taken leave of his senses? He had sold her down the river for his own gain. The mere prospect of boasting a Duchess as a daughter had him floundering before her ‘betrothed’ like a fish out of water. It truly was that simple.
“He is a beast, Lucy,” Virtue lamented. “The rumors abound, and they are dreadful!”
“And of whom are we speaking here?”
Virtue glared at her maid. “His Grace, of course! How am I supposed to marry a man like that? How could Papa ask such a thing of me!”
“Perhaps he believes it to be a beneficial alliance.”
“Forhimself!”
“And surely the Duke cannot be as vile as the whispers suggest.”
“What if he is even more so?”