Page 40 of Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask
"Yes, he certainly did," said Mr. Beaton. "I was rather taken aback as I cannot recall the Fitzgeralds coming to my bookshop for books. That must be your doing. I heard you work there. Is that true?"
“Yes, it certainly is true,” she said. “I wanted something different. A new adventure.”
"That is very much like you," Mr. Beaton replied. "Why don't we have some tea and biscuits before you look around? I saw you arguing with young Marcus outside. I think you need a little tea for a bit of soothing."
“Some tea would be wonderful,” she admitted. “Marcus certainly riled me up with his foolish words. We may be similar in age, but he has the mind of a child. In fact, most close-minded people are little minds that cannot see further than their noses.”
"Oh dear," said Mr. Beaton. "Come, have a seat, and you can tell me about your adventures at Euston. We have all missed you in Thetford."
Arabella nodded, breathing in the scent of new and old books. Their smell calmed her as she took a seat on the settee, placing her satchel beside her.
“I will not be long with our tea, dear,” Mr. Beaton told her.
Arabella smiled. “Take all the time you need, Mr. Beaton,” she said. “I have the day.”
The shop owner went into the back to put the kettle on while Arabella put her head back and closed her eyes. She had expected to defend the duke to some extent while in Thetford, but Marcus had taken his insults too far.
Arabella couldn't understand why people were so against a man who had done nothing to them but look different. It was appalling. She wanted to protect him, and shield him from men like Marcus, even his cousin, who wished to take the dukedom from him. It wasn't fair.
He had said he was lonely that night she was in his room. She didn't want him to feel like that, but it wasn't easy when the people around him kept their distance. The servants respected him, but they couldn't hide their discomfort when they looked at his scars.
Some people just couldn't get past the puckered skin, the grooves between burnt flesh, and the white lines of old scars. Very little of his skin was untouched, but Arabella could see the beauty even in his imperfections. If only others could see him the way she did.
***
Henry didn't have the words to describe how he felt knowing how Arabella felt about him. Listening to her defend him filled his heart with hope until it was almost bursting at the seams. Someone saw him for who he was. Someone had looked at him and seen his true self beyond the scars. It was an exhilarating feeling.
Arabella had not seen him in the nondescript carriage parked beside her and the gentleman who had called him a monster. He had not wanted anyone to know he was in Thetford. At least, not too many people, hence the plain carriage.
Waiting until most people were off the street, he jumped out, leaning forward so his hair covered his face. He hunched his shoulders a little more and crossed the street to the bookshop, Truman falling in step with him. Henry briefly looked at him, finding his valet smiling.
“Why the smile?” he asked.
Truman shrugged his shoulders. “I just find Arabella rather intriguing,” he said. “She is a special person, isn't she? Any man would be fortunate to have her in his life.”
Henry stilled. He didn't like the thought of any man having Arabella in his life. Truman paused and looked at him.
“Is something wrong, Your Grace?” he asked.
“No, nothing is wrong,” Henry lied, picking up the pace again.
They opened the bookshop door moments later, startling Arabella, who immediately stood up and curtsied.
“Your Grace,” she said. “I didn't know you were coming.”
That was right—he wasn't supposed to go to the bookshop, but he wanted to be with her when she selected the books for the library. The old duke used to travel to London to one of the biggest bookshops in England to buy books, but Henry rarely left Euston for fear of ridicule. However, he had wanted to be brave this time. He wanted to show Arabella that he was strong enough to step outside of his home. It was important to him.
“I decided I wanted to help you,” he replied. “Not that I do not trust you to choose the right books,” he quickly added, worried he had insulted her.
“I would love some help, Your Grace,” she said. “Mr. Beaton is about to make some tea. Would you and Truman like to join us?”
Henry smiled. He had never had tea with her before. “I would like that,” he said. “We would like that,” he corrected, including Truman.
“Please, take a seat,” she said, getting up. “I'll just inform Mr. Beaton we have company. And do not worry—he loves more people to share tea with. The more, the merrier. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
She moved to the back, returning moments later with a tea tray and the bookshop owner. They were introduced, and everyone sat down to tea and biscuits. Henry was self-conscious at first, but the bookshop owner made a point of looking him in the eye rather than his scars—he was thankful for that.
“Do you still read a lot, dear?” Mr. Beaton asked. “You were always in my bookshop looking for something new to read.”
