Page 73 of Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask
“I'd like to see whatever you feel is worth showing, Arabella,” Lord Grafton replied. “So, do your parents live nearby? On the estate perhaps or a neighboring town?”
“My parents have passed on, my lord,” she told him.
“My condolences,” he said. “Where are you from originally?”
“Thetford.”
“Ah, the neighboring market town,” he said. “I passed it on the way here. What made you work here?”
“I wanted to do something different,” she answered. “I heard Euston was a lovely place and the master fair.”
“Indeed?” The way he said it made her look at him. He seemed surprised. “Did you not hear about his appearance?”
“That matters not to me,” she said, looking away. “Beyond the hedges are the woods. You should walk through them when you have more time. Unfortunately, I should return to my chores. I cannot expect others to do them for me.”
“Oh, but you haven't shown me the statues yet,” he pointed out.
"Take the path, and you'll find them, my lord," said Arabella. "Please, excuse me."
She curtsied and rushed away before he could say anything else. The first thing Arabella wanted to do was find the duke and speak to him. He had said he still wished to continue their conversation, after all. However, upon asking the butler about him, he informed her the duke didn't want to talk to anyone.
Disappointed, Arabella returned to her chores, realizing she had not even started them yet. She had much to do, so instead of focusing on the duke and worrying herself any further, she put her mind to her tasks ahead. However, Arabella couldn't keep the concerns about her future from bothering her.
She really wanted to spend it with the duke, but with this surprising turn of events, she didn't know what to expect. Everything seemed up in the air at the moment, and she didn't like it.
Chapter 26
Florian was true to his word regarding the truth about his identity. The marquess's valet left soon after their conversation, returning around dinner time with the proof. Florian was indeed the next legitimate heir, and he had the evidence to prove that Henry was Nicholas Smith. Henry had not thought it was possible, but Florian had made it so.
The man was evidently relentless once he wanted something. Florian had even offered to send for someone to bear witness, but Henry had refused. He didn't want others to learn about his true parentage, not because he was ashamed of his background, but because people would be unnecessarily cruel.
Henry had tossed and turned in his bed after heading to bed earlier than usual, only falling into a fitful sleep at dawn the following day. However, he was awake within an hour with a horrible headache. Arabella would know precisely what to do to help him alleviate it, but he couldn't bring himself to see her or talk to her just yet; not when everything was going wrong.
It had been bad enough that he had asked her to marry him as the Beastly Duke, but now he didn't even have wealth or a title to take care of her. Henry had been reduced to nothing in a day, and he could do nothing about it. Florian was the duke, and Henry was just a farmer's son posing as the duke. It didn't matter that he had spent most of his adult life taking care of the dukedom—it wasn't rightfully his.
No longer able to stay in bed and just lie there, he got up and washed his face, enjoying the cool water against his skin. He took a washcloth, dampening it before placing it on his neck and leaning on the chest of drawers. After a moment, he removed his nightshirt and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
His scars had not taken over his entire body. Henry recalled how the flames had engulfed his arms first as he had tried to get the duchess to safety. He had managed to put them out before carrying the unconscious duchess out of the house. It had been harder getting to the duke, which accounted for the worst of the burns on his chest, legs, and face.
Oddly, he had not known the extent of his pain or injuries until he had woken up days later after falling unconscious. The duke had insisted he stay at Euston until his recovery was complete, which had taken months. By then, Henry's father had passed away, and he was left an orphan.
The duke and duchess soon accepted him as their son, later legitimizing him. Those who had known him well had been older folk who passed away over the years, leaving just a few who could barely recall him. Henry doubted anyone would remember him now, especially those from his hometown.
Henry and his father moved to Euston after his mother died, believing that starting afresh would alleviate the pain of her loss. Before, his family had been farmers in a town some miles away from Euston.
They had mostly kept to themselves, never involving themselves in matters around them. It worked in Henry's favor when the duke made him his son because no one came looking for him. Years passed, and no one seemed suspicious or curious about his whereabouts. It was like Nicholas Smith had never existed.
“Your Grace,” said Truman, walking into the room. “I didn't expect you to be awake already.”
“I couldn't really sleep,” Henry told him. “Could you get my attire out for the day? I'd like to get an early start.”
“Yes, of course,” his valet replied, walking to the wardrobe.
Henry continued with wiping his body down and brushing his own hair. He had a few scars that met on his hairline, making it uncomfortable for others to brush it. He knew the areas to avoid and where to be gentler, so he preferred to do it himself.
“I believe Lord Grafton is awake as well,” said Truman. “I saw his valet enter his room.”
Henry sighed as he sank on the bed. “I see,” he said. “He probably wishes to take stock of all that is his. He's a rather thorough man.”
