Page 35 of Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask
Henry should have woken up in a cold sweat, his bedclothes damp with perspiration. Sometimes, he would have a headache for the day. Instead, he had woken up at peace and washappy. That had never happened before, not after a terrible nightmare. It was undoubtedly strange but not unwanted. Another peculiar thing was Arabella's presence in his dream.
Usually, it was just him, the old duke, and the duchess, but she had found her way into his dream and calmed him. She was the peace he needed to chase away the terrors of the fateful night. The part that worried him, though, was how real it seemed.
Henry recalled saying things to Arabella, but he couldn't quite remember how much he said. He had likely mentioned the fire and being lonely, but he didn't know what else he had said. It really was just a dream, so it shouldn't matter, but it bothered him that it felt like something more.
“Your coffee will be here shortly, Your Grace,” Truman said, entering the room. “I took the liberty of bringing the biscuits in the meantime. I also have some fruit. Dinner is not for another two hours.”
“Thank you, Truman,” Henry replied, returning to his seat. “What is for dinner this evening? I cannot recall what Mrs. Cooper said.”
"A light spring soup with fresh rolls, and a fresh salad with only ingredients from the garden. Baked fish from your lake, served with parsley sauce and new potatoes as well as roast beef and game pie with an assortment of vegetables, and strawberry ice. The chef also prepared a blueberry steamed pudding to be eaten with freshly whipped cream to accompany your evening coffee. Is this to your liking?"
Henry smiled. “It would be a bit late to change the menu now, wouldn't it?”
"Late but not impossible, I am told, Your Grace," Truman replied. "The chef is talented and has good kitchen maids working under him. Shall I give them any changes you feel are necessary?"
“No, I do not desire any changes, Truman,” said Henry. “The menu is perfectly fine.”
Truman nodded and resumed his seat, although his body indicated he was ready for the slightest command. The young man was eager to please, but Henry didn't know if he was trying to please him or his father.
Of course, the young man felt some pressure to follow in his father's footsteps, but Henry would prefer him to come into his own and be confident in his capabilities rather than look to someone else to validate his work. The young man had the potential to become even greater than his father and grandfather; he merely needed confidence.
His coffee arrived, but he wasn't really interested in it. Still, he attempted to drink as much as he could and ate two biscuits and a plump strawberry before pushing everything away.
“I think a walk is in order before dinner,” he announced. “Be at ease. The next hour or so is yours to do with as you wish.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Truman said, springing to his feet. “Do you require a coat for outside? The weather is cooling remarkably quickly.”
“No, it's just the perfect temperature.”
Henry left the study, passing several rooms on his way to the stairs. Singing caught his ear, bringing him to a standstill. It was familiar. Too familiar. Arabella had sung a song in his dream, one that had comforted him reasonably quickly. He moved closer to the room, finding the door slightly ajar. He pushed it a little, just enough for him to see the person in the room.
Henry already knew who it was because his ears had told him, but he needed toseethe person. His heart thudded so loudly that he could almost no longer hear the singing, but it was branded into his mind so he could never forget it.
“Arabella,” he breathed, seeing her tuck the corners of a bedspread.
The same song, voice, and comforting feeling enveloped him as he listened to her sing. Henry had never heard the song before that night, and now he was hearing it again from the very same person who had sung it in his dream. He didn't know what it meant. His mind was gripped with the sudden fear that what he assumed was a dream was partly real.
Drawing away from the door, he leaned against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose. If Arabella had really been in his room that night—which was an odd notion to accept—it meant that she knew things about him that she shouldn't. She had days to say something to him or anybody else, but he hadn't heard anything. Perhaps he had only spoken in his dream and not aloud, but she had been present in the room.
Or perhaps she was waiting for the perfect time to reveal his secrets. Henry groaned, rubbing his face harshly. He didn't like the unknown. He didn't want to torture himself by not knowing precisely what happened that night. Henry needed to know if she had been there and, if she had, what she had heard… and what she planned to do with that information.
He returned to the door, knocking briefly before entering the room. Arabella turned to him and curtsied, her cheeks growing flushed for some odd reason. That only made him worry more.
“May I speak to you, Arabella?” he asked.
Her eyes widened slightly. “Yes, of course, Your Grace,” she said.
He closed the door and approached her, watching her amber-colored eyes grow wider. He couldn't tell if she was surprised or worried.
“I'm going to be frank with you, Arabella,” he said. “Were you in my room some nights ago?”
Arabella's cheeks turned pinker as she lowered her gaze. “I apologize, Your Grace,” she said. “I heard you crying out in your sleep and only wanted to help you. I didn't mean to disrespect you. I was merely worried about you.”
Henry inwardly groaned. While he could understand and appreciate her concern, she had still been in his private chambers. As a result, she learned some things she shouldn't know.
“What did I tell you?” he asked. “I imagine I revealed some things to you.”
Arabella quickly raised her head. “I know about a fire and that you feel lonely, Your Grace,” she revealed. “You did not reveal more than that.”
