Page 3 of Taming a Beastly Duke
Adelaide squirmed beneath the disdainful gazes of her family. Henrietta’s cold eyes spoke long before her lips ever moved.
“If you were not so naturally reckless and improper, one might think you ruined this night on purpose,” she said. “But intention is immaterial. I planned this ball for months and took painstaking care with the preparations and guest list. And you, with your impeccable penchant for finding trouble and getting caught, destroyed it all. The ball should still be taking place now, but your little scandal forced me to send everyone away early. How do you think that will reflect on the next ball I try to host?”
Adelaide winced.
“I did not mean to cause you any trouble,” she said, but her eldest sister held up her hand forcefully.
“Your intentions are of no consequence,” she hissed again with considerably more venom. “You have effectively ruined your entire family with your scandalous nature. Your only hope will be a marriage offer from that man, and even that shall not erase the memory of what everyone knows they saw.”
Adelaide shook her head, glancing at her father in search of comfort. But the viscount shrugged sadly, averting his gaze from that of his youngest daughter.
“There was no sign of him as the guests departed,” he said fretfully. “I believe we can forget extracting a marriage proposal from him.”
Adelaide might have formed a thought in defense of herself about how she was not guilty of the sin of which everyone accused her. However, her mother’s ear-piercing shriek silenced her mind, and the mouths of the rest of her family.
“Your reputation is in ruins, Adelaide,” the viscountess howled, sobbing. “Do you not understand the implications of this horrific incident?”
Adelaide shook her head, desperate to erase the looks of disappointment, horror, and disapproval from the faces of the people she loved most. But as the clock struck midnight, each chime resounded like a heavy footfall upon the staircase of her social standing, echoing her descent from grace. She had done nothing wrong, but that was not what anyone else saw. It was not fair, to be sure. But it was reality, nonetheless. She had been deemedtainted and ruined. And once the gossip hit the streets of London the following day, the judgment would follow her for the rest of her days.
***
Marcus Lockhart stalked through the dark corridors of his Bath estate as rain lashed against the windows. His shoulders were tense and rigid as he battled another wave of horrific dizziness. The lightheaded feeling compelled him to lean against the wall to avoid succumbing to the chill of the stone floor. He cursed whatever weakness plagued him that kept overtaking him in such a manner. It was during such bouts that his mind could not simultaneously keep him from showing his physical weakness and lock out memories of the most fatal night of his life…
Lochville Manor is blanketed by steadily falling snow. It has been a picturesque winter’s day and, but for the dreadful cold, has been quite lovely. Until it is time for supper, when Marcus notices something disquieting.
“Where is Charlotte?” he asks as a maid rush past him.
It is not until he looks into the maid’s eyes that he sees she is not merely hurrying to help serve the meal, but she is in a panic.
“Lady Charlotte has not yet come down, Your Grace,” she says, glancing toward Charlotte’s empty seat.
Marcus frowns, shaking his head dismissively.
“Perhaps she is merely taking a little longer dressing for dinner,” he says.
The maid shakes her head, her eyes growing more worried as she shifts nervously on her feet.
“She has not been downstairs all day,” she says. “In fact, she has not been in her chambers all day, as far as anyone knows.”
Marcus’s brow furrows. The ward his father had taken in when she was just sixteen is now his charge, having grown to be more like his second sister than another of his ducal duties. He wants to assure the maid that there has been a misunderstanding, that Charlotte simply made plans to be out late, and the servants forgot. But he cannot recall any mention from her of any plans for that day or evening. And as he looks from the worried maid to the empty seat, a cold bead of dread begins to form in his stomach.
“Then we shall search for her,” he says. “She will be found here someplace. I am sure she just lost track of time in the library or the gardens.”
The maid’s dubious expression tells him that the servants have already searched the house. But he is sure that they simply passed by her without noticing. They must be mistaken in believing that she has not been seen all day.
When he receives confirmation that the servants have searched every room in the mansion, Marcus swallowed his own panic.
He turns to the servants, who were waiting in two neat lines for their next orders.
“This line of you is to come with me,” he orders, pointing to the line to his right. “The other line is to search for a note or any sign of her whereabouts. Remain calm and search thoroughly. Blind panic will cause you to miss something. She will be found, so rest easy.”
The servants all bow and curtsey, respectively, before splitting off to carry out their master’s orders. Marcus leads the servants he requested to follow him out the front door, directing them in pairs of two in different directions around the grounds. He himself treks through the gardens, recalling how she loves the roses in every color and enjoys spending time out there. But would she ever stay out so late? He wonders as his dread builds.
There is no sign of her anywhere in the maze of flower bushes, on any marble bench or at any of the cherub statues therein. His breath fogs the cold air around him and he shivers, pulling his black coat around him tightly. He is aware that if she remains outdoors for much longer, she is likely to fall ill. The snow crunches beneath his black boots. Where could she be?
His question is answered as he breaks into the open strip of snow that separates the gardens from the woods behind the estate. The moon is brilliant in the sky, providing enough light to illuminate a blue pool spread across the white landscape. His footsteps are slow and his heartbeat rapid as he approaches and a sickening realization dawn on him.
“Charlotte,” he yells, rushing to her side. The blue on the snow is her gown, which is spread around her like an impossibly vibrant pool of water on which she is floating. He reaches to lift her torso into his lap and touches something cold and sticky. He looks at his fingers and sees blood, now congealed and freezing, coating them. He looks down and notices that he has dropped to his knees in the blood puddle which has circled the upper half of her body. His face pales and he shakes his ward firmly, as though merely waking her from a deep sleep.
