Page 2 of Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask
"Why do you wish to be a maid?" he asked. "And why here, of all places?"
“I have indirect ties to Euston, sir,” she said. “I also have no mother and father, so I should work for my keep. I have no references to be anything but a maid.”
She didn't dare say she was on an adventure to discover the truth behind the stories about the duke. The old man might not understand and believe she wished to ridicule the duke.
“I see,” he said, nodding. A look of sympathy entered his light blue eyes. “What about relatives?”
"I do not wish to bother them," Arabella replied. "I would rather work with the two hands and feet the Lord has graciously given me. Working with the rest of what the Lord has given me would also be helpful," she added with a chuckle.
The old man laughed. “It certainly would,” he said. “I see you're quite determined, young miss. I admire your wish to stand on your own two feet. Mrs. Cooper will appreciate that.”
“Is Mrs. Cooper the housekeeper?”
Arabella should have done more research into Euston Hall, but her decision to work for the duke had been sudden. She had decided soon after her father's funeral. She’d hardly had time to learn the necessary information about Euston Hall's main servants.
“Yes, she is,” the man confirmed. “If you continue along this path, you'll eventually run into the laundry maids hanging up the laundry. They should be able to tell you where Mrs. Cooper is likely to be.”
Arabella bowed her head slightly. "Thank you so much for your help, sir," she said. She turned away but soon looked back at him. "May I please know your name?" she asked. "I'm Arabella Lockhart."
“Lockhart?” he said. “The name is oddly familiar. Well, Miss Lockhart, you can call me Rogers.”
“Please, call me Arabella,” she insisted. “I prefer to be informal.”
A ghost of a smile hovered above Rogers' lips. “You should move along if you intend to speak to Mrs. Cooper before the end of the day. You might need to wait while she runs errands. She's always quite busy.”
“Thank you, Rogers,” she said, bowing her head slightly before continuing on the path.
She passed several other people along the way, asking them for directions just to ensure she was on the right path. The footpath had split into two earlier, which Rogers hadn't mentioned. Arabella had selected one and confirmed it with the servants near the path. No one seemed to question her presence on the estate and merely gave her directions to the laundry maids. The house up ahead was growing closer, but Arabella could tell she still had some distance to go. Loud quacking caught her attention, prompting her to turn to her left.
A mother duck was guiding her ducklings toward a pond, their waddling amusing and adorable. She leaned against a large rock and watched them momentarily, intrigued when a large man appeared from a thicket of woods.
He dressed rather plainly with just a white shirt that seemed to pull across his broad shoulders and black, tightly fitted breeches that showed off his well-formed calves. He was much taller than her five-foot height, but her father had topped six feet. She doubted the man was as tall.
Arabella was impressed with the sheer breadth of him and imagined he could easily carry a sheep on both shoulders. He was undoubtedly suited to physical labor, but the nature of his clothes confused her. His white shirt and beige breeches were not typical servants' attire, but he wasn't dressed like an aristocrat either.
Almost, but not quite. Arabella guessed him to be a steward or someone similar—he earned enough money to buy quality clothing, but he wasn't raised as a gentleman, which reflected in how he was dressed.
Moving her head about, she tried to take a good look at his face, but his long, dark hair covered it completely. She had never seen a man with such long hair before. Some let their hair grow longer than their collars, but this man's hair was long enough to touch his chest. It curled slightly at the ends and moved like a curtain, keeping his face shrouded.
A little disappointed that she couldn't put a face to a body, she merely watched him approach the ducks with a basket overflowing with lettuce leaves. He made a clucking sound, drawing the creatures' attention before throwing a few leaves on the grass. They turned and ran toward him, their excited quacks filling the air. They clamored around the man, devouring the lettuce leaves in seconds.
The man chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. Arabella smiled. One could tell a lot from someone's laughter, especially when no one was around to hear them. This man had a good and kind heart—just the sort she was drawn to.
Pushing away from the rock, Arabella found she wanted to be closer to the man and finally see his face. The grass crunched under her feet and should have alerted the man that someone was approaching, but he appeared oblivious to her presence. Arabella stopped a few feet away from him, not wanting to encroach on his personal space.
"I'm glad you're feeding them leaves, not bread," she said. "Bread tends to wreak havoc with their digestion."
The man stilled, the basket's handle groaning slightly under his suddenly tightened grip.
“I didn't mean to startle you,” she said.
He said nothing but turned away as though he were trying to hide from her. Arabella frowned slightly, her eyes falling on the golden, olive skin of his exposed forearms. Thick burn scars covered most of the area, making the skin appear tight and discolored.
Some areas were pink with brown hues, while others were white, making patterns like tiny roads through the thickened skin. Arabella had the strange urge to trace her fingers along every ridge and wondered how far the scars went.
They resembled a map and... It finally dawned on her that this man could be the duke! She opened her mouth to ask him, but he walked away quickly as though he knew what she had been about to ask. Arabella closed her mouth, pulling it to the side as she watched him disappear into the woods.
The duke preferred to stay away from people because of his scars, and this man's forearms were covered in burn scars. Arabella had assisted her physician father enough to tell the difference between scars, be they from scratches or stab wounds. Her gut told her this man was likely the duke, hence his wish to keep his face hidden.
