Page 1 of Her Beastly Duke
CHAPTER 1
Walcot Hall, Gloucester
Miss Briar Walcot sat in the sparsely furnished drawing room, her fingers tracing the worn edges of the beloved book she held. Its once vibrant cover now faded and dog-eared, told the tale of countless hours spent in its company. The spine, a testament to its age, had been cracked multiple times; pages, once pristine, were now almost falling out, and the edges of a few were bent. She was sure that her tears had fallen on the pages many times before, blurring her vision as she tried to read. Briar closed the volume with a sigh. She had read it so many times that she knew some of the passages by heart, and she yearned for new material, but they could not afford it.
She looked around the drab room with its tattered drapes and worn carpet. The most valuable pieces of furniture were gone, and she had long since given up on dreaming that their family’s circumstances would change for the better. It had all been too much since Father died. Only then did they know how good he was at keeping secrets. She did not think they would recover from the shock after the will was read. Even the verymemory was painful, and she would much rather forget it. Four years had passed since her father died, and when Briar thought they were destitute, she realized that it was only now that she understood the word's true meaning.
Duncan burst into the drawing room, his tall, lean figure, usually so agile, seemed to be weighed down by the burden of their circumstances. His trembling hands, the hastily poured drink, the unsteady gaze—all spoke of a battle he was fighting within. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating with the weight of their shared anxiety. Briar, too, felt the urgency of their situation. The brandy, usually a source of comfort, seemed to offer no solace to Duncan. He poured another drink, his movements more frantic this time, before turning to face her. His smile, usually a source of warmth, was absent, and his eyes, usually so full of life, were clouded with worry.
Briar’s heart lurched. Her brother seemed even more unsettled than usual. “Duncan, is all well?”
He grimaced and could not meet her eyes.
Whatever it was, it could not be that bad. Duncan was a good, gentle soul. He was fair and honorable; perhaps that was why he struggled to say whatever bothered him.
“Duncan, what is it? Clearly, there is something that upset you.” Briar stood up, but he took a few steps toward her and flopped onto the sofa.
She reclaimed her seat in the armchair and patiently waited.
Duncan's eyes were feverish and over-bright, his gaze darting. He sat forward and placed his hands on his knees. “I have done something rather foolish. You might never forgive me.”
He dropped his head in his hands, and Briar's heart skipped a beat. The hairs raised on her nape and arms. Nothing else had happened since Duncan dropped his head, yet she felt thatthings were moving quickly, but they were not. She forced a smile in place and attempted to keep her voice light.
“What have you done, Duncan? Out with it.”
Her brother said nothing. Briar wondered what could be so bad that he would hesitate to share it with her. He usually confided in her, discussing any private matters and problems. They were confidants, each other’s pillars of strength in this harsh world. She could not think of anyone with whom she would rather share her feelings and secrets. They had always been safe with him.
“Duncan, whatever it is, just tell me. I am sure we can work it out together,” Briar said with the empathy she truly felt. Whatever it was, she did not want him to feel alone.
Duncan used both hands to rub the back of his neck. He shifted as though unable to get comfortable before he raised his head and took a deep, shaky breath.
“I have gone and done it this time.Bloody hell!It is rather dreadful.”
Briar immediately felt thirsty, but she was afraid to move. She had heard Duncan swear before, but it made her stomach churn this time. There was such desperation in his voice, and she swore his anxiety was infectious. Would he finally tell her they would lose their home? This was the worst-case scenario, and she had always resisted thinking about it because she hoped it would never get that far. His anger at their family’s dire straits was palpable, and it only seemed to grow with time. The departure of the servants, unable to bear the financial strain, had left only Clair, their faithful housekeeper, with them. Briar, too, had taken up the household chores, not out of obligation but out of a shared understanding that they were all in this together.
Have we lost our home, Duncan? She silently screamed. Taking another steady breath, she decided to wait and listen. He had a secret, and he certainly could not hide it.
“I have done something that, if it were made public, would certainly ruin my honor and what is left of the family name. I’ve passed off a fake Wellington depicting the battle of Waterloo.” The words rushed from Duncan once he started, and beads of sweat lined his brow.
Good Lord!Alarmed, her heart pounded. “AfakeWellington?”
“Yes.”
Duncan did not meet Briar’s eyes, and she detected the slight tremble of his chin. He was likely berating himself for his reckless decision. Briar dazedly shook her head. She knew her brother, and he was not a cheat. If someone else had told her Duncan had done this, she would have been the first to defend him. Her brother was honest, but not only that, he had an appreciation for fine art. Was this what debt and a bit of despair had made him do? It was a desperate act, and truth be told, it frightened her.
Briar wondered how long Duncan had worked on obtaining the forgery. She understood it was a complicated process that was not limited to creating the artwork itself. The forged artwork had to look plausible, copying Wellington’s style, artificially aging the artwork, and using not only advanced chemical solutions but regular dust and dirt as well. A clean Wellington smelling of fresh paint and varnish would unlikely convince an art connoisseur. She wanted to know the details, but this was not the right time to ask.
Briar stood and started to pace, her mind furiously churning.
Things had taken a turn for the worst at Walcot Hall last season. There was a terrible drought, and they lost half of their crops. What remained was not of the best quality, and it was not enough to prevent the chain of events that followed. Briar supposed the drought was the final nail in their proverbial coffin. Duncan tried to shield them from the worst of it, butshe observed that he had become restless ever since. He finally confided the bank was unwilling to provide a further loan.
There was nothing of great value left to be sold at Walcot Hall. Although they were in a bind, the last time she spoke with Duncan, he seemed resolute that he would find a way to get them out of it. She had no idea passing off a forgery was what he had in mind, for she would certainly have talked him out of it.
A fake painting was indeed serious.
It was an unmitigated disaster.
It was described as a classy crime, but no convicted art forger would be praised for their artistic skills and tricks used to pull off the deception. In polite society, a gentleman’s honor was everything. Duncan was the Baron of Walcot, and it must pain him to realize that his honest attempts to provide for them had failed, so he turned to less favorable actions.
