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He was a fool to think he would never be back. To think he would not have to face the past sooner or later and assume the responsibility that was his birth right.
He knew he couldn’t possibly tell his mother of his reluctance to become a Duke. She needed him and the society around him was unforgiving. Being back in London was already enough of a scandal.
But at least one of the people he didn’t wish to see again was no longer around. The other…well, he hoped he’d never have a reason to see them.
* * *
On the morning of Belle’s nine-and-tenth birthday, she felt as if invisible shackles were being tied around her wrists. She stared at herself in the vanity mirror as Hannah tried her best to be gentle with her hair and tried to tamper the feeling as best as she could. She couldn’t help the sinking pit in her stomach, as she was unable to keep herself from the terrible feeling.
Why do I feel so odd?
She grimaced at the thought and Hannah must have caught the look on her face because she quickly said, “My apologies, My Lady. Did I pull too hard?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.” She plastered a comforting smile on her face as she studied the hairstyle Hannah gave her. It was one of the simpler ones, since Hannah knew of Belle’s abhorrence for pins. “It’s quite lovely, actually. Thank you very much. You outdid yourself with that one.”
Though her smile was small, Hannah shone with pride. She was a hardworking girl, slightly older than Belle. As such, Belle often found herself coming to her for advice, which had been hard earned considering how shy the girl was as well.
“Thank you, My Lady. Are you ready to join your parents for breakfast?”
“I suppose there is no use staying in my room when I look so wonderful,” she said by way of issuing the girl another compliment, and Hannah’s cheeks pinkened.
Hannah had arrived at her bedchambers shortly after Belle returned. Belle hadn’t gotten the chance to fall back asleep and so she had pretended that she was for a while, before she got up. Hannah hadn’t been any wiser about her early morning ride as she had been the last time she’d done it and they’d gone about the start of their morning as usual.
Belle didn’t have breakfast with her parents that often. She found excuses sometimes to eat alone, with only Hannah as company. Or, whenever her father was in an important meeting, with her mother. But the Duke had requested her presence with them today and she hoped it had nothing to do with the upcoming Season. If she was forced to hear him go on about her expectations, and what she needed to do to ensure that she snagged a proper husband this time around, Belle wasn’t sure what she would do.
Unable to help the sigh that escaped her lips, she left her bedchambers and made her way down to the drawing room where her parents were. The meal wasn’t so grand as to have it in the dining room, much to Belle’s surprise. As her father specifically requested her to eat with them this morning, she expected something less…simple.
Yet here they were, the food laid out before them. The Duke of Auldwood had the papers in his hands, held up before him, so she doubted he knew she had arrived.
Coming to a seat, Belle’s eyes darted to her mother. She was gingerly nibbling on a crumpet, her eyes on the floor. When Belle had walked in, the Duchess’ eyes lit up briefly, a shadow of a smile appearing over her lips before she glanced at her husband and returned her gaze to the floor.
Despite her mother’s clear timidity, she was a vision. Her hair was a gorgeous, shimmering cape of black, her finer features accentuated by her soft-brown eyes, which Belle had inherited. Her dress was befitting of a Duchess, and her shoulders were pulled back into a stature that belied her grace. It was her eyes that gave her away, that told anyone that came near that she was hardly more than a shell of a person now.
It broke Belle’s heart to see her wonderful mother this way, so Belle focused her attention on her father. He hadn’t so much as moved when she came, so she cleared her throat loudly.
Slowly, the papers lowered and the Duke of Auldwood looked at his daughter. Belle looked like him. It bothered her how much she saw herself in him when she didn’t want to be anything like him, she couldn’t deny that she looked a lot like he did. Her brown tresses were his exact hue, the slope of her jaw and the curve of her nose. Only the eyes—always the eyes—spoke something different. Green. Hard. Cold.
“Eat,” he said, jerking his chin to the food before lifting the papers again, “and then we’ll talk.”
Belle bristled. “I guess I was right in thinking this wasn’t you wanting to spend time with your daughter then?”
“Belle…” her mother whispered but Belle ignored her. Of course, the Duchess didn’t like it when she talked back to her father. Of course, Belle wasn’t going to let that stop her.
“There are more important things to be done than to sit around chatting like ladies,” said the Duke in an utterly dry tone that showed how unaffected he was by her words.
And as usual, his words were starting to get Belle riled up. She took discreet breaths, her appetite vanishing. “Is there something the matter, Father?” she asked through tight lips.
From the corner of her eye, she could see her mother biting her lip.
“You are nine-and-ten today,” said the Duke.
Belle wasn’t surprised he remembered, but she was surprised he was mentioning it. Her defenses rose. “Thank you for wishing me a happy birthday, Father.”
He ignored the jibe and said, “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a dress for you. It is coming from London, made by the finest seamstresses the city has to offer.”
Belle blinked in shock. Her father had never taken an interest in her wardrobe before. “For what reason?”
Again, he lowered the papers. “Does there need to be one?”
