Page 18 of Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask
Opening a window in one of the many rooms in Euston Hall, she leaned outside and breathed in the lovely air. It had rained heavily the previous night, thoroughly soaking the earth. Arabella loved the smell of wet soil and sometimes had the compulsion to eat it. She used to do it when she was younger, horrifying her mother whenever she returned to the house with a black mouth.
Grinning at the memory, she returned to airing out the room. She first stripped the bed of its sheets, neatly rolling it into a ball for laundry. She twirled, leaping to the side as she recalled a dance her mother had taught her.
Being a baron's daughter, her mother had been formally introduced to society, and attended many balls before she fell in love with a physician. Arabella had often wondered what it would be like to participate in such events, dancing the night away in a lovely gown and dripping in jewelry.
“A dance, my lord?” she said to no one in particular. “Why, of course!”
She curtsied and took the imaginary man's hand before twirling once more and shrieking when she found the duke smiling by the doorway.
“Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a curtsy.
She squeezed her eyes tight with embarrassment, taking her time to rise to her time to straighten up.
“Where did you learn to dance?” he asked. “Did you perhaps watch it from others? You must have seen several social events while working at your previous place of employment.”
She wondered if she should tell him she had never worked before and that she learned the dances from her mother, but her father often said that one shouldn't reveal everything about oneself unless one planned to keep a person in one's life. Once Arabella learned what she wished to know, she would likely move on.
She didn't plan to be a maid for the rest of her life, although the experience would be invaluable. She frowned slightly as she felt a slight tightening around her heart. Oddly, the thought of leaving the duke made her uncomfortable. It was rather strange.
“Are you unwell, Arabella?” the duke asked. “Is it your chest?”
Arabella's frown deepened a little as she looked down at her chest. She hadn't realized that she had clutched it as the feeling came over her.
“No, Your Grace,” she said, lowering her hand. “I'm fine. Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, nothing,” he said. “I only wished to thank you for the salve and lavender sachets. They have both helped me immensely.”
Suddenly shy, she dropped her eyes and blushed. “I'm glad, Your Grace,” she said.
“Was it your father who taught you about those methods?” he asked. “You said he was a physician.”
"The lavender sachets were my father's doing," she confirmed. "But my knowledge of herbs came from an old neighbor who knew everything about plants and their uses. She was a never-ending well of information.”
The duke smiled. “My grandmother knew a lot about plants as well and often cooked a variety of them when I was younger. They were not your usual spinach or cabbage, but plants that no one would ever consider edible.”
Arabella tilted her head in confusion. Aristocrats did not and could not cook. Her mother was the exception, but only because she learned after her marriage to cook and clean. Arabella's father eventually hired a maid to help, but her mother continued to take pride in looking after her family with her own two hands.
Perhaps the duke's grandmother had been an eccentric woman who secretly liked cooking. She couldn't have imagined her doing it freely.
"Was your grandmother from your father's or mother's side?" she asked. "She sounds interesting."
The duke's eyes suddenly bulged. He looked like someone had just slapped him. Coughing lightly, he averted eyes briefly, making her wonder what was wrong.
"I, uh," he began. "It seems I have somewhat mixed my information. The grandmother I spoke of was just a servant I thought of as a grandmother." He coughed again, his face turning red rather quickly. "Would you excuse me?" he said before running off.
Perplexed, Arabella walked to the doorway, just about seeing the back of him turn a corner. The duke had appeared embarrassed, but she couldn't understand why. She laughed a little and returned to her chores. The duke could be rather amusing and sweet at times and probably didn't even know it.
Shaking her head, she took a broom and started sweeping. By the time she moved on to the next room, she became keenly aware that her thoughts had mostly been about the duke. That was more than usual, surprising her. It was probably because she had seen him earlier, but a little part of her wasn't so convinced. Something else was brewing within her, making her wonder if she was ready for it.
“Do not be silly,” she said to herself.
She had come to Euston to discover the truth and nothing else. One day, she would leave the estate and move on to her next adventure—that was how she had planned it, and that was how it would be. Her mind and heart weren't prepared for anything else.
Chapter 7
Foolish, foolish, foolish. Henry repeated these words in his head as he sped toward his study. He shut the door behind him, falling onto the chaise longue and covering his eyes with his arm. He must be out of his mind for revealing such a significant detail about himself.
He had seen the confused look on Arabella's and hadn't understood what he had said that could be so surprising. It took him a full minute to realize he had revealed information about his true identity.
