Page 32 of The Duke's Unclaimed Bride
Edith looked up at him and then at the clock. “Oh, it seems we’ve missed the dinner hour.”
“W-We are ever so sorry, Your Grace,” the cook stammered.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” a maid piped up.
Laurence watched them all for a moment and then nodded, before walking away.
Behind him, the kitchen filled with panicked whispers. His jaw ached when he clenched it hard. It had never bothered him before when the staff had treated him as someone to be feared. On occasion, it had helped him keep control of the estate. But Tonight…
He stomped up the stairs so hard it was a miracle the wood did not splinter.
Edith winced as she heard Laurence stomp away. She glanced at the harried servants, washed her hands, and cleaned the suds from Tilly’s hair.
“Did we upset him?” Tilly whispered to her.
“I do not know.”
“I-I am sure His Grace is just eager for dinner,” the cook stuttered.
“It is rather late,” a maid added.
“I haven’t seen His Grace like that in a while,” Abigail sighed.
Edith glanced at the servants. While most of them were respectful, it seemed that some genuinely feared this side of the Duke.
“Do you think business is slowing?” the cook murmured.
“We shouldn’t speculate,” a maid cautioned.
“But the way he left…”
“Is he extra grumpy tonight?” Tilly whispered. “Did we do something wrong?”
“I don’t believe so. I think he’s hungry,” Edith replied.
Tilly nodded sagely. “That makes sense. I get upset easily when I am hungry.”
“That you do.” Edith chuckled softly.
When Edith went to bed that night, she could not erase the image of Laurence’s upset.
She was starting to suspect that there was more to it than she knew. Her theory was confirmed the moment his chamber door slammed shut. The force rattled the door between the rooms.
She took a breath to steady herself. Even now, he was still displeased. Picking up her brush, she ran it through her hair as she listened to him grumble and move about.
What a foul mood he’s in. Did seeing us all happy trouble him so much?
She set the brush down, watching the lamplight catch the gold in its bristles.
Perhaps it was unfair, but the thought came anyway. When he behaved badly, maybe he wanted everyone in the castle to feel as miserable as he did.
She settled in her bed soon after, listening to him move about his chambers. She turned onto one side, then the other, but sleep would not come.
She ran a hand down her face and sighed. She disliked the thought she’d had about him. From everything she had learnedover the past few days, she had to admit he was volatile. A man reviled as a beast, with a father no one would speak of.
Perhaps anger was the only language he knew.
He often locked himself away. He was known to be a recluse, and his scars made him something of a pariah. As much as they did not bother her, she was not oblivious to how others saw them. Moreover, he seemed very lonely.
