A Beauty for the Scarred Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  He really was very tall, although he did not seem in any way intimidating. His gray-blue eyes looked down upon her kindly, and she felt her nerves instantly soothed.

  “Do come in and take a seat,” he said as he ushered her into the room.

  It was a dark wood-paneled room with many shelves, all littered with books. There was a rich oak desk, the largest she had ever seen and equally double the size of the one in her father’s study.

  Crawford Maguire bypassed the desk and showed her to one of two large, high-backed armchairs by a wide, low window. Isabella looked out, trying to get her bearings, and thought she must be in a room which looked out over the east side of the estate.

  “Thank you,” she said as she took her seat.

  “I trust you are feeling better? Your head?” He looked at her with kind concern.

  “Yes. The lump is very much smaller; I thank you.” Isabella resisted the urge to reach up and check.

  “And you have recovered from … the shock?” He spoke cautiously, but he need not say more; it was clear he was referring to the Duke’s appearance.

  “I did not mean to cause offence,” she said quietly.

  “Of course.” He smiled. “It is just the way of things.”

  “I do not understand what I am to do next. I mean, am I to stay in my room? Am I allowed to walk freely?”

  “You are not a prisoner, Your Grace.”

  “Then I may leave?” she said defiantly.

  “I do not know quite how to answer. You are a married woman now, and you must ask your husband such a question.”

  “Then I am a prisoner,” she said sullenly.

  “Elliot recognizes how difficult these early days will be for you. He is not without compassion.” Crawford smiled.

  “Indeed,” she said and thought the two men must surely be long-acquainted if Crawford Maguire could speak of the Duke in terms of his first name.

  “And he would not wish to force you into his company.”

  “Then what am I to do?”

  “All he asks is two hours a day. Two hours in which to sit and talk in the drawing room every evening.”

  “I see,” she said uncertainly.

  “The rest of the time is your own to spend as you see fit.”

  “Am I free to walk the grounds?”

  “Of course, you are.” He laughed.

  “And the Hall?”

  “Anywhere you wish. Nowhere is out of bounds to you, Your Grace.”

  Isabella chewed thoughtfully at her bottom lip; this was not what she had expected at all. And the idea that she might explore at will gave her a childish sense of excitement, almost as if she were being allowed free range in another’s home.

  But, of course, it was her home now too.

  “And you may direct the servants in any way you wish. Perhaps you would like to address the cook about menus and the housekeeper about any other matters. They are good staff and very attentive. I believe you have already been approached by Kitty in respect of the position of lady’s maid?”

  “Yes. Kitty has been most kind.”

  “She is a very fine woman.” He smiled warmly, and Isabella wondered if she might not find much in common with Crawford Maguire along the way.

  “So, I must spend just two hours with the Duke daily?” Isabella wanted it confirmed.

  “Yes, in the evening. Kitty will advise you of the time each day.”

  “And I may keep to my … my own room?” Her cheeks flushed hot to have to discuss such a thing with a man she barely knew.

  “Yes, of course. The Duke has hopes that you will find it most comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” Isabella tried to hide the sweeping relief; she did not want this man to know how she dreaded laying with the Duke.

  “I am here most days, Your Grace,” he began. “And I keep a chamber here and this study. If you have any problems or questions, I can generally be found somewhere on the estate or in the Hall.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled and sensed that their meeting was drawing to a close.

  When she finally made her way out into the corridor, she was pleased to see Kitty waiting for her.

  Kitty had been right; she did feel a little better.

  Chapter 6

  Kitty came for her later that day to tell her that the Duke would receive her in the drawing-room at seven o’clock.

  “Will I see the Duke every evening at seven o’clock, Kitty?”

  “No, I think the time will change here and there along the way.”

  “Am I to dress for it?”

  “Just as you would normally, Your Grace.” Kitty smiled. “You look so worried, and you have no need, I promise. The Duke is a good man and very fine company. Once you come to know him, I am sure you will be greatly impressed.”

  Isabella felt a little sad, thinking how upsetting it must be for Kitty to think back to when the Duke had been a boy, his face unspoiled.

  “I am sure that I shall.” Isabella was anything but.

  When Kitty finally led her down to the drawing room, a room she had yet to enter, Isabella’s nerve almost left her completely. Although her first day had eased the fear a little, and Crawford Maguire had done much to make her feel more secure, the memory of that dreadful, ruined face came back to her with full force.

  Her fear was suddenly so great that Isabella wanted to run away.

  “The gown suits you very well, Your Grace.” Kitty seemed to sense her nerves.

  “Thank you. It is a very fine gown.” Isabella looked down at herself.

  She had chosen to wear one of the gowns the Duke had arranged to be made for her, deciding against any sort of open rebellion on their first evening, despite her earlier determination. Her fear was riding high enough without adding to it with her own petulance.

  “Kitty, I am terribly afraid,” she whispered desperately when they arrived outside the drawing-room door.

  “Have courage, my dear.” Kitty, motherly once again, took her hand. “You will come to know him, and your fear will dissolve. Please believe me, you are perfectly safe.”

  Kitty opened the door before Isabella had time to turn on her heel, and she quickly ushered her in.

  “The Duchess, Your Grace,” she said in a warm tone.

  “Thank you, Kitty,” he replied as he rose to his feet. “Do come in, Isabella.”

  His voice was very deep and smooth indeed, and Isabella wondered if it had sounded so in the cool, spartan little chapel.

  “Thank you,” Isabella said meekly as she walked slowly into the room.

  “Thank you, Kitty,” the Duke said, dismissing his servant most pleasingly and politely.

  Isabella dwelled hard upon it, thinking it best to concentrate upon points in the Duke’s favour. He obviously liked Kitty, as did she. So, a point in the Duke’s favour.

  “You walk as one on her way to the gallows, Isabella,” he spoke in a tone which was neither antagonistic nor amused.

  Isabella wished she could read at least a little something from it but could not. She looked nervously towards him and realized just how poorly lit the room was.

  It was early spring, and the darkness was beginning to fall outside. The curtains had been drawn, and pale lamps cast an orange glow everywhere, without truly lighting the place.

  “Should I sit?” she asked meekly.

  “Please do,” he said. “Perhaps you would care to take the chair I have set for you there.” He pointed to a high-backed armchair with a side table next to it, upon which stood one of the few lamps.

  “Thank you.”

  Isabella made her way to the chair and noted that the Duke stood sideways on to her, not turning his head, even when it would have been easier to do so.

  The moment she sat down, he sat also. The glow from the lamp on the table lit her area well, but somehow made the Duke, just a few feet away, seem cast into darkness. She could only just see him.

  His chair, although not far from hers, was set a little sideways on also.
Even when her eyes began to adjust to the gloom, she could see only the unspoiled, handsome side of his face.

  “How is your head, Isabella?” he began.

  “I am recovered, Sir. I thank you.”

  “Elliot,” he said in a somewhat stiff tone.

  “Elliot,” she parroted.

  “I am sorry that you were not better prepared for yesterday’s ordeal.”

  “I … I …” Isabella hardly knew how to answer.

  She could not agree and confirm that it had, indeed, been an ordeal.

  “You are embarrassed.”

  “I do not know what to say.”

  “I have lived with my own dreadful appearance for many years, Isabella. You shall not offend me by referring to it.”

  “I see.”

  “We are married, after all.”

  “We are.”

  “I realize that this is very difficult for you. You must miss your home terribly.”

  “No.” She spoke so vehemently she could hardly believe it.

  “You do not miss your family?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “You seem angry with them.”

  “I am.”

  “Because you are here now with me, and you blame them for it?”

  “I do not know how to answer you truthfully without giving offence.”

  “I am not trying to trick you. You may answer truthfully.”

  Isabella stared over at him through the gloom for a moment. She could make out his handsome, strong profile well now that she had acclimatized to the darkness, although she could not see his green eyes, or at least the one on the left side of his face, the only one facing her.

  Instead, it looked dark, almost black, giving him an ever more brooding appearance.

  “You cannot think I was pleased to be forced to marry a man I did not know; a man I had never met before my wedding day.” If he were going to give her the opportunity to speak freely, she would take it lest she never have another chance.

  “A man so disfigured that the children of the county tell stories about him to thrill and frighten each other,” he said in a flat tone.

  “You are angry, are you not, that I fainted away?”

  “Not angry, no.”

  “You must surely be displeased in some way.”

  “I am aware of the effect my appearance has on a person who is encountering it for the first time.”

  “I apologize for fainting, Elliot.” It felt strange to address him so. “But you must surely understand that I was already in a nervous state before I had even come into your estate.”

  “I am sure.”

  “I know nothing of you. You might be cruel or bad tempered for all I can say. All I have to compare you to is, as you say, the gossip and stories. I do not mean to suggest that they are true, but I should like you to see it from my viewpoint if you will.”

  “A young woman brought to a strange place by her father to marry a man she might be wise to fear?”

  “Exactly so,” she said and was relieved that when he said she must speak freely, he seemed to have meant it. “And so, you must not assume it was your appearance alone which led me to such fear because it was not.”

  “But it must have had some effect.”

  “You have asked me to speak plainly and I shall,” she began after taking a deep breath. “I had not known what to expect, and I was surprised by your scars. When you turned, I … I …”

  “You had expected me to be as I am on this side.” He raised a hand to the unspoiled side of his face.

  “Yes.”

  “You have been honest indeed.”

  “You asked me to be so, Sir.”

  “Did your father give you no say?”

  “None. But that is not out of the common way. My father does not give say to any person who does not hold a higher rank. It has always been so, and I am well used to it.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “To find that he had abandoned me here without waiting to enquire after my health came as no surprise to me.”

  “I cannot imagine having so careless a father.” His voice was so smooth that Isabella closed her eyes. It was another point in the Duke’s favour. “But I suspected as much. I suspected that your father was a careless man when he did not think it necessary for us to meet beforehand.”

  “But you still went ahead.” Isabella could hear the accusation in her own voice.

  “Yes.” He paused for a long time. “I have spent a good many years in isolation, and I acted out of my own selfishness. It is difficult to explain what it is like to have lived as I have. I do not tell you so in order to extract pity, for I would not wish for it. I tell you only in explanation.”

  “I see.” And Isabella believed him.

  “It would seem we have talked of the deeper issues very early. Perhaps that is simply the nature of a marriage made just as ours was.”

  “There is no allowance for coming slowly to know a person, I daresay.”

  “But perhaps you could manage just two hours in every day?”

  “Of course.” Isabella could not stop her mind racing ahead.

  Would there come a time when two hours of conversation a day was not enough for Elliot? Would he want more from her? Would he want something she could not give?

  “Have you seen anything of the estate today?”

  “Only a little of the Hall,” she said and was grateful for the sudden change in direction. “I am greatly impressed by the entrance hall. It is so very grand and so large.”

  “And the knight in shining armour? Do you like him?”

  “The steed is carved most beautifully. It is so intricate that I returned to it twice more to make a study. And the armour is most impressive. Is it genuine?”

  “I have never been able to get to the bottom of that question.” He laughed suddenly, and Isabella was surprised by it. She was surprised that a man so disfigured would ever find anything to laugh at again. “It has been here for many generations. Or, at least, that is what my father told me. And he always said that it had been worn by a brave knight in battle. He would tell such wonderful stories of his escapades.”

  “You laugh, Elliot. Did you not believe your father?”

  “He teased me a good deal and was a man who liked to weave fairy tales for the delight of his children. In such matters, I never knew when to believe him.” He spoke so fondly that Isabella felt affected by it.

  What must it be like to have a father who would enjoy teasing his children playfully and telling them great tales? Instead of a father who ignored and dismissed, paying attention only to berate and bully.

  “Then you have been blessed,” Isabella spoke without thinking.

  How could she have described such a man as blessed? Oh, how she wished she could have taken it back.

  “That is true, Isabella. My father was a very fine man.”

  “You must miss him.”

  “I do.” He said quietly. “I miss them all.”

  Isabella could sense that he spoke the last vaguely as if it had been a thought he had not intended to voice. She knew she could not question him further.

  However, she did wonder about his family. Had he siblings? She had never heard of it before. And his mother, she knew, had passed away eighteen years before. That much she had learned from Kitty.

  When the time was right, she would ask Kitty more.

  “Tell me, do you have everything you need?” he said in a much brighter voice as if he wished to wash away the last sombre moments.

  “Yes. I thank you.” She thought of her wardrobe. “And I thank you for the gowns; they are beautiful. It was most thoughtful of you.”

  “If there are any which do not fit, they will be altered for you as you wish. And if you require any others, you have only to ask.”

  “How kind.”

  “I can see that the gown you have chosen this evening fits you very well.” His voice lowered. “Very well.”

  For a moment, Isabella felt a li
ttle panic stricken. It was nice to be complimented in such a way but, at the same time, she did not want Elliot Covington to be attracted to her; she could not bear it.