Chapter 2
“Your Grace, do be reasonable!” James cried after Laurence, running to catch up with him.
“I am being reasonable,” Laurence replied as they walked.
Laurence Thornwaite, the Duke of Alderbourne, knew his friend well enough to know that James would not drop the issue until it was resolved to his satisfaction.
“I would not call being a recluse reasonable.”
“If you were in my situation, you would have a much different opinion,” Laurence sighed.
“Laurence, I am your good friend. I have known you for how long now?” James asked.
“Too long.”
“Oi!” James laughed. “Do you really think I would lead you into trouble?”
“You have done exactly that,” Laurence said, trying not to smirk. “Frequently.”
“Ah! I saw that! You’re stifling a smile,” James drawled.
“That does not mean I will agree to go to that… frivolous gathering of gawkers with you.”
“I would hardly call a charity ball frivolous!” James protested.
Laurence almost rolled his eyes. Truth be told, he had little interest in dancing, nor did he think the ton would welcome his presence.
He instinctively put a hand on the back of his neck, his fingers brushing against the edge of the scar.
The twisted knots of skin marred the left side of his face, neck, and shoulder.
Suddenly, a massive crack rippled through the street.
Laurence’s head snapped in the direction of the noise. He watched as the groom lost control of the team, the horses surging forward in a frenzy of flailing hooves and snorts, the phaeton jolting and swaying behind them as it careened down the street.
“Help!” the groom shouted, before losing his balance and being thrown off the phaeton.
Laurence’s stomach lurched as screams split the air and people shoved past one another, fleeing in all directions.
“Mama!” a little boy shouted.
The child stood in the middle of the road, too terrified to move out of harm’s way.
“Move! Get out of the way!” Laurence shouted as he hurled himself down the street.
He grabbed the bridle of a nearby horse, swung himself into the saddle, and thundered toward the frightened team of horses. The cobbles jostled him, but he ignored the pain.
“Steady now. Steady!” he muttered, forcing his steed to go faster.
Just before the horses could trample the boy, Laurence yanked their bridles to the side. He gritted his teeth as sharp pain shot through his shoulder at the force, nearly tearing his arm from its socket.
Hooves clattered against hooves. The phaeton wobbled dangerously.
“Hold together!” someone cried.
One horse whinnied.
The phaeton slammed into a post, and its axle shattered, finally halting the horses. Laurence pulled hard on the reins to stop his steed, his chest burning from the adrenaline.
He dismounted. “Are you both all right?” he called to the couple, then turned to face the assembled crowd.
The boy’s mother came running, pulling Laurence into a grateful embrace. “Thank God!” she cried, hugging him tight. “Thank y—” She stopped once she realized whom she was thanking.
Gasps echoed down the street as Laurence felt the crowd’s collective gaze land on his face.
The boy Laurence had just saved pointed up at him and whispered in a trembling voice from behind his mother’s skirts, “Mama…”
Laurence’s fists twitched, but he kept his breathing even.
“Mama!” the boy cried. “I’m sorry! I promise I’ll be good forever, just don’t let the monster get me!” He wept.
“I’m so sorry, sir. My boy, he doesn’t know w-what he’s saying,” the woman stammered.
The crowd seemed to exhale and step back.
Laurence’s eyes swept over the onlookers. Years had passed since he’d earned his scars, yet people still scattered like frightened birds at his approach.
He knew what they whispered behind his back.
The Scarred Duke. The Beast of Alderbourne.
To the children, he was simply a monster.
His gaze lingered on the crowd before settling on the boy, who was still trembling.
“Be careful next time,” he gritted out. “Or else I’ll come again.”
Upon hearing Laurence’s menacing words, the child let out a squeak of fear and buried his face into his mother’s side.
Laurence sighed and turned to see that James had finally caught up to him.
James glanced at the gawking crowd and frowned. “Blast it,” he muttered. “They’d be cheering if anyone else had saved the child.”
“You forget that I am not anyone else,” Laurence said, walking away from the scene.
James took one last look at the onlookers, then followed after him. “You know, old friend, I think I know just the thing to cheer you up.”
And Laurence knew that meant nothing but trouble.
One week later, Laurence would come to regret agreeing to James’s plan.
The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, couples glided across the polished dance floor, and the hum of polite conversation mingled with the clink of glasses. Wine flowed freely, and laughter floated over the orchestra’s music.
Until a scream and a thud cut through the merriment.
Guests gasped, clutching their skirts and coats as a young debutante lay sprawled on the floor. She had only needed to look at Laurence to faint.
Laurence’s hands twitched at his sides, his temper fraying. How had James convinced him to agree to this torture?
“Oh, my word!” James called out to direct the guests’ attention away from Laurence. “She must have drunk too much wine, combined with the heat in this room!”
“Stop,” Laurence growled.
“Your Grace, let me—” James started, but Laurence was already walking toward the doors.
James grabbed his arm and led him to a quiet corner of the ballroom. “Old boy, if you leave now, you’ll look guilty,” he murmured.
“Guilty of what? A woman collapsed, James. And I didn’t touch her,” Laurence scoffed.
“You know what the ton is like. You can’t be seen running,” James cautioned.
“And yet I am not exactly being made to feel welcome here,” Laurence snarled.
“Well, if you hadn’t spent so long being a recluse and had worked on getting a wife sooner, perhaps we would not be in this position,” James chided.
“I would not need to be a recluse if the ton wasn’t so—”
“Do you want to find a wife and have access to your fortune or not?” James asked bluntly.
Laurence groaned. That damn clause in his father’s will.
My estate and fortune shall only be released to my son, Laurence Thornwaite, once he has a wife and child of his own.
A last indignity after a life of indignities that his father had inflicted on him.
“I know this offends your delicate sensibilities,” James went on, “but unless you plan to wed a ghost in your castle’s west wing, you may need to speak to someone who’s alive. So, maybe you could try and find someone here?”
“I will try,” Laurence grumbled.
“Good.” James nodded. “Shall we?”
James guided him around the edge of the room, away from the debutante who was being revived with smelling salts.
“Over there is Lady Dunwell, daughter of the Earl of Dunwell. Pretty, good temperament, a love for music—” James began.
Laurence caught the young woman’s eye. She turned away quickly.
“Over there is Lady Penelope, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Foxwike,” James murmured, attempting discretion as he wedged them into the far corner of the ballroom.
When the young lady spotted them, her eyes widened with fear. Another young lady took her arm and led her away.
“This is going well,” Laurence hissed.
“Oh, hush, we just have to find the right woman,” James said, waving a dismissive hand.
A movement caught Laurence’s eye, and he turned slightly to watch a woman walking toward him. She was too old to be a debutante and was dragging a very reluctant young lady behind her.
Oh no.
“Your Grace, Lord Mallowby,” the woman greeted, bobbing a perfunctory curtsy. “I am Lady Fairfax, and this is my daughter, Lady Kitty,” she said, gesturing to the timid young woman behind her.
“Good evening,” Laurence offered.
“I am ever so delighted to meet you,” Lady Fairfax said.
Laurence nodded slowly, noticing that she did not meet his eyes.
“I do believe you’ve met my husband before?”
“Yes, Lord Fairfax has helped me secure some business in the past,” Laurence replied.
“Oh, of course!” Lady Fairfax smiled, although it didn’t reach her eyes.
Music began to fill the ballroom, and Lady Fairfax beckoned her daughter closer.
“The music here is so wonderful. It is such a shame that a dancer such as my daughter should find herself without a partner. She’s just recently mastered the waltz,” she continued, gesturing to her daughter, who was finding the ceiling of great interest.
“With respect—” Laurence began, only to catch another woman watching him and whispering to her daughter.
“It seems we are now spoiled for choice.” James chuckled.
“Well, the night is young. I am sure he could dance with both young ladies,” Lady Fairfax reasoned.
“Would you like to dance, Lady Kitty?” Laurence asked.
“I would hate to interrupt your conversation,” Lady Kitty replied, “but if you would please excuse me, Your Grace, Lord Mallowby. I believe I see an acquaintance I must greet.” She dipped into a small curtsy, then turned and hastened away.
Her mother quickly chased after her, clearly displeased by her sudden departure.
“Well, that was… something,” Laurence murmured.
“Let us just call it a start,” James remarked. “You actually spoke to them.”
“Yes, and what a riveting conversation it was,” Laurence retorted sarcastically.
“It wasn’t that bad,” James admonished.
Laurence shot him a look and shook his head. “I need some fresh air,” he muttered, before walking toward the garden doors.
The gardens were blissfully empty, the chill in the air a welcome respite from the stifling heat of the densely packed bodies in the ballroom.
Laurence found a bench and slumped onto it, away from the ton’s merciless, prying eyes.
He was a man used to getting his way, yet somehow the thing he needed most seemed so far out of his reach. His failure to secure a wife would not only put his future at risk, but also the duchy’s.