Page 20 of My Duke, The Stranger
Isolde grimaced, wanting to dismiss the young woman, but knowing that she could not.I am in this now. It is best that I act the part…
“Lead the way,” she sighed.
Despite Isolde’s determination not to enjoy the way that she was being doted upon, even she could not deny how nice it was to have all these luxuries being forced upon her. How transcendent it was to have a bath drawn for her own use, to have a woman help to clean her, and then return to her room where a newly pressed dress lay waiting.
She had never been dressed like this before. To simply stand there and have someone help her into the garment. To then have her face powdered, her hair combed and styled, and jewelry chosen for her that matched her outfit and was probably worth more than her entire home.
“There is really no need,” she said for the hundredth time.
“Of course there is,” the chambermaid said. Her name was Grace, Isolde had learned, and she had worked at Blackthorne Hall for two years. “You are engaged to His Grace. No expense should be spared.”
“His Grace…” Isolde looked at her reflection in the mirror, and she tried to see in it whatever it was that Cassian apparently saw. To her eyes, she was a simple vicar’s daughter, nothing to look twice at, and certainly not worth the adoration in which the duke held her.
“It is so good that he is well,” Grace continued happily. “We were all so worried for him.”
“Were you?” she frowned as she turned and looked at the chambermaid. “Worried, I mean.”
“Yes…” Grace blinked. “Of course we were.”
Isolde had only met the duke once before. It had been a short interaction, and it had left a rather torrid impression of the man who was now her fiancé. But during that short meeting, Cassianhad confirmed all the horrible things which Isolde had heard about the man whose land she now lived on.
It was said that he was cold and cruel. It was said that he had a heart made of stone. It was said... well, all manner of awful things. And they were proven right!
“Tell me, Grace, you have worked here for two years, yes?”
“That is right,” Grace said happily as she fussed with the hem of Isolde’s dress.
“So, it is safe to assume that you have met His Grace before. That you have interacted with him…”
“Oh, not really,” Grace said. “I have seen him about, of course. But rarely do my tasks require me to come into direct contact with him. Mr. Pemberton is the one who deals with the staff on His Grace’s behalf.”
“Still, you must know quite a bit about him,” she pressed cautiously, not wanting to imply the wrong thing. “And I am sure the other members of staff speak often of His Grace. Rumors and whatnot.”
It was only then that Grace seemed to understand where this conversation was going. She stopped her fussing, folded her hands before her, and bowed her head. “I do not listen… what people say… it does not bother me. Nor do I pay it any mind.”
“You can tell me, Grace. I do not mind.”
She could not have looked more afraid. “His Grace… he has a very stressful life. The pressure that comes from such a position. I do not presume to judge… if he is a little short tempered or… or if he becomes upset that things are not done how he wishes, that is his right.” Her chin started to tremble. “Please, Miss… I love my job here. I do not want any trouble.”
Isolde had been right, then. What she had heard about the Duke, as well as what she had seen with her own two eyes, was accurate. Even if Grace had said nothing, the fear that such a simple question had struck into the heart of the poor girl was enough to confirm Isolde’s suspicions.
It was strange to pair that image of the duke with the man whom Isolde had met last night and today. How kind he had been. How bright-eyed and even humble. How could losing your memory change you so much? Surely, such things were ingrained? Surely, even if he did not know who he was, his personality would remain as it had been?
“Forget I said anything.” She touched the young girl gently on the shoulder. “Now, you mentioned breakfast?”
Grace beamed, and the fear in her fled. “Yes! Shall I show you the way?”
“I would love that.”
Yesterday, the duke had been kind and loving. He had been gracious, and he seemed uncomfortable with the attention given to him by the staff. But as Isolde was led downstairs and into the breakfast room, she wondered if that was just a phase—a natural reaction to his lack of awareness and his efforts to come to terms with what had happened.
Likely, even if his memory did not return, his old ways would slowly come back to him. In fact, Isolde hoped that they did. If he were to transform back into the monster, then it would be far easier for her to reckon with her lies. What was more, it might mean that when the truth was finally revealed, she would welcome it.
One can only hope…
The breakfast that was served was once again unlike anything that Isolde might have expected or could ever have imagined. She sat at the end of a long table. The cutlery was made of silver, the porcelain shone as if infused with diamonds, and even her cup sparkled in the morning sun.
And then there was the food! Freshly baked bread with a dozen different spreads to choose from. Eggs cooked any way that she wanted. Pork and lamb served cold. Juice squeezed at her command. Tea ready and waiting. And if none of that appealed to her, she might select some fruit to be prepared.
