Page 8 of The Duchess and the Beast
“If we all believed rumors, he would not have chosen yourself as his bride-to-be.”
“Does that not speak more of what kind of man he is?!”
“Or perhaps he simply understands your plight—”
“Enough, Lucy,” Virtue groaned. “You always have an answer for everything, don’t you? While I appreciate what you are trying to do, it does little to comfort me now. I desire sympathy, not reassurances.”
When her father had told her who it was that she would be marrying, it had taken Virtue a few moments to remember whyshe recognized the name and, most importantly, why that was a problem.
His Grace, the Duke of Greystone, was said to be a monster. A shut-in who lived in a castle chosen purposefully to cut himself off from the world. That he hated people, hated socializing, hated going out in public! A cruel, cold, calculating man who was a danger to be around, violent and unpredictable, who had made the choice to isolate himself because he could not trust himself and the temper that he was known to have.
He was a killer, also. Bloodthirsty and barbaric. Having fought in the Peninsular War, from what she had heard, when the war ended he was beside himself with misery as he did not wish to see it finish. He enjoyed killing, as the number of men whom he had slain demonstrated perfectly. His proclivity for violence was whispered to be so extreme that he maintained a sinister chamber within his castle's depths, where he allegedly subjected villagers to unspeakable tortures.
And yet, perhaps the most disconcerting rumors surrounded his visage. She remembered the first time she had heard of the man, Lord Greystone, a man so marred by scars that he was compelled to conceal his face behind a mask. It was something of a haunting tale shared amongst mothers, even during her debut season three years ago, as a cautionary whisper. The very thought that this could be her future, the man whose name had once been murmured among her peers as the fate of those unable to secure a suitable match, was chilling. Tales of a gruesome scar slashing across his face, burn marks that clawed their way across his scalp, and an empty eye socket that he left exposed, reveling in the discomfort it provoked.
He was known as theGrimstone beastfor a reason. And a man no one dared to cross.
And that was the man whom her father had chosen her to marry!? Virtue might have liked to have been positive, to hope for the best, to believe that she could fall for a man who she hadn’t even met yet. But if even a quarter of what was said of him was true... a cold shudder swept up her spine just to think!
“You know,” Lucy began softly, shepherding through Virtue's somber reflections. “I heard a rumor just last week that you might be interested in. Seeing as we have all but succumbed to gossip anyway.”
Virtue eyed her maid with curiosity. “Is that right?”
“Oh yes. I was at market earlier today when I happened to come across Tabatha and Sandra, who serve Lord Motley if you recall. I have known them for years—that is to say, they are not the type to indulge in idle chatter without some shred of truth behind it.”
“And what did you hear?” Virtue murmured, her tone low, eager for any distraction.
“Oh, you would not believe the tale they spun! They spoke of a young lady living nearby, quite the talk of the town, who was on the verge of marriage. Until her betrothed caught her in a rather compromising position with another. A stable hand, no less! Naturally, the betrothal was promptly dissolved, but they were far more interested in this young lady. What drove her to do sucha thing? And how could she possibly show her face in public after that?”
“I suspect she was bored,” Virtue said dully, not caring for such gossip for it reminded her of the cruel things said about her.
“But that's not the end of it. This lady, bold as brass, made her public reappearance not long after. And would you believe, she found herself embroiled in a spectacle at the very same social gathering? Ended up tossing a tray of wine at her friend, then tackled her right in front of everyone. Everyone saw it too, so you know it’s true.”
“She...” Virtue paused, the narrative ringing uncomfortably familiar. Slowly, the realization dawned, the shadows of memory aligning too closely with the story's contours. “Wait!” She narrowed her gaze and fixed it on Lucy. “Are you talking about...”
“You, dear,” Lucy affirmed rightly. “Surprise. The young lady whom they spoke of was indeed yourself.”
“But I did not tackle Prudence!” Virtue protested, feeling angered now. These were the types of rumors that swirled about her three months ago, and the fact they were still going... “And I certainly did not seduce a stable hand! Why would they say such things!”
“Because people love to gossip,” Lucy replied matter-of-factly. “Rarely, if ever, is there any truth to these stories. And frankly, they are seldom worth the bother of disproving.” She lookeddown her nose at Virtue. “I find that more often than not, the truth is as boring as it is predictable as it is different to the stories being told. But then, that’s just me,” she concluded with a shrug.
“I see your point,” Virtue muttered bitterly. “But… but this is different!”
“How so?” Lucy pressed, her voice gentle yet probing.
“Well...” She raised a finger in the air as if to make a grand point but found the words unwilling to formulate. “It is that... with my situation... and the Duke... it just is!”
“Perhaps it is,” Lucy conceded with a nod. “Or perhaps it isn’t. But is it not worth approaching this with an open mind? Regardless, you are to marry His Grace. And short of divine intervention, there is not much that can change that.”
“Perhaps I should seduce a stable hand truly this time...” Virtue sighed, throwing her face into her hands.
“And seeing as you have accepted your fate,” Lucy pressed on as if Virtue hadn’t spoken. “Might I suggest that you give him a chance? That you hope for the best because I am sure that most of what people say can’t be true. You want to marry, do you not?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And you want to be happy, yes?”
“Of course I do!”