Authors: Stella White
She almost flinched when the Duke’s hand touched her face. He brushed her chin with his fingertips and then turned her face toward
him,
so they were looking into each other’s eyes. His face was calm and composed. Elizabeth made her face calm and composed, though within she was more scared and excited and alive than she had ever been. The Duke moved his hand down from her chin to her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.
The kiss was full of passion. Feelings Elizabeth had not even known she possessed woke within her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the Duke. He placed both his hands on her face and moved his tongue into her mouth. She allowed him, and then
moved
her tongue around with his, their tongues dancing. Her hands were on his shoulders, and then she pulled away, breathing heavily.
“I can’t,” she said. “We are not married. We
are not even engaged
.”
The Duke smiled.
“The world is still so simple for you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know—”
“I want you to stay at the Castle for a week or
so,
after the other guests have gone. I will write to your mother and father. It will be impossible for them to refuse.”
“
What ever
for?” Elizabeth said.
“So I can
court
you, of course, my lady.”
Elizabeth felt herself blush a fierce red. A Duke had just told her he wanted to court her. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She only looked at him, straight in the eyes, to see if she could discover his intent. Why would a Duke want to court a poor girl from
a minor
family? Why would a Duke bother with her at all?
Because you’re nothing like those backstabbing, two-faced, sadistic harlots in there, perhaps!
The Duke once again offered his arm. And Elizabeth once again accepted. The Duke leaned in and kissed Elizabeth on the neck. Her skin pricked with
warmth,
and a tingly pleasure permeated her body.
When they returned to the party, the Duke left immediately to write the letter to Mother and Father, which he would send by messenger this very day. Elizabeth could imagine her father’s fury at reading the letter, but the Duke was correct. He could not openly refuse without causing a scandal, and Father had had too many candles as it was.
No, as far as Father was concerned, she was safe. But was she safe from the Duke? What, exactly, did he want from her? Thoughts whirred through her head, impure, un-ladylike thoughts, and feelings warred in her chest, lustful and frightening feelings.
That night, as she laid her head down
upon
the guest bed, she dreamt of the Duke.
*****
Elizabeth woke the next morning to a knock
at
her door. She put on the robe the Duke’s servants had laid out in the room and went to the
door
. Opening it, she saw a young girl with a freckled face. “The Duke wants to know if you
want
to breakfast with him, misses.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Elizabeth said, sounding much calmer than she felt. “I will be there presently.”
She quickly dressed in a day dress and fixed her
hair,
so it fell loosely to her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror for a moment. Her skin was so white it was almost ghostly. Her eyes were dark blue, almost black. She was thin, with
a thin
waist and thin neck. Her cheekbones were set high in her face, and there was something behind her eyes: a hint of mischief, of dormant playfulness.
When she entered the breakfast room, the Duke stood from his chair and waved Elizabeth in. The table was laden with pastries and cakes. The Duke pulled out Elizabeth’s chair for
her
and then seated himself opposite her. He smiled. “Did you sleep well, my lady?” he said.
“Very well, thank you,” Elizabeth lied. In truth, she had woken twice during the night, each time hot and flustered after a dream about the Duke, each time wanting to touch herself in a most inappropriate way. She had wanted to reach down, and just once, just touch—
No, that is wrong, Elizabeth. Wrong!
“Good,” the Duke said, in his calm, emotionless voice. “We will walk the grounds after we have breakfasted.”
Elizabeth
nodded,
and they ate in silence. Afterwards, the Duke gave Elizabeth his
arm,
and together they walked around the Castle, under ornate arches and through wide open courtyards, and then toward the wood with their thick, healthy green leaves. “I
am not built
for the ball life,” the Duke said, after a long silence. “I was glad to find you at the party yesterday, because it seemed you were not built for the ball life, either. There is so much pretending that goes along with a life like that. One must always
be
on one’s
guard,
lest one ‘let something slip’ and cause a scandal. They stand around drinking wine and
laughing,
and they have no idea what is happening just right across the Channel.”
“It must be hard, fighting in a war,” Elizabeth said.
“I used to think so,” the Duke said. “And then the fighting stopped, and I returned to my Castle, and I was forced to mingle with lords and ladies for whom a crisis constitutes having to eat apple cakes instead of lemon cakes.”
Elizabeth laughed, and then swiftly covered her mouth.
“You may
laugh,
if you wish,” the Duke said. There was almost a hint of warmth in his voice, but not quite. It was more like there was the
potential
for warmth in his voice.
Elizabeth was so used to the cramped, suffocating atmosphere of her home life that the idea that she could
actually
laugh aloud was strange to her. She imagined the scenario at home: Father somberly drinking and smoking before the fire, Mother knitting, the only noise coming from her the
click-click-click
of the needles, and then Elizabeth reads something that makes her laugh, and she laughs aloud for the two of them to hear. No doubt Father would start raving about how his daughter finds their misfortune funny, and Mother would
simply
retire to her bedroom.
“Laughter does not come easily to me,” she said.
“Okay,” the Duke said. “What
does
come
easily
to you, my lady?”
Elizabeth tried to think of something, but nothing was magnificent: nothing was worthy of a scene like this. But then, she decided, did she want to be the sort of woman who pretends her life is grand and adventurous when in fact it was rather dull? Did
she
want
to be a Charlotte-type woman? “I care for the pigs and chickens,” she said. “And I read a lot. Father did not sell our books, so I still have many to
choose from
. There are some Greek scripts, and I have taught myself the basics. Enough to get along with some simpler texts,
anyway
. I love to read. I forget everything when I read. I do not feel as though I’m even in the same world when I read. The pages eat me.”
The Duke nodded. “And lots of adventures happen in these books, do they?”
“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth said. “Adventures of all sorts.”
“What about solders-cum-dukes wooing beautiful ladies?”
Elizabeth smiled. “I have not read that tale yet, my lord.”
The Duke placed his hand on Elizabeth’s leg. Elizabeth felt the heat from his hand move up her thigh, up, toward her private area. She knew she should bat his hand away, or tell him to move it away from her. She was not that kind of woman. But he was not trying anything
else, and
his hand
really
did feel quite nice there. They sat like that for a time, and then Elizabeth laid her hand over the Duke’s. He squeezed her leg, and together watched the course of a bird as it ducked from the clouds, into the trees, and then back up into the clouds again.
“Will you dine with me tonight, my lady?” the Duke said.
“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth replied. “It would be my pleasure.”
The Duke stood and together they walked back through the gardens. Elizabeth did not know how to feel about all of this. One side of her was
ecstatic
and overly happy that she was here, in the Duke’s gardens, with this captivating man. Another half of her was wary. She had never dreamt, when she was among the pigs and chickens, that she would be in the Duke’s Castle alone.
Anything could happen
here,
she thought, with a mixture of excitement and fear.
Anything at all
.
*****
That evening Elizabeth donned one of the dresses the Duke had lent her – that he had left waiting for her
in
the dresser – and joined him in the dining room for a dinner of duck and potato. They ate in silence for a time, and then the Duke ordered wine and drank greedily. Elizabeth, who had never had lots of wine, decided to indulge for the first time tonight. She drank down a large glass and then another, and soon the room had become unfocused. The Duke laughed. “I believe you are drunk,” he said.
“Me! No, my lord, never!”
He laughed
again,
and Elizabeth laughed with him. The sound of her
own
laughter startled her, so rarely did she hear it. It was like listening to the laughter of a stranger. She
sounded
happier than she had
sounded
in a long time, this stranger; and Elizabeth was happy for her. After dinner, the Duke took her arm and led her from the dining room.
He led her
through
the Castle, past old paintings of previous Dukes and
Ladies
, past ornate suits of armor, past mounted animal heads, to a cavernous room. The room was dim, and the Duke rushed around lighting torches
in
the walls. When the torches plumed their orange light, Elizabeth took in a quick, frantic breath. The room
was lined
with shelf upon shelf, and upon each
shelf
sat dozens and dozens – or hundreds and hundreds – of books. Perhaps it was the
wine,
or the shock, but Elizabeth threw herself down
in
a nearby chair and looked around at the books.
“This is incredible,” she said. “This is
absolutely
incredible
. How many are there? There must be thousands!”
“You like it?” the Duke said. “I am glad. This library is
yours,
if you will accept my proposal.”
“Your proposal?”
The Duke stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I wish you to be my wife, Elizabeth Hawk. Yes, we do not know each other well at all, but that need not hinder us. How many men and women become husband and wife simply through the exchange of letters? We are steps above them already, as one hour spent in person is worth one-hundred letters. I also believe it will be beneficial for your family.
Of course,
I will settle your father’s debts.”
“But why?” Elizabeth blurted, the only thing she could think to say. “You could have anybody.”
“I do not want anybody.” The Duke’s voice had not altered from the crisp deadpan monotone, in which no emotion
was heard
. “I want you. You are not like other women. You have not got their pretentiousness, their entitlement. You enjoy the quiet and nature and that is enough for me.”
Elizabeth knew she should say yes, but for some
reason,
the word simply wouldn’t part her lips. She didn’t feel comfortable marrying a man she had only known for two days, no matter how
fine
of a match it was.
She
knew he was right; marriages were often built upon the man and wife never having met once. But she had never wanted a marriage like that. In fact, had she ever wanted a marriage? She couldn’t recall fantasizing about
it
like other girls must have done.
“I need to think,” she said. “May I give you my answer at the end of the week?”
The Duke bowed slightly. “Of course. Now, let us enjoy the books.”
Together they walked through the stacks of books, occasionally picking one down and reading, sometimes just looking at the worn, ancient covers. Elizabeth found masses of French novels, which she picked up and looked over. She had enough French to read sentimental novels – some of her favorite
novels
were French
–
and she had a grand time reading over these.
She
began to amass a pile of a nearby table, which she would take back to her bedroom to read later. The Duke watched her with a sort of pride as she navigated the books. Whether it was pride for the books or pride for her, Elizabeth didn’t know. All she knew was that she liked the look in the Duke’s eyes. It was almost human. And a slight smile touched his otherwise straight-line lips.