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

by Bridget Barton

  But there was no time now. She knew, of course, that an annulment would take time, but not so long that Elliot could not hide away from her throughout. He was like a ghost to her at times, a phantom who appeared only in the dusk, seen only in the daylight from a distance or by chance. At times, he was not even real.

  Oh, but he was real. And her love for him was real, she knew it. In the end, there would be nothing for it but to tell him everything that was in her heart, including all her fears. And she would look upon him as she did so, she must. Kitty had been right in that at least, and so had Esme. Elliot needed to know that she could look upon him and still love him. And not only did Elliot need to know it, but Isabella needed to know it too.

  Despite having so light a breakfast, Isabella had not managed to eat anything else for the rest of the day. She had foregone luncheon, afternoon tea, and finally, dinner. She had wandered from place to place looking for him, determined to find him and stand face to face in the daylight.

  She had tried his study, the library, even the ballroom. She had searched the entire ground floor of Coldwell Hall to no avail.

  In the end, she had made her way upstairs and boldly marched towards the room that she had crept inside only twice before. When she reached his chamber, she knocked harshly before entering in a most abrupt manner. She looked into the room and could see only the doll on the chair and the picture of the lovely young Eleanor looking back at her. Of Elliot Covington, there was no sign.

  It was only when dusk had fallen that she thought of the tower. But surely, he would not be there in the darkness, would he? He did tell her that he walked the grounds extensively, covering mile upon mile every week. But he did not do that in the dark, she felt sure. Ordinarily, he would be making himself ready for the evening meeting, even at that moment walking down the stairs with his violin ready to enjoy himself.

  When she could find him nowhere, Isabella began to grow desperate. She knew she had to find him; she had to tell him now how she felt. Throwing her shawl around her shoulders and lighting one of the oil lamps, she raced out into the darkness, heading for the tower.

  The trees seemed black and foreboding at that time of night; the woodland no longer pretty or welcoming; no birdsong to keep her mind off her fear. She imagined noises everywhere, sighs and groans and the snapping of dry twigs as footsteps followed her.

  She knew, of course, that she heard nothing of the sort, and that it was her mind playing tricks upon her.

  By the time Isabella reached the tower, her hands were shaking violently. She had worked herself up into a most dreadful state of fear, and it was a fear that only grew as the dark shape of the tower loomed large before her.

  Isabella squinted, seeing no light coming from within. If Elliot was in, he was alone and in darkness. It did not make any sense, and yet she knew she had to know for sure; she had to look for herself.

  She pulled the door towards her, and it seemed to groan in a way that she had not noticed by daylight. Perhaps her senses were keener in the dark.

  “Elliot?” she called tentatively into the silence.

  When the silence did not return her greeting, she shuffled into the ground floor room, careful not to catch herself on any of the debris left by the fire. The lamp shone an eerie pale light around the room, casting long shadows which made her shudder. There was no sign of him.

  “Elliot?” she called again, but there was silence.

  Cautiously, she made her way to the spiral stone staircase, her heart thundering as she placed a foot on the first step. There was nothing for it; she would have to go up there.

  By the time she reached the next floor, her hand was shaking so badly that the light seemed to bounce off the circular walls. The silence had quality to it, a thickness, and she knew that no living person could possibly be in that room. Holding the lamp as steady she could, she peered hard all around the room. Elliot was not there.

  Feeling the hair stand up on the back of her neck, Isabella wanted nothing more than to be out of there. It was a dreadful place, not a monument to life, but a useless, ugly, shadow of death. She determined then never to set foot in that awful place again for the rest of her life.

  Isabella hurried down the stairs so carelessly that she almost lost her footing. However, she made it to the bottom without injury, and it was with great relief that she flew out through the door and into the night, running as she made her way back along the pitch-black pathway with nothing more than her faltering lamplight to guide her.

  By the time she reached the house again, Isabella was suffering from a dreadful array of emotions. She was devastated and heartbroken that the man she had come to love would cast her aside so easily. She was exasperated and frustrated by the fact that she could not find him anywhere and so could not put her case at all. And she was angry, so very angry that she had been left to her own devices and had found herself running, afraid and desperate, through the dark woods and into that awful tower. Above all things, she did not think that she would easily forgive Elliot for that much at least.

  Grateful not to have encountered anybody on the staircase, Isabella raced to her room and closed the door behind her. It was getting late, too late for her to continue to search for him. Not only that, Isabella felt so shaken and exhausted that she could not continue.

  In the end, she got herself ready for bed, climbing beneath the covers and plunging the room into darkness so that Kitty might think her fast asleep when she finally came to assist her mistress. It would not be the first time, and Kitty would see nothing unusual in it.

  But Isabella could not speak, that much she knew. She would not be able to find the strength to explain it all to Kitty, to tell her everything she had learned that day and what she had done to try to find her husband. For now, she just wanted to sleep. She wanted to close her eyes and let go of it all, and that was that.

  When Isabella finally woke, she could not tell how long she had been asleep. She knew from the curious silence all around that it was the dead of night. It must surely be well past midnight and, when she tiptoed through the darkness to her door and listened, she could hear nothing at all. There were no footsteps, no servants dashing around making last-minute preparations for the morning. Nothing. Everybody was asleep; she felt sure of it.

  Everybody except her.

  Isabella knew that it would not do. She could not stay there any longer, could not lay awake in her bed until the sun came up the following day. She had to do it now; she had to find him.

  She rose from her covers and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. She lit her lamp once more, turning it up high so that it was bright.

  She had to find him; she had to know.

  When she had awoken from her slumber, the fear and upset of the tower long gone, Isabella had known that this was as much about herself as it was about Elliot. She knew that Elliot was not the only one with fears, and she knew she must face her own there and then. After all, how could she claim to love him if she could not look upon him?

  With her resolve firmer than it had ever been in her life, Isabella left her room and made haste through the corridors to the other side of Coldwell Hall. She paused only for a moment outside her husband’s chamber, knowing that she could not turn back now. The rest of her life and her happiness depended on whatever happened in the next few moments; she knew it.

  Without knocking, she gently opened the door. She walked quietly into the room and closed the door behind her.

  As soon as she was in the room, there was light everywhere. Her lamp really was very bright, but she knew she could not turn it down. She must look at him properly, in as bright a light she could find.

  “What?” Elliot stirred and sounded somewhat panicked.

  He sat up in bed and shielded his eyes for a moment as he looked across the room and tried to adjust to the sudden brightness.

  “Elliot, it is me. It is Isabella.” For a moment, she was rooted to the spot but knew she must go on.

  There was no
way for her to turn back now, and she would get what she came for; there was no other way.

  “Isabella, what are you doing in here?”

  “I am your wife,” she said suddenly. “Where else ought I to be really? Should I not be by your side?”

  “Are you quite well?” He blinked at her and, when it was clear that she was going to continue across the room until she reached him, he held up a hand and covered his face.

  “I am quite well. No, no, you must not do that.” Isabella heard sternness in her voice which reminded her of Esme and gave her courage.

  “I must not do what?” Elliot was still coming to terms with being so suddenly awake.

  “You must not cover your face,” she said and finally placed the oil lamp down on the stand beside his bed.

  Without another word, she perched herself on the edge of his bed and looked at him.

  “You ask too much,” he said suddenly.

  “Do I?” she said and shook her head. “You see, I do not think I do.”

  “I do not want you to see me, Isabella. The first time you saw me was one thing, but to see you react that way now would be quite another. Too much has passed between us for me to be able to bear it.”

  “And too much has passed between us for me to be able to bear you casting me aside.”

  “I would not be casting you aside.”

  “I would never see you again, Elliot. Do you not understand how that would hurt me?”

  “But I have found a way in which it would not hurt you; you do not understand,” he said in a hurry.

  “I understand perfectly. I understand the business with the fraud, and I could not care at all what becomes of my father over it. That is not my point. I am utterly furious with you that you would think that my only concern!” She reached out to grasp his wrists tightly.

  “Let go, Isabella,” he said firmly.

  “No,” she said with equal determination.

  For some minutes, they sat staring at each other whilst Elliot did what he could to cover his face. In the end, he forcefully pushed her hands away and grabbed her wrists instead. At that moment, his face was uncovered entirely, and Isabella found herself staring at him, their noses but an inch apart.

  “Well, is this what you wanted?” he said angrily.

  “Yes, it is exactly what I wanted,” she replied and smiled, despite the tears rolling down her face. “Because when I finally come to tell my husband how much I love him, I want to at least be able to see his face. I want to be able to look him in the eye, in both beautiful green eyes, and tell him what is in my heart.”

  “And you can do it without fainting?” he said incredulously.

  “As you see me,” she responded, her smile broader still.

  “Isabella, I have come to love you with all my heart, and I know that I could not bear to love so much when that love could not be returned.”

  “But that love is returned, Elliot. I love you with all my heart also.”

  “And that is what is in your heart? That is what you had come to tell me?”

  “I had come to look upon you and tell you that I love you. I had to know for myself, but you have hidden from me all these months, and it has been impossible to set aside my own ridiculous fears. But now they are gone; they are swept away.” She continued to smile at him, and finally, he released his tight grip on her wrists.

  The moment she was released, Isabella reached up by instinct and placed a hand on either side of his face. The difference was clear, one side so smooth and the other so puckered and rough. But both sides were her husband, with not a thing to choose between them.

  Familiarity was not going to come with the difficulties that she had expected. In the end, Crawford Maguire had been absolutely right.

  As Isabella continued to explore Elliot’s face with her fingers, he studied her. She looked into his eyes, and she could see as much love in them for her as she held in her heart for him.

  She had never thought that she would be so filled with joy because the monster of her childish stories had not only captured her body but had captured her heart also. How glad she was not to have escaped, not to be living with some distant, kindly old aunt in Ireland. This was where she was always meant to come, that much she knew.

  How could her father have known all those months ago what kindness he was doing her in leading her finally to the only man she could ever love? How could he have known that his cynical act of greed and his indifference towards his own daughter could have produced the most miraculous result? Isabella was truly in love, and she was loved in return. She had never thought she would ever feel such intense emotion in all her life, and yet there she was almost overcome with it all.

  Without a word, Elliot reached out and pulled her towards him. When his lips finally touched hers and his roughened skin touched the smooth skin of her face, she did not recoil. It did not feel strange or unpleasant, rather it felt right. It felt as if it was always to have been that way, and she knew in her heart that it always would.

  Epilogue

  “I can hardly believe that you are soon to be married, Esme. I do hope that Rupert understands perfectly that he will see almost as much of me as he sees of his new wife,” Isabella said with gentle forthrightness.

  “I have made it a condition of my agreements to marry him,” Esme said and laughed. “And Rupert knows he ought not to attempt to come between us, my dear Isabella. So, you have no need to worry about it.”

  “I cannot imagine that the poor man would dare attempt it,” Elliot said with a laugh as he reached out to lay his cup and saucer back on the tea tray.

  “Quite so, Your Grace,” Esme said with a bold smile. “More tea?” She raised her eyebrows at him as she looked into his face.

  As Isabella watched her friend and her husband in conversation, she reflected upon the fact that Esme had never once blanched at Elliot’s appearance. From the first time he had come out into Esme’s company almost two years before without his curious hood, Esme had treated him as an old friend.

  She had never stared and, equally, she had never avoided looking at him either. Esme really was the most marvelous friend, and she had, just as she had always wanted, made Elliot as much a friend of hers as Isabella was.

  And she had been instrumental in Elliot’s return to the world. Esme’s easy manner and determination had seen many others in their close society follow suit and determinedly admit the Duke of Coldwell into their circle.

  With Esme Montague as their example, they had tried to emulate her ways to behave in a most natural manner for as long as it took them to overcome their own consternation. And when it had been overcome, it was clear.

  Just as Crawford Maguire had always said, it was a matter of familiarity and nothing more. And Elliot was doing everything he could to make himself a familiar figure in the county.

  At first, it had not been easy. Of course, Isabella had always known how hard it would be for him to take those first steps back to life again.

  But it had not been quite as hard for Elliot as it had been all those years ago when he had been alone. He had a wife by his side, one who loved him and did not shriek or look away. Rather she looked at him, touched him, kissed him. She told him she loved him every day, and he knew in his heart that she was as attracted to him as he had always been to her. And that, he told her, had made everything much easier.

  He already had what he wanted more than anything. He already had a wife he loved and who loved him in return. Society could choose to accept him or not, as was their wish. And if they chose not to accept him, it mattered not, for he was already accepted by Isabella.

  Over time, the small circle of society had grown, little by little. And Isabella was amazed by the amount of people who, in the end, were far more swayed by the title of Duke than by the scarring. How little it took for shallowness to be tipped from one end of the scale to the other! And how very amusing.

  Still, even the shallowness made things easier for him.

&
nbsp; But the thing that had finally pushed him out into the world had been the one thing he had never expected to have. A beautiful daughter.

  When Isabella had first told him that she was with child, not weeks after they had first been reconciled to a true marriage, a true life together, Elliot had felt excitement the first time in almost twenty years.

  Life was coming, a new life, with new hope for the future. It had enabled him to finally let go, not of Eleanor and his mother exactly, but of the guilt he had suffered for so long. Little by little, Isabella had managed to convince him that the guilt stood in the way of the grieving. And the guilt, he soon came to know, was unjustified. It had no place in his world, and neither Eleanor nor his mother could have stood to watch it.

  In the end, Elliot had chosen to have the tower destroyed. He had kept it as a memorial for so long, and yet it had never served its purpose. It was not a place of remembrance, not a place to celebrate the lives of those he had lost. It was a dark place filled with too many anguished, painful memories. As much as his sister had loved the tower, in the end, it had served as a place of fear and pain, and he knew the time had come to let it go.