Page 63 of Caught With the Scarred Duke
A few minutes later, the door swung open… and wide, shocked eyes greeted her. Not the eyes of a housekeeper or a butler, but of Beatrice herself.
“Tess?” Beatrice choked, darting out onto the porch, closing the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”
It was not at all the greeting that Teresa had expected. On any other day, she might have taken it differently, but after the barrage of rejection she had just faced, it was the very last straw. Her threadbare strength abandoned her, her shoulders slumping, her chin dropping to her chest, as she burst into tears.
“Tess?” Beatrice rushed forward, putting her arms around her friend. “Tess? My goodness, what is the matter? Sweet Tess, what on earth is the matter?”
But Teresa could not speak. It was like she had been holding back a tide on the carriage journey, and that vast wave had finally overwhelmed her defenses. It all struck her at once, right there on the porch. The weight and heartbreak of everything shehad endured that morning conspired to tie her tongue in knots, her tears running down the back of her throat to block any words from escaping.
“Oh, this is not good,” Beatrice murmured, helping Teresa toward the door. “You take all the time you need, my dear, dear creature. You cry as much as you please, and when you have breath again, you tell me everything that has happened. You tell me who I need to take revenge upon, and who requires an immediate meeting with my fist.”
Teresa allowed herself to be led, noticing nothing of the manor’s interior as Beatrice led her quickly through an entrance hall. Down a dark hallway, and turning right down a narrower passageway, they soon ended up in what appeared to be a very old, very stately study. Itsmelledancient, of hot dust, varnish, and yellowed pages, harboring the same faded majesty as the manor itself.
“You sit here,” Beatrice urged, situating Teresa in a creaky leather armchair. “I will not be a moment; I just need to… um… fetch something, and then I will return.”
Teresa nodded, pulling out a handkerchief to blow her nose. “Do not mind me. I will… be well again… soon.”
“Nonsense. You are in pain, and I mean to find out who requires my wrath,” Beatrice replied, frowning. “I promise; I shall not be a moment.”
She raced back out of the study door, her footsteps echoing in the hallway beyond. Yet, though Teresa listened intently, she could not hear any other noise within the house. Peculiar for the residence of a Viscount, but perhaps they were in a private wing of the house, where servants rarely entered.
I made the right choice, coming here.
Already, despite the dust, she could breathe a little easier. Her chest still felt as if a huge block of masonry had been placed upon it, her eyes itched as if she had filled them with sand, and her heart would never be pieced back together again, but Beatrice had always meant safety. Protection. As Cyrus was not available for that role any longer, Beatrice was the very best substitute.
Focusing on her breathing, intermittently dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, it seemed like no time had passed at all before Beatrice came running back in.
She had a tea tray in her hands and a twinkle in her eye. “I thought you might be in need of this,” she said, setting the tray down. “But I have every liquor you could desire in that cupboard over there. Say the word, and I shall exchange the tea for something so strong you will not remember your own name.”
“Later, perhaps,” Teresa replied with a weak smile.
Once again, she puzzled over the lack of servants to bring such things as a tea tray, but she quickly set the thought aside. It was none of her business how other households were run. Indeed,even the running of her own—marital—household was no longer any of her business.
Beatrice sank down onto a three-legged stool, positioning it right in front of Teresa. “Begin. As I am not permitted to go anywhere, according to my mother, you have my complete attention for as long as you need it.”
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Teresa did just that, beginning where everything had started to go right, and ending where everything had gone so bewilderingly wrong.
“So, I gathered most of my things, and I left,” she concluded, her handkerchief soaking up fresh droplets of her sorrow. “I could not imagine being in that castle alone. Would notwantto be in that castle alone.”
Beatrice had not interrupted throughout the tale, but now that it had ended, she gave a low whistle. “Clearly, the man has gone mad. And in a castle like that, it was only a matter of time. It isquitethe place for insane hermits.”
“In that case, perhaps I should return.” Teresa laughed sadly, jumping out of her skin as Beatrice cheered loudly.
“You see, you are already on the mend,” she crowed. “If I am not mistaken, that was a very tiny joke.”
Teresa nodded. “An attempt.”
Scraping the stool closer, Beatrice took hold of her friend’s hands and looked deep into her eyes. “My dear Tess, this may be a terrible shock, but I am going to be serious for a moment. Brace yourself.” She smiled. “While I do think he has gone mad, or has been replaced with a changeling in the night, I do not think that you deserve to bear the brunt of… whatever has consumed him. I can see that your heart is broken, and if anyone expects you to mend quickly, you may send them my way. Iknowthis will not be a swift recovery but, my dear friend, youwillrecover.”
“I do not think so,” Teresa whispered, shaking her head. “Rather, I think I will always bear a scar. This was my one opportunity for love, and it is over. The End.”
Beatrice expelled a heavy breath. “What would you like me to do? Name it, and I shall see it done.” She squeezed Teresa’s hands gently. “I have a few schemes left on my list that I have not yet enacted. I could do them all to the duke, if you like, in relentless succession? It would, at the very least, ensure he never leaves his residence again out of fear alone.”
True laughter spilled from Teresa’s lips, the hilarious visions of Beatrice exacting her revenge filling up her mind, making it impossiblenotto chuckle. After all, Beatrice’s vengeful schemes were notorious in their creativity, some so outlandish that no one would believe they were real. And, of course, the gentlemen she took revenge upon never wanted anyone to hear what had been done to them.
“It is tempting,” Teresa admitted, “but… no, I think you can save your schemes for other gentlemen. There might be some who deserve it more.”
“Deserve it more than the man who has broken my best friend’s heart?” Beatrice snorted.
