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

by Bridget Barton

  Isabella thought him not so difficult to look at after all. However, she knew that things were so much different in the dim glow of a candle, and she was still not sure how she would manage to look upon him in the cold light of day.

  “It is very different from the last piece I heard you play, but equally beautiful. I know I have said so already, but your talent is extraordinary,” Isabella spoke softly.

  “I hope I did not wake you,” he said, and she could see his head tipped to one side in question.

  “No, I could not hear you playing, I just awoke suddenly. I must admit that I was a little hungry, and I had crept down to see if I could steal away a piece of bread and butter from the kitchen. But then I heard the violin, and I knew you would be here.”

  “Do you know where to find it all in the kitchen?”

  “No, that is why I brought a candle with me. I thought I might need to have a thorough look. I have only ever been in the kitchen to speak to the cook, and I have never dared help myself to anything. I should not like to incur her wrath.” Isabella laughed, and she could hear him laughing too.

  “Well, you wait here by the fire, and I shall sneak down into the kitchen,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper as he rose to his feet and leaned down to throw another log on the dying embers of the fire.

  “I would not put you to any trouble,” Isabella said hastily although she was amused by the idea of a Peer of the Realm sneaking down into the kitchen to find some bread and butter for her.

  Elliot hurried past her, not bothering to take the candle with him. No doubt he knew exactly where to find everything he needed in the kitchen.

  He seemed to move away so noiselessly that it was as if he had never been there at all; as if she had been talking to a ghost. As the embers caught, and the log began to burn a little more brightly, Isabella was aware that the darkness had been lifted a little. Undoubtedly, the prospect had not occurred to Elliot, or he would not have thrown the log on in the first place.

  He returned in no time at all carrying a small tray. He set it down on the table beside her next to her little candle holder.

  “There, I hope bread-and-butter will do,” he said, and she looked up at him.

  Between the candle and the fire, Isabella could see his face quite clearly. It seemed so very strange to look at him face on once again, and she was sharply reminded of her wedding day. That moment when he had turned to face her seemed to have happened slowly as if the world and everything on it had lost its vital speed that day.

  However, to look upon him at that moment was a very different thing. His disfigurement was still shocking, that had not changed. But she was no longer made afraid by it. She felt almost upended by what a great shame it was that so beautiful a face had been destroyed. But not destroyed entirely, only in part.

  To be able to see how handsome he really was, if only from one angle, might well have made the whole thing all the crueler, for it showed her most exactly what had been lost on the day he had been burned. And he had lost more than his handsome face that day.

  “I hope you are going to eat some, Elliot,” Isabella said and continued to look up at him. “I cannot possibly eat so much bread by myself, and I should not like to waste it.” She laughed.

  Elliot hurriedly took two pieces from the top of the great pile of slices on the plate and made his way back to his fireside chair. He seemed to have become excruciatingly aware of the light in the room, and she could feel his awkwardness returning.

  “Thank you, I really am very hungry,” she said in as ordinarily a tone as she could manage before biting into one of the thick slices.

  “I hope you will be able to sleep a little better once you have eaten.”

  “I am sure that I shall,” she said and hungrily took another bite. “The cook really does make the most wonderful bread, does she not?”

  “Yes, it was a very fine day when Kitty brought her to me. I have lived very well these last six years with our current cook.”

  “And was she somebody that Kitty knew already?” Isabella said, remembering the system of procuring servants that he had described to her in detail.

  “Actually, she had been a cook at Crawford’s house,” Elliot said with a laugh. “Kitty had been over there training up a new maid for Crawford. She often trains his staff, and he is very grateful for it. Anyway, I do not know how she managed to persuade Crawford to part with his cook, but she did. She thought that Mrs Garrett would suit me very well indeed and, in no time at all, that good woman was installed here as my head cook.”

  “And what of Mr Maguire? Did he not mind at all?” Isabella laughed and thought the whole thing sounded most amusing.

  “He made much fuss, believe me.” Elliot’s laugh grew deeper still, and Isabella could tell that he was genuinely warmed and amused by the memory of it all. “But it was a very good-natured sort of fuss. I could tell that he did not really mind, even though he went on about the thing for days and days. And every time he takes a meal with me here, he comments on all that he has lost.”

  “But he would have rather that you had Mrs Garrett for yourself. He is a fine friend indeed.”

  “He is. He immediately realized that it would be a much easier thing for him to go out into the world and find another cook who was equally suitable. He can advertise without any concerns whereas I cannot.”

  “And now? If you needed new staff now, would you still have such concerns?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps I would not, but likely only because I could hide myself away and leave the responsibility of it all to my wife.” He laughed again.

  “And I would not mind the responsibility at all, but I cannot imagine that I would be as proficient at finding the right people as Kitty and Mr. Maguire seem to be.”

  “I suppose they are well practiced in dealing with my self-imposed exile.”

  “It is good to have people in your life who know you so well,” Isabella said before proceeding cautiously. “Elliot, forgive me for prying, but when was the last time you left Coldwell Hall? When was the last time you set foot out of the estate?”

  “Heaven knows I have pried enough into your own life this last week, Isabella, and I can make no objection to you seeking similar information.”

  “You may make any objection you wish. And I shall not blame you for it.”

  “I shall answer you truthfully, Isabella, and tell you that I have not left the Coldwell Estate these last seventeen years. I was but a man of one twenty the last time I made any attempt at being out in society.”

  Isabella was silent for some minutes, hardly trusting herself to speak for fear that her pity might show itself. She did not want to pity him because she knew he did not want to be pitied, but what a dreadful thing for a young man to keep to one place so long for fear of the reaction of others. It made her want to cry.

  “You are shocked, are you not?”

  “I am not at all shocked. Given how the society I once shared made me feel on one simple visit to the church, I cannot begin to imagine what it is you suffered at their hands. It does not surprise me for a moment that you have chosen to be away from them, and I am only sorry that you have felt the need to do so for so very long.”

  “I would not wish to have your pity,” he said flatly.

  “And you do not have my pity,” she said, fighting hard against it. “But I am sad nonetheless.”

  “Well, I thank you for your kindness.”

  “What happened? I mean, what caused you to choose that day never to go out again?” Isabella knew that she was on very shaky ground indeed.

  “I was still recovering from my injuries, although I was recovered enough to be out of doors again. I had missed the world outside for the year that I had been an invalid, and I had decided to go out to my physician and have him check my progress rather than have him ride out to me. In truth, I had been quite excited by the prospect although understandably nervous.”

  “Understandably.” Isabella spoke quietly saying just
enough to remind him that she was still there.

  “My driver drew up outside the doctor’s office, the very same doctor, in fact, who tended to you when you knocked yourself unconscious. Anyway, the driver I had then had been my father’s driver, and he had long since stopped attempting to look at me. He just could not face it and, back then, I could not blame him. I let myself out of my carriage and began to make my way to the doctor’s door. However, before I was six feet from it, I heard a bloodcurdling scream and looked down to see a child staring up at me. His mother hastily grabbed his arm and turned him sharply, but not before glaring at me as if I had purposefully caused some offence. The scream and the general commotion caused others to look at me, and it seemed as if the entire street had suddenly filled with people, all of whom were intent upon staring at me to indulge their curiosity to the fullest.” He paused, and Isabella remained silent. She did not want to say anything that might dissuade him from continuing. “At that moment, I could not stand it. I realized that I had made a grave error in seeking to reinsert myself into the world at large. I felt the greatest sense of being in the wrong place, of being wrong as a man. I wanted nothing more than to be away from there, to fly back into my carriage and have the driver urge my horses away.”

  “So, you left?”

  “I turned on my heel and charged back towards my carriage. The driver turned briefly but never once attempted to climb down from his seat on the top of the carriage. He simply left me there, and I realized then that I was not even the Duke anymore. I was Duke in name only, but not a man who would command an ounce of respect anywhere I went ever again. Even my own driver could not look upon me; he could not even open the door to my carriage.”

  “I hope you dismissed him.”

  “I can hardly remember what happened back then. If I were to guess, I would say that I had related the incident to Crawford and that he likely dismissed the driver. It was then that Crawford and Kitty began to take a good deal of interest in exactly who came here to Coldwell Hall to make their living.”

  “And you have not been out since then?”

  “No,” he said in a dry voice. “As I had desperately tried to open the door of the carriage, sudden nervousness and shame overtaking me entirely, I heard laughter. The crowd that had gathered, once the shock of my appearance had worn off and their gasps had ceased, began to find my plight most amusing. The more they laughed, the more I became flustered and could not get the door open properly. It seemed to take forever, and all the while I could hear their laughter. Men, women, and children, all of them laughing at the disfigured Duke who could not even escape them successfully.”

  “That is truly despicable,” Isabella said in a low voice and felt a sudden surge of the purest anger.

  “I had been quite determined to go out again, to give myself a little respite and to make another attempt. But every time I thought to do so, the sound of the laughter came back, and it seemed so much louder than the scream of the child and so much more destructive to my soul.”

  “I am not surprised.”

  “Every time I thought to go out again, I knew that I truly would not. I always found a reason why I could not go, and not very plausible reasons, it must be said. But I was fooling nobody, not even myself. In the end, I decided to admit that I was never going to leave Coldwell Hall again. When my decision was made, I cannot begin to tell you the strength of the relief that washed over me. I knew I would never have to face them again, and I felt glad.”

  “Elliot, I am so very sorry,” Isabella began, “but might things not be different if you tried again?”

  “I have often wondered over the years. But when I heard how you had been treated at church, a beautiful woman with not a blemish anywhere, I knew that nothing was different. It is the instinct of groups to act as a single entity. They all turn as one, stare as one, and laugh as one as if they are all functioning by the kind permission of one mind. I would never trust them with my soul again, and I fear that that is what I would risk by attempting it.”

  “I understand, Elliot.” Isabella’s voice was a whisper.

  She knew she could not push him any further on the matter.

  “I am a curiosity, Isabella, and by marrying me, you have become one also. I should have realized that from the very start. I am sorry.”

  “You need not apologize for you have done nothing wrong.”

  “Have I not?” he said desolately.

  “No, you have not.”

  Isabella knew that Elliot was preparing to end the conversation again. With the flame low in the fire and the room in darkness once more, he rose to his feet.

  “Goodnight, Isabella,” he said and waited for her to leave the room first.

  “Goodnight, Elliot.”

  Chapter 15

  “My Dearest Esme,

  How glad I am to receive your letters and how grateful for news from the world outside. I must admit, I am pleased that you are returned home from the Midlands. I know that you continued to write and that I do not see you anyway, but just knowing that the two of us are in the same county is a great comfort to me.

  I do miss you terribly and have thought, more than once, that I ought to make an attempt to return to the little church so that I might at least see you for a few moments on Sundays. But I am sure that you will understand that, after the way my father behaved on the last occasion, I think it will be impossible for me to return there in the future.

  I am growing used to the little services at the Coldwell Chapel with Elliot, Mr. Maguire, and the staff. Even the Minister is not quite so repellent to me as once he was, although I am still dubious of his spiritual guidance given what I know of him.

  I had thought that it would be an awkward thing for Elliot to be in the chapel in daytime, but he seems to manage it very well. He puts a good deal of planning into every move he makes, and I cannot help thinking that it must be truly exhausting.

  He is the first to enter the chapel every Sunday, and I am certain that he is there for some time before anybody else arrives. I know, of course, that it is so that he can arrange himself in such a way that the ruined side of his face is turned firmly to the wall. From where he sits, there is none who can see it, not in its entirety in any case.

  Even I, whose seat is at his side, am spared the full extent of his disfigurement.

  And then, when the service is over, Elliot is always the last to leave. In fact, I have never seen him leave yet; he simply remains in the chapel. I am sure that he stays there until he is assured that there is none other present, save for Crawford Maguire. I do not think that Crawford ever looks away from him or shows any sign of repulsion. I think it likely that he never has.

  He is a man of such goodness, although I cannot claim much personal knowledge of him. I learned that he has been the most genuine of friends to the Duke, and it gives me comfort. When Elliot first became scarred, I believe that everybody turned from him apart from Kitty and Crawford, and I am saddened when I think of all that Elliot must have been through. And when I think that I have been a part of that, I am made ashamed.

  I do not talk solely of my own part in perpetuating the myth of the monster, for it was already a well-formed tale when you and I were children; we could do no other than carry it forward. But, in truth, I do not think that I will ever forgive myself for my reaction on the day we first met. To have somebody collapse to the floor in a dead faint at the very sight of your face must be an absolutely soul-destroying experience.

  More than once, I have tried to imagine how I would feel myself in those circumstances, and it almost always reduces me to tears, so much so that I cannot think about it for long. If only I could break free from my own fear and prejudice and look upon him with ease, just as Crawford and Kitty do.

  And I do not know if I will ever get the opportunity to try. Elliot is as determined that I should never see his face as I had been in the beginning. Everything is orchestrated, every move he makes, and I believe that it is all because of me.


  I cannot help thinking that we are destined to spend the rest of our lives in darkness, in the near gloom of a single candle’s glow.

  I have still not been back to the tower and wonder if I ever shall. But there is an idea which touches my heart and will not let me be. And every time that I look out of my chamber window and see Elliot making his way back out of the woods, every time I realize that he has been back out to that desolate tower, the idea prods at me a little more.

  I know now that Elliot’s mother and sister died in that tower in a fire; Kitty has told me that much. Beyond that, I do not know any more of the circumstances and can only assume that Elliot’s own disfigurement has some connection.

  When I saw that beautiful little portrait of his sister hanging in his chamber, I realized that he must have loved her very dearly.

  I cannot get the picture of the little doll out of my mind, the one with the untouched porcelain face. It is clear to me now that the doll must have lain there these eighteen years, rooted to the spot where it had last been dropped by its owner.