Loved by the Beast

by T E Elliott

  Loved by the Beast

  A Historical Retelling of Beauty and the Beast

  T.E. Elliott

  The Beast’s Legacy Book 1

  Other Books in the Series:

  Service and Slumber

  A Gentle Pursuit

  The book in your hands may be read independently of the next two, it is a complete story of its own. The following two are also complete stories, but should be read in sequence as they build on this one and reference characters and events from it

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by T.E. Elliott

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: Abigail Westbrook

  (ASourceofJoy Graphic Design)

  IBN: 9781087106496 (paperback)

  ASIN: B081HJKQ2T (eBook)

  Hidden Treasure Publications

  Biblical Source:

  Geneva Bible, 1599 Edition. Published by Tolle Lege Press. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in articles, reviews, and broadcasts.

  To My

  Creative

  Hero, who has

  Relentlessly pursued me and

  Inspired this tale,

  Serving and loving me,

  Telling me I am his darling,

  I do dedicate this book.

  And to my ever faithful husband for going above and beyond to give me time to write.

  Prologue

  I’d heard the rumors about me from an early age. My mother tried to keep them from me, but I knew, I’d always known. I had nowhere to go but this château and its grounds, so as a naturally curious boy I found every hiding spot, every dark corner, and searched behind every tapestry. I’d heard every bit of gossip, every planned tête-à-tête from the servants without being discovered…mostly.

  Audric chuckled to himself as he remembered being outed by an embarrassed housemaid or an angry cook. He sobered again as he dipped his quill in the ink pot and continued writing.

  The rumors varied from naming me a beast to claims to have seen me lurking about at night with claws and fangs dripping with blood as I hunted my next victim. No one had ever seen me though, Mother made sure of that. Anyone caught on the grounds was punished to the full extent of the law. Our servants had been carefully selected and sworn to secrecy. When I was outside, it was in the special garden that Father had made for me. With its high hedges I was kept from any prying eyes that could have made it that far onto my family’s property. That garden was my haven.

  Perhaps that’s why the study of plants has always fascinated me. Hippeastrum, Zantedeschia, Centaurea— they filled my life with beauty. But it was Rosa, the roses, that were my favorite. The danger of the thorns, the deep beauty of the petals, the fragrance that filled my senses, I was always drawn to them.

  Audric closed his eyes and took a deep breath, almost smelling the scent as he thought about them, then released his breath and opened his eyes. He stared out the window, lost in thought.

  Am I a beast? As a child I was delighted by those rumors. I played beast and went roving over the château, sneaking up on the servants with the loudest roar I could muster. It was great fun until the day I tried it on my parents. As soon as my mother recovered from the shock, she was so angry she sent me to my room without supper. Father took me by the shoulders and told me sternly to never play beast again. “You are a man, Audric, a man.” I had been in trouble before, but this was different. I couldn’t understand why they were so upset.

  Then I heard another rumor. Francine, our youngest housemaid, was discussing it with the housekeeper, Madame Villeneuve. “Can you believe it? They said the little Monsieur isn’t even human, or that at most he’s only half human. They tried to get me to tell them more about him, but don’t worry, I held my tongue.”

  I had been hiding in a cupboard. I burst from the cupboard door, tears in my eyes, breathing heavily. I stared at them for half a moment then fumed out the door as I escaped to my room. Francine came after me, fear in her voice. She knocked at my door. “Please, Monsieur, I don’t believe what they said.” knock, knock. “Please don’t tell your mama, Monsieur, she’ll be so upset.”

  Madame Villeneuve came to find me next. I let her in, she always had the words that made me feel better when I was hurt or sick. She knelt down in front of me with a warm smile on her face. “Why are you sad little Monsieur?”

  “I am a real person, aren’t I, Madame?”

  “Why don’t we think about that for a minute, hm? Every living creature has a mama and a papa, right?”

  I nodded my head.

  “And have you ever seen a mama dog have kittens or a mama horse have a duck for a baby?”

  I giggled and shook my head.

  “Are your mama and papa people, little Monsieur?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what does that make you?”

  “But I don’t look like mama or papa.”

  She took me to the mirror.

  “Let’s see, two arms, two legs, a head, ears,” she wiggled my ears and made me laugh, “you have your papa’s eyes and your mama’s smile, I’d say that’s pretty close. No one looks exactly like their parents.”

  I perked up. “I am a person!”

  Madame hugged me from behind. “Don’t forget that truth, dear boy, no matter what you hear others say.”

  I didn’t tell Mother what I’d heard, but after that all the servants went to the city for supplies rather than the village. No more rumors reached my ears. I suspect Madame Villeneuve had something to do with that.

  Am I a beast? Read my story and decide for yourself.

  Chapter 1

  Monsieur Du Bois was once a wealthy merchant. His fleet of ships carried the finest silks, teas, furniture, and baubles from the China seas, that he then sold to the nobility. A profitable endeavor that gave him great prestige among his contemporaries. He lived in Paris with his three sons and three daughters: Pierre, Jacques, François, Juliette, Marie, and Léa.

  As providence would have it, Monsieur Du Bois’ success was not to last. Every single one of his ships were lost at sea. His wealth seemed to vanish overnight, and with it, all of his so-called friends, his sons’ prospects, and his daughters’ suitors. And so in the Year of our Lord Seventeen Hundred, there was nothing for it but to flee to the mountains where life was slow and the act of living less expensive. Monsieur Du Bois had a small cottage and plot of land in the French Alps, previously bought for his late wife who loved the mountain air.

  Time will not be wasted in telling of Monsieur Du Bois’ sons and two elder daughters as they adjusted to country living. Suffice it to say, they were less than pleased and found it insufferably difficult to give up the finer things of life. Léa, on the other hand, was much more like her mother than the others. In her wealth, she was unspoiled; in her beauty, she was not vain. Her father endeavored to love his children equally, and he did, but he couldn’t help but have a special place in his heart for Léa. Now that his wealth was gone and everyone, even his own children, turned their backs on him, Léa was all the more a comfort to him.

  So much so, that he would go to great lengths if he thought he could bring a smile to her face.

  “I will get you, my little friend, mark my words,” Du Bois’ voice was h
ushed as he slowly drew nearer to his prey, a small rabbit. Du Bois contributed to the family income as a warrener, though by his own admission, not a very good one. He hunted rabbits for food as well as to sell in the village marketplace. His sons, to their credit, did their best to manage the small farm that was part of their land. You see, the Du Bois family property included a parcel of farmland as well as a portion of the forest immediately adjacent to the much larger property of the prestigious Rousseau family. Château Rousseau was like a fortress, everyone knew to stay off of their land unless they wanted to be punished—everyone who grew up in the village, that is.

  Du Bois’ traps had failed again to catch anything, so the sight of the furry creature gave him some hope. Currently they were at a standoff. Du Bois crouched low to the ground, the rabbit watching, waiting to spring away at any moment. Then, an unfortunate step, a snapped twig, and a flash of fur set Du Bois running after said rabbit. He gave quite a chase, weaving through trees, pouncing on bushes, determined not to come home empty-handed. But in the end, this once wealthy merchant was not conditioned for such exertion. He stopped, huffing and puffing, doubled over trying to catch his breath. Looking up, he noticed two beady black eyes staring up at him, as if mocking him.

  “Oh, how kind of you to wait for me! Who is hunting whom, may I ask?” Du Bois stood up and stretched his back, “Ah, you’ll be the death of me yet, I’ll wager.” He laughed heartily at the thought. The bunny bounded away, wiggling beneath a nearby gate, bringing Du Bois’ attention to the wall before him. The trees came to an abrupt end where the wall, about five feet high, stood and went on as far as the eye could see. On the other side of the wall was a curious sight—a tall, well manicured hedge that blocked his view of anything beyond. It was high, at least ten feet, and wide, from where he stood he couldn’t see where it ended. He looked back the way he came. “Now where have I wandered off to?”

  Uncertain how to proceed, he placed his hands on his hips and his eyes scanned the hedge. Curiosity got the best of him and he tried the gate that the rabbit had shimmied under. He jiggled it and a rusty lock fell among the ivy that clung to the gate. After more pulling and shoving, sure enough, the door opened. Du Bois began to follow along the wall of the hedge until he came to a corner and began to trace along that wall as well. As he neared the next corner, he saw a grand château in the distance. He’d visited grand estates such as this a time or two on matters of business.

  But his attention was drawn back to the hedge, what on earth was hidden inside it? There was no going back now. If someone found him, he would simply explain that he was lost, no harm done. So, he continued to follow the third wall until he came to an arched doorway. A stone path lined with smaller flowering bushes led away from it toward the château. Stepping over the bushes, he faced the doorway. The arch was covered in pink climbing roses, and a sturdy wooden door stood beneath it. Du Bois reached for the handle, hesitated, then slowly pulled it open. It creaked as he did so. He peeked inside quickly, then checked back behind him once more, all was clear. Stepping inside, he carefully closed the door behind him. Du Bois stood in awe at the sight of a flourishing, proper French jardin. Paths wove around immaculate flower beds, budding fruit trees dotted here and there, marble benches, statues, and fountains decorated the scene.

  In the center of the expansive garden there sat what appeared to be a small stone cottage. Du Bois walked toward it, taking everything in as he went. The cottage itself was surrounded by a variety of roses in several shades. There were two large windows on the side of the cottage that faced him, on either side of the door. He peeked inside and noticed windows in the two side walls as well. “They must enjoy the sunshine a great deal with all these windows,” Du Bois said to himself. “Glass too, first rate.” Under the right-hand window sat a chaise lounge, and by the left-hand window was a wingback chair situated so as to best see out the window on that side. In the corner by the chair was an elaborately carved desk. Du Bois admired this especially, “Fine craftsmanship, indeed.” Further inspection revealed a harpsichord elegantly painted on the underside of the cover, as well as a marble fireplace invitingly lit. Though it was spring, there were still a few cool days that would make a good blaze necessary.

  A sudden thought struck him, “A fire, lit, the owners of this fine little cottage are likely to be close by. I’d better be on my way.” As he turned to leave, he noticed again the roses and thought how much his youngest daughter would enjoy having one to brighten their home. “They will surely not miss one flower,” he said as he picked up the shears that sat on a nearby bench. As he cut a blazing reddish-orange rose that reminded him of a sunrise, a firm hand gripped his shoulder. He lifted his head, the rest of him still crouched down, into the stern face of what must be a gardener.

  “You are trespassing, Monsieur,” there was no warmth in the gardener’s voice.

  Du Bois straightened and turned toward him, “I…” His excuse of being lost died on his lips as it suddenly seemed quite clear that he had not lost his way into a private garden.

  “Forgive me,” he said instead, “I was quite taken in by the beauty of your gardens. My daughter would take much pleasure in this one rose.” He smiled, hoping to ease the tension. The gardener did not return it.

  “You will need to see Duchesse d'Aramitz,” he said gruffly, “Come with me.”

  Du Bois began to get an uneasy feeling; he hoped that this Duchesse d'Aramitz would be more forgiving than her gardener.

  Du Bois found himself in a small but lavishly furnished sitting room off the main entrance of the château. The gardener was staring him down with a frown that could curdle milk. Having called a servant to find the lady of the house, he now watched Du Bois like a hawk. Du Bois wondered whether the man thought he might bolt, either that or steal something.

  In point of fact, one could stop Du Bois from being a merchant, but one could never take the merchant out of Du Bois. He took in each piece of furniture, each trinket that adorned the marble mantle piece, guessing how much each piece cost and its value. Having not heard the rumors of the occupants of this particular château, nor the warnings designed to keep people away from the place, he sat blissfully unaware. A good merchant never turned down the opportunity to make the acquaintance of the well endowed.

  The servant from before opened the door with an anxious look on his face. He watched Du Bois uneasily. The grand lady herself entered the room in a flourish of importance and full skirts. Her demeanor gave every indication that she was not the sort of person that could be schmoozed by a charming former merchant.

  “Do you know who I am?” she demanded.

  “Duchesse d'Aramitz, I presume?” The merchant stood and took off his cap. He answered with uncertainty, and gave an uneasy glance at the gardener.

  “You may go, Devereux,” she nodded to the butler, who closed the door as he left. The lady turned back to Du Bois. “How dare you presume to trespass on my property. Do you know I could have you arrested for that alone.” It was a statement not a question.

  “I…I…certainly did not mean to trespass, Madame. I am a warrener and was hunting on my own land. I guess I took a wrong turn or two…”

  “You were poaching then!”

  “Madame, please, I had no malicious intent. We are neighbors, in fact.” He chuckled, but the disdain of the lady withered him.

  “You were found in the garden and you stole a rose,” she said each word like an executioner announcing his sentence before death, and he was found guiltier by the moment. Was it just his imagination or did she seem to relish that she had so much against him?

  “Did you not know that the garden is private, that the occupants of the house may frequent it? What were you after, sir? A glance, a peek, a tale to take back to the town?”

  “I…don’t know what you mean. I admit that I was curious about what was inside, it is true. I did take the rose, but I truly meant no harm. I thought one rose would not be missed among so many. It is for my daughter, my Bell
e. Are you a mother, Duchesse?”

  While Du Bois meant this innocently in his ignorance, to Duchesse d'Aramitz it blazed the fire that was already simmering.

  “Enough! I don’t know if you are stupid or just a brazen fiend, but you will suffer the consequences! Lambert, take this man to the magistrate and have him charged with poaching, trespassing, and thieving.”

  “Duchesse, wait!” Du Bois went to his knees as she turned to leave. “The punishment for such offenses is heavy. What will happen to my family? I was once a wealthy merchant, but am no longer. My sons, my three daughters, they need me.”

  She turned haughtily and frowned down at him as he trembled, and seemed to be considering something. “Do you mean to tell me that you are a bourgeois?”

  He wasn’t sure what his social standing had to do with anything at this moment, especially now that he was closer to the bottom class than the middle, and gave her a dumbfounded look.

  Duchesse d'Aramitz turned her head in exasperation. “You were not born a peasant?” she hissed.

  “Forgive me, Madame, no, I was not. In fact, at the height of my career I was named among the haute bourgeoisie,” he added proudly.

  “Indeed? And you have daughters?”

  “Yes, three.”

  “Are any of them of age?”

  “All, Madame.”

  Du Bois did not dare to hope for mercy from this fierce woman, but something seemed to be shifting. Why was she hesitating now? Everything about this situation was confusing and horrifying at the same time.

  “Go home, sir,” she finally told him in a much calmer voice, “go home and wait for me to decide your fate.”

  Lambert, the gardener, who as it turned out was the head groundskeeper, snapped his head up with a surprised expression on his weathered face.