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

by Bridget Barton

  “Yes, although I think your share of the work is probably greater than my own.”

  “So, let us try and make another note.” Gently, he took one of her fingers and moved it to another string, leaving the others in place.

  Once again, he held her hand as he drew the bow backward and forwards across the violin. Such a simple change in the position of one finger had made an entirely different sound altogether. Isabella was quite amazed.

  Once the notes were played, Elliot just stood still, not speaking or moving, for several moments. Isabella closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of almost being cradled in his arms, even as she stood facing away from him. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, and its warmth gave her a wonderful, tingling feeling. Her mind had wandered entirely, and she felt sure that she could not take in a moment’s tuition that she would remember later. She just wanted to stand there in his arms in the dim light of the library, and she wondered if he felt the same.

  At that moment, there was a brisk knock on the door, and the two of them jumped apart, turning to see who was entering.

  Chapter 25

  “I really am terribly sorry to bother you this late in the evening.” Crawford Maguire walked into the dimly lit library.

  “Not at all, Crawford,” Elliot began brightly. “Do take a seat. Here, I shall ring the bell for some tea. Or would you prefer sherry?”

  “Please, do not go to any trouble on my account,” Crawford said and then faltered. “But perhaps a brandy if you will both join me.” He looked pointedly at Isabella, and her heart began to thump.

  Why would she need a brandy? And what was Crawford Maguire doing at Coldwell Hall so late into the evening?

  “Yes, why not?” Elliot spoke heartily; a little too heartily.

  He strode across the room to serve three generous measures of brandy from the bottle on the small walnut drinks cabinet, moving smoothly through the gloom, his eyes adapting to the darkness more easily than her own.

  There was something about him which made the air in the room feel suddenly charged. As Isabella studied Elliot’s tall frame, she could sense a tightness in his stance; a tautness. Something was wrong, and he knew it as well as she did.

  “Here.” He handed the first brandy glass to Isabella.

  She did not particularly like brandy, having only ever taken it for mild shocks. But Isabella had a feeling that the shock coming her way now was set to be more than mild.

  “Thank you, «she said in almost a whisper.

  “Crawford.” Elliot had returned to the drinks cabinet for the other two glasses and handed one to his friend before they all took their seats around the dim glow of the fireplace.

  “What has happened?” Isabella said the moment they were seated.

  “Perhaps I ought to discuss things briefly with Elliot first before…” Crawford began, but Isabella cut him off.

  “No, just say it. I could not bear to wait a moment longer in suspension, for it is clear to me that you have grave news, Crawford.” Isabella kept her voice as steady as possible and stopped her mind from wandering in any direction at all.

  It was no good wondering what had happened and to whom. She could not run through the line of faces appearing in her mind and imagine how she was about to feel to hear how they had come to grief. She would do better to wait until she knew something for sure.

  “Then you have already perceived I have come here tonight with bad news,” Crawford spoke slowly and in a low voice as if keen to stave off the inevitable. “Isabella, forgive me, but I have just discovered that Lady Upperton has suffered a dreadful accident.” He bowed his head in the darkness.

  “Mama?” Isabella was surprised to hear herself shriek as she rose to her feet. “My mother?” she said again as if she must have clarification.

  “I am afraid so. She apparently fell down the stairs at Upperton Hall early this afternoon. The news did not reach me until early this evening. Forgive me; I would have come earlier had I known sooner.”

  “Not at all. There is nothing to forgive.” Isabella hardly recognized her own voice. “And I thank you for coming to inform me.” She remained standing. “Is the doctor with her? Perhaps I should go straight to Upperton?” She looked at Elliot for his approval but could see that he knew, as she did, that there would be no point.

  Her mouth was dry, and she knew in her heart that her mother was dead. But if she did not say it out loud, and if she did not allow anybody else present to say it, then it would not be true. Not for a few minutes, at any rate.

  “Isabella,” Elliot said and rose from his seat.

  As he stood before her, the fire cast a pale glow across his features, and she could just make out the raised, ruined skin. But the little she could see did not upset her; it did not repel her.

  “Please, do not say it, «she said with her voice finally beginning to crack with emotion. “I know what you are both trying to tell me, but do not say it out loud. Not yet. Please, not yet.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Elliot immediately reached up and gently wiped them away with his thumbs as he cupped her face in his hands.

  “I am so sorry, Isabella.” He spoke with quiet and heartfelt sympathy; she was certain of that.

  But he knew very well the pain of losing a mother in violent circumstances. And what could be more violent than a fall down the stairs? A fall? Surely her mother had not simply fallen down a staircase she had used day in day out for so many years?

  “Is there anything you would wish me to do? Either of you?” Crawford’s voice sounded as if it was coming from much further away, and Isabella knew that she must be settling into shock.

  “I cannot think there is anything to be done tonight, Crawford.” Elliot kept his voice low. “But I thank you.”

  “What happened?” Isabella said as a cold shiver ran over her body.

  “Excuse me?” Crawford was playing for time.

  “How did my mother fall down the stairs?”

  “In truth, I do not know.” Crawford sounded so apologetic that Isabella felt sorry for him.

  “She was pushed,” Isabella spoke with a cold finality.

  A dead silence seemed to have descended upon the library, and nobody spoke a word for many moments. In the end, Elliot crouched before the fire and added two more logs to the dying flames. Then he gently prized the brandy glass from Isabella’s hands and took it across to the drinks cabinet where he added more of the fiery liquid.

  “Here,” he said as he pressed it into her hands. “And sit down, Isabella.” He gently pushed her back down into her seat opposite him.

  Isabella flopped down into the armchair realizing that there was nowhere to go and nothing to be done. Her mother was dead, and even her refusal to speak the thing aloud would not change it.

  “My father did it, «she said finally after taking a large gulp of the brandy and wincing. “I know he did. Charges should be brought against him for murder.”

  “I am sorry, Isabella, but I did not hear anything which would suggest your father had anything to do with it. As far as I can discern, the whole thing is thought to have been a terrible accident.” Crawford cleared his throat loudly.

  “Forgive me, Crawford. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable with my assertion. Nor do I wish to make you uncomfortable either, Elliot.” She turned to look at her husband.

  Elliot was sitting face onto her, not bothering to make any attempt at hiding his scars. Isabella let her mind wander inappropriately for a few moments; she did not want to think about her mother and how she must have suffered in her final moments. Instead, she thought of Elliot. Had he simply forgotten to hide, a thing which came as second nature to him, when the shocking news had been revealed? Had the gravity of the situation taken his mind off his own cares for a while?

  She could not see his face in great detail, but more detail than she ordinarily saw him. And it did not make her afraid, not for a moment. Was this the simple case of familiarity that Crawford had felt so sure would come
sooner or later? Or was it the subdued lighting taking the edge off it all, making him easier to regard?

  “I am not uncomfortable,” Elliot said reassuringly.

  “Nor I.” Crawford echoed his sentiments. “But do you have a strong suspicion that your father could hurt your mother so badly? Hurt her enough to end her life?”

  “Yes,” Isabella said instantly. “I have no doubt about it.”

  “I wish I knew how to proceed in such cases,” Crawford began, and it was clear he wanted to help. So clear that Isabella was inordinately touched by it all. “I do not know how one moves a case of this nature to the courts without first-hand evidence, especially if the thing has already been deemed an accident by the attending physician.” Isabella could see his mighty, vaguely stooped shoulders shrug in the dim light.

  “I know there is no way.” Isabella wanted to put the poor man at his ease. “I know in my heart what has happened, as sure as I know that my father shall never be brought to justice for it. And he will not be the first man to have murdered his wife in cold blood only to find no consequence for the crime. It is the way of things.” Isabella felt desolate.

  She had always known that she had loved her mother, however ambiguous that love had been at times. And perhaps she had been a little too hard-hearted towards her over the years. It was clear to her now that Lady Upperton had likely known her husband was capable of killing her.

  But that ought not to have stopped her silently, secretly, supporting her own daughter. It ought not to have stopped her from providing comfort when the two of them were alone. But that was something that Lady Upperton had never done.

  Isabella was determined not to take on such guilt. She was sad, heartbroken even, and that would have to be sufficient. It was enough, surely, without taking the blame for feeling less than she ought for a woman who did not even attend her wedding. Isabella knew that her mother had always protected herself from hurt of any kind. She could not even face her daughter’s pain, and so chose to turn away from it all and leave Isabella to suffer alone. What on earth did Isabella have to feel guilty about? And then it hit her.

  “This is all my fault,” she said, and the shock of the realization almost led her to let go of her brandy glass.

  “Isabella?” Elliot began to rise from his seat again but stopped. “How on earth can you think that?”

  “I was the one who declared that you should not give my father another penny, was I not?”

  “But…”

  “And I knew what he was capable of. He even told me that my mother would suffer for it all if I did not convince you to increase the settlement you had made upon me.”

  “But Isabella…”

  “And it was out of spite. And not just spite towards my father but, and may God forgive me, my mother, also. I wanted her to know how I had felt all those years. I wanted her to realize that I had felt helpless and afraid and that the simplest of touches or a kind word from her would have at least made me feel loved.” Isabella almost choked on the sob which erupted so suddenly that she was taken by surprise. “I wanted to punish her for not even being at my side when I was married. Well, behold my success! See how badly I have punished her. Oh, for the power to take it all back, I would give anything.” Isabella dropped her head and cried.

  “Isabella, please do not do this to yourself.” She had not seen or heard Elliot approach and only became aware of him when he knelt before her and took her hands in his own.

  “How can I not blame myself? What would it have harmed me had you given my father the money?” she said angrily. “It would not have made a jot of difference to my life, would it? And yet I was too peevish to behave as a better woman and think for a moment what my mother would suffer because of it all. We do not have the right to punish others in this life, and yet I took that right as my own. Even if God can forgive me, I shall never, ever forgive myself.”

  “Neither God nor you need to search about for forgiveness to give, Isabella.” Elliot squeezed her hands. “For I paid your father the money anyway.”

  “You paid him?” Isabella looked at Elliot incredulously and then began to shake her head. “Elliot, you cannot simply say something like that to alleviate my guilt.”

  “I speak the truth, Isabella.”

  “He does speak the truth. I was the one who made the payment on Elliot’s behalf,” Crawford added.

  Isabella looked up at him, her eyes stinging, and the soft skin of her face already raw from crying. “As I do all of Elliot’s banking business, it was a task much like any other.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. But I can understand why you might think that Elliot and I would seek to ease your suffering with a falsehood,” he spoke in so kindly a manner that her tears began afresh.

  “I would not wish to give offence to either of you,” Isabella said hurriedly.

  “I am not offended.” Isabella could see that Elliot was smiling at her and thought how beautiful that smile was; how kind and caring.

  “And neither am I. And I would gladly show you the docket from the bank if it would put your mind at rest.” Crawford was clearly not insulted.

  “Oh, goodness no. I believe you, really I do.” Isabella took the handkerchief that Elliot handed her. “Thank you.” She smiled at him sadly.

  “Forgive me for going over your head and paying your father without your own authorization. In truth, I had thought that you would never discover my deception,” Elliot began awkwardly.

  “I am not angry.”

  “I knew you were angry and embarrassed by your father’s behaviour, but I wanted to be on the safe side, just in case your father intended to carry out his threat to hurt your mother. I did not want you to come to regret a decision made in anger. But I did not go against your wishes lightly. I agonized over it for some days before acceding to your father’s request.”

  “Thank you, Elliot. Thank you for acting in reason when I could not.”

  “Had I known you a little better, then I should not have hidden it from you. I should have told you what I had done and why. But at the time, we were still just barely acquainted, and I could tell that I had already pressed you for too much information in regard to your father’s behaviour as a man, and I did not want to make you even more uneasy.”

  “Elliot, you did the right thing, and I shall always be grateful to you.”

  “But in the end, it changed nothing, did it?” Elliot, still on bended knees before her, sighed.

  “Yes, it did. It changed how I would live the rest of my life. You spared me from the most dreadful guilt, and I cannot tell you what that means to me. Whatever awful, pointless justification my father gives himself for his crime, at least he cannot soothe himself that I am ultimately to blame, can he?”

  “No, that he cannot do.” Elliot rose and took her glass before pulling her to her feet. “I think you should lay down for a while. I will call Kitty to come up and bring you some hot milk and a sleeping draught.”

  “Thank you,” Isabella said and was grateful for his kindness and care.

  Chapter 26

  The next days seemed to pass in a haze of emotions for Isabella. She was afraid to go to her mother’s funeral because it would make the whole thing absolutely real. Even though she knew without a doubt that her mother was dead, still she had moments in which it was almost as if nothing had changed.

  Isabella knew that it was because she had not been there at the time. She had witnessed nothing, nor had she seen her mother’s body.

  With an awful wrench to her stomach, Isabella wondered if her brother had seen it happen. As unpleasant as he was, at just fourteen years, it would have been a most terrible thing. For anybody to see one parent murder the other would be indescribable, but for a boy of his age, it would be unthinkable. And for Anthony to have to continue to live under that roof with the knowledge of what his father had done could not bear thinking about.

  Even without witnessing the incident, surely Anthony knew enough about li
fe at Upperton Hall to know his father capable of such a thing. Even to suspect it would make life with his father unbearable from now on, surely.

  And yet, just as she was powerless to help her mother, Isabella could not see how she was able to help her brother either. He was in line to be the next Earl of Upperton, and nothing would stand in the way of that. And the person who would be charged with the boy’s instruction on the duties that would one day be his could only be the current Earl.

  The whole thing was impossible, and all that Isabella could do in the end was hope that her brother was blissfully ignorant of all that was so painfully obvious to her.