Page 87 of Beauty Tempts the Beast
What had he inherited from his mum? No, Ettie Trewlove was his mum, would always be so. This other woman was his mother, his ma, the word pronounced with a brogue that he wasn’t certain would ever feel natural on his tongue. He wasn’t who—what—he’d always believed himself to be: a babe abandoned, forgotten, unwanted.
He’d been wanted, loved, protected. He wondered if that instinct to protect had been passed from his ma to him, if she was responsible for his nature more than his looks.
“Why didn’t you come for me after you found her?”
“She couldnae remember where she left you. Sometimes, I’d think she made herself forget so she wouldn’t be able to tell them where you were. I don’t know if it’s possible to do such a thing. To look at your ma, you might not realize how strong she is. I’ve never known anyone stronger, man or woman. So all these years, the one thing I did know was that wherever she left you, you were safe.”
He had been that, at least while he was under the care of Ettie Trewlove. His encounter with Three-Fingered Bill had been his doing. But even then, it had been his family who had sent for the surgeon, his family who had nursed him back to health.
“After all this time, all of a sudden, she just remembered?”
“Nae. It was your book. I bought it for her when I was in London a couple of weeks ago. She likes mysteries, and I thought she’d enjoy reading one written by an author who carried the same first name as our son—only it was the Trewlove that caught her attention. Her memory of that night was that the woman with whom she’d left you had promised to love you true. But seeing Benedict Trewlove on the book... it unlocked something within her. When she slept, unlike all the other times she’d dreamed of that night, this time it wasn’t so blurry, she saw the details of it. She thought maybe the woman’s name was Trewlove. She convinced me to come have a word with you. I went to your publisher to find out where you lived, and here I am. And glad of it.”
He was still struggling with it all, taking apart what he’d known of his life and reassembling it to include what he was now learning.
“Will you come with me to meet your ma?” Ewan Campbell—his father—asked.
Beast could do little more than nod.
Then the man whom he’d spent a good many years wondering about strode forward and held out his hand. A hand the size of ham hocks, a hand Beast could clearly see working the docks, lifting and hauling cargo. He knew if he placed his own against it, he’d be recognizing the man’s place in his life, would be acknowledging his acceptance of who he himself was.
Yet, when their palms touched, he had the sense that he’d come home.
When his da drew him in close, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and gave his back a thump, all he could do was blink back the tears suddenly burning his eyes.
“Welcome back into the family, lad. And I apologize because I don’t recall giving you a proper introduction when we met. I was stunned by seeing you, seeing myself in you. I’d be the Duke of Glasford.”
His father was a bloody duke. Did that mean his inheritance included a dukedom? Christ, he had noble blood running through his veins.
He recognized Mayfair when the coach bearing the ducal crest in which he was riding entered the area. Since climbing into the conveyance, he and the duke hadn’t spoken a word as though all the emotions that had swept through them with the handshake and embrace were simply too large and grand. Yet, in the silence they’d been assessing each other. He felt like he was moving about in a dream comprised of thick treacle that caused every action to be slow and difficult to navigate. At any moment he was going to wake up to discover it was all simply a bad and elaborate jest, perpetrated in cruelty.
Then the vehicle turned the corner and passed through wrought-iron gates, and he glanced out the window to see a massive manor, the sort in which he’d dreamed of living when he was a lad, crowded in a bed with his brothers. The kind of house that his years of hard work had put within reach, but he hadn’t wanted to walk through it alone. Now he would walk through it with Thea.
“You should know you carry one of my titles as a courtesy,” his father said quietly. “You’re the Earl of Tewksbury.”
A blasted earl. A blasted lord. What did he know about being a lord? “It doesn’t seem real.”
“I suspect it won’t for a while. I’m having a hard time believing it myself. We searched for you for years.”
Every time the duke revealed something, his chest tightened a little bit more. To have been wanted to such an extent they’d searched for years. A part of him wanted to simplysay no to all this, hop out of the carriage, and make his way back to Thea. He’d left without talking to her, without telling her anything. The shock of it all, he supposed. Or perhaps he simply needed more confirmation that it was true before he told her. What words would he use to explain all this? “I assume you have a ducal estate.”
“Aye. Lovely place, but the manor house there makes this one look like a doll’s house.”
He couldn’t imagine it. Hadn’t earned it, wasn’t certain he wanted any of it. The title, the estate, being heir to a dukedom. Shouldn’t he have had to do something to be worthy of it other than being born and surviving?
The coach came to a stop and a footman immediately appeared to open the door. With ease, the duke leapt out and Beast imagined him riding and striding over his lands, keeping himself fit. He followed him out and up the steps. Once more a door was opened. This time by a butler who bowed slightly. “Your Grace.”
“Bentley, is the duchess in the gardens?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This way, lad.”
They strode down a long corridor with portraits dotting the walls. So many portraits, and Beast imagined he saw himself in many of the faces. He wanted to stop and study each one, learn their names and history. “How many dukes have there been?”
“You’ll be the ninth.”
He felt it like a punch to the gut. The words were said with no doubt, simply absolute conviction. Yet, he couldn’t envision himself as a duke, as a lord of the realm. A man welcomed and respected simply because of his birth. He’d spent his entire life defending his birth as a bastard—and now he was legitimate. His skin suddenly seemed too tight,as though he no longer belonged in it, as though he no longer knew who he was.
