Page 9 of The Duchess and the Beast
“Then this here is your best opportunity,” Lucy said with gentle firmness, resting a reassuring hand on Virtue’s shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. “But if you go in expecting the worst, then that is what you shall manifest. Be positive, Lady Hartleigh. Do that and I know this won’t be nearly as bad as you think. And if it truly is as bad as they say, then by God’s grace, I shall ride into that blasted Castle myself and be your savior from the hands of that cruel man.”
Virtue giggled a little at that. They were wise words. Precisely what Virtueneededto hear, despite not wanting to, truth be told. She might not have believed them fully. And some of those rumors she had heard... they could not have come from nothing. But Lucy was right in that this marriage was going to happen, nothing could stop it, so why not approach it with an open heart? Perhaps there was a chance for happiness after all.
Encouraged by Lucy’s optimism, Virtue lifted her cup of tea, the warmth from the brew suffusing her with a tentative hope. She savored the familiar, comforting flavor, feeling a slight lift in her spirits. She remained nervous, of course, and fear still gnawed at her, but enveloped by her friend's unwavering support, she found herself also touched by curiosity. Could it be possible that His Grace, the Duke of Greystone, was not the monster tales made him out to be?
A few moments of comfortable silence passed between them before Lucy’s soft giggle punctuated the quiet.
Virtue, curiosity piqued, set her teacup down with a soft clink against the saucer. “Care to share what is so amusing?” she asked.
“I was just pondering,” Lucy began, her smile lingering with amusement, “how His Grace might be having a very similar conversation with his own circle, perhaps fretting over the very same rumors about you that are circulating.”
The thought struck Virtue with unexpected force, prompting her to reach out and grasp Lucy’s arm. “But he is not so foolish to believe any of them... right? Right?”
CHAPTER FIVE
1 WEEK LATER
“Oh, dear Father in Heaven, tell me you do not plan on wearing that,” Simon groaned with a tone of disdain, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What?” Sebastian Foxworth blinked, the tight confines of the carriage slamming back into immediate focus. His mind had been elsewhere, attention fixed beyond the window of the carriage, watching the lush meadows and green pastures of the English countryside as they rolled on by. He found it calmed his nerves to imagine himself riding on horseback across them, free to go where he wanted, when he wanted, without having to worry about the trappings of the life he was born into or the glares of the ton.
“That.” Simon, seated across from him, pointed not so subtly at Sebastian’s face. “You are not seriously considering wearing it to the wedding? The ceremony, of all places! Surely not.”
Almost instinctively, Sebastian’s hand rose to touch the mask that obscured the right side of his face. It had become sucha constant in his life that he occasionally forgot its presence, feeling as intrinsic a part of him as his hair or nose. The mask, a plain white domino, was crafted to cover the right side of his face, extending from his forehead, sweeping past his nose and down to his chin—a stark deviation from the typical masks that merely veiled the eyes. The first time he had donned it, it had felt suffocating. Now, the thought of venturing outside without it was unimaginable.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Sebastian lied, his gaze drifting back to the window. “I suppose so.”
Simon’s lip curled slightly, a mix of skepticism and concern etching his features. “Sebastian, really… how do you imagine that will look?”
“You tell me.”
“I do not mean like that,” Simon clarified, his tone softening. “Truthfully, I am so accustomed to seeing you in it that it barely registers. I might even venture to say it has become a part of your charm,” he tittered. “But I have known you for most of your adult life. I know what to expect. Your bride-to-be, however…” He let the point dangle between them—there was no need to finish it.
“I don’t care what she thinks,” Sebastian retorted sharply, the edge in his voice masking a far bitter truth. “And if we are to be wed, she may as well adjust to it now. It is certainly preferable to the alternative.”
“You intend to wear it around the castle too, then? For as long as you are married? During supper, or evening strolls, even in the intimate confines of the bedchamber...” Simon’s grin broadened mischievously.
“What do you think?” Sebastian snapped.
“I had not thought about it,” Simon conceded after a pause. He then studied Sebastian for a moment, watching him across the carriage, eyes narrowed, expression taken by concern. “But are you truly certain this is wise?”
“Meaning?”
“The marriage. Are you sure this is the right course of action? I understand why you might think so. And on the surface, yes, it appears a prudent choice, quite unexpected too,” he chuckled, which Sebastian sensed was his attempt to lighten the mood. “But is it the right thing? ThisLady Hartleigh... you know what the ton says about her.”
“What do I care for the gossip of the ton?” Sebastian retorted with a dismissive wave.
“If even a fragment of what’s said is true, this entire marriage has the potential to blow up in your face.” He grimaced. “…Pardon the expression.” Sebastian scowled at him, and Simon hurried to explain. “She is going to be trouble, Sebastian. There was a reason her father was so eager to see her wed, and it appears to have everything to do with the woman he is trying to offhand onto you.”
“You believe this is some sort of ruse?”
“No, not a ruse,” Simon clarified. “Rather, a precarious situation that I fear you haven't fully considered. And frankly, I don't believe you have nearly enough thought through.”
“And what do you suppose is the alternative?” Feeling himself growing irritated, Sebastian turned his gaze back to the passing scenery outside the window. They must have been only a few miles from their destination now—given the smattering of cottages that were growing in abundance—and he was desperate to escape the confines of this tiny carriage. It felt like a jail cell, or rather, like a ship transporting him to a new world that he had no desire to see. “You of all people are well aware of the dire state of the castle my father left behind. My finances are dwindling; my inheritance has been grossly mismanaged. If I don't take decisive action soon...” He shook his head, a mixture of frustration and resignation in his voice. “This marriage is a safeguard against the creditors soon to be circling like vultures. The dowry alone could stabilize my financial situation until I can find my feet once more.”
“I told you, I would happily lend you the money,” Simon insisted. “It would be an—”
“No,” Sebastian interjected with a growl. He looked his friend in the eye so that he could see that this conversation had reached its end. Borrowing money from Simon and his family, after all the pain he had inadvertently brought upon them, was not an option he would consider. “This is my burden, and I alone will resolve it. This marriage is the only way forward.”