Page 6 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“Some scars...Anastasia!” Camilla exclaimed. “That’s the Duke of Willowick. Everyone says he’s monstrous.”
“The Duke of Willowick?” Anastasia frowned. She recalled distantly hearing some gossip. She barely paid attention to gossip. “Well, whoever he was. He knows a lot about art. And he’s friendly. What difference would a few scars make to that?”
“A few scars?” Camilla exclaimed, then grinned. “I wager you a shilling that if Napoleon Bonaparte were to stroll in here, you would scarcely take note of him either. Your attention perpetually resides elsewhere.”
Anastasia chuckled. She linked arms with her friend, and they drifted towards the paintings.
“Are you going to attend Almack’s tomorrow?” Camilla asked as they wandered around. They had taken a turn around the gallery already. “I find myself quite parched,” she remarked, gliding toward the doors.
“Indeed, I feel the same way,” Anastasia responded. “As for Almack’s... I believe so,” she added, though her voice exhibited a hint of uncertainty.
Camilla grinned. “You must know!” she teased. She often teased her friend about being permanently elsewhere, her head full of thoughts and dreams. Anastasia chuckled.
“Indeed, I shall attend. However, I confess I do not possess a particular inclination to do so.
“Why, I do comprehend your concerns!” Camilla chuckled gently. “However, I assure you, it shall be a diverting engagement! I have a great affection for dancing.”
“Me too,” Anastasia assured her. Dancing was one of her favorite activities; more than playing the pianoforte or painting. The pianoforte ran a close second, however, which was a happy coincidence, since Camilla loved to sing. They performed together whenever they had a moment and were highly praised among their family and friends for their talents.
“Well, then,” Camilla said lightly, “it should be diverting.”
Anastasia nodded slowly. They were walking past a tea-house, and she glanced at Camilla, who nodded, and they went over to the door.
“Why not?” Camilla asked lightly. “The Hatfield is as good a tea-house as any I know.
They went in. Anastasia looked around the bright, white-wallpapered interior, where dozens of long windows let in plenty of light and the wooden floor was meticulously clean. A woman in a long black dress with modest long sleeves and an apron approached them. The proprietor, Anastasia guessed.
“A pot of tea for us, and...shall we say two slices of cake?” Camilla asked Anastasia, her voice wandering as her gaze moved towards the counter.
Anastasia lifted her shoulder. “I suppose.”
Camilla shot her a look and they both grinned.
“So,” Camilla asked as they went over to the table that the proprietor indicated to them. Martha followed and sat down with them. “You are prepared for the first ball?”
“I have to be,” Anastasia said lightly as the proprietor returned with their tea. “Papa has ordered the gown and everything.” She felt her stomach knot awkwardly. Her father, the Earl of Graystone, was known even more for his love of money than for his noble status, and she often got the impression that he saw her purely as a means to advance himself on both fronts. He always insisted that she attended Almack’s and every other fashionable venue when they were in Town, and he always bought her a new wardrobe, including the showiestgowns. Anastasia loved dancing, but she would much rather have been at home reading or chatting to her sister Lily and Camilla than being at Almack’s and feeling like she was on show.
“Oh.” Camilla made a face. She understood better than anyone how Anastasia felt. Her own parents, the Viscount and Viscountess of Bramley, were nowhere near as interested in advancement and Camilla’s mother frequently assured her that she could marry whomever she chose. Anastasia’s stomach twisted. She wished someone had given her anything like that assurance.
“Yes,” Anastasia murmured in reply. They stood and wandered over to the counter to select their cakes as the proprietor brought the teapot to the table.
“I would rather be at Lady Etherly's ball,” Camilla commented, pouring some tea and stirring in a lump of sugar. “The music is better.”
“Absolutely,” Anastasia agreed firmly. She poured her own cup of tea and sipped it. It was hot and she sipped it slowly from the small porcelain cup with its painted roses. “The quartet at her balls is much better.”
Talking of music with Camilla reminded her of discussing art with the strange man at the gallery. It had been diverting to talk with him. He had seemed as though he knew a great deal about art, and she had been looking forward to talking further with him. She recalled again those haunting green eyes and the way his lips had lifted in a slight smile, though his gaze had not lightened but remained brooding throughout the discussion.
“Ah! Thank you,” Camilla murmured as the proprietor appeared with the slices of cake that they had chosen. Anastasia accepted her plate of fruit gateau with a smile and a nod and took a delicate forkful with the silver cake-fork. She shut her eyes for a moment, savoring the sweet, many-layered taste. She had barely eaten at breakfast time, being lost in thought and a little apprehensive about the upcoming ball.
Her mind wandered back to the gallery, and thence to the man she had talked with there.
“That man,” Anastasia asked, as her friend took a hearty mouthful of cake. “Were you concerned because you know something about him?” It seemed very unusual for Camilla to judge someone by their looks and her friend’s vehement reaction had confused her. Camilla coughed, apparently almost choking on her tea. “The Duke of Willowick?” she asked, her eyes round. “What more can one know about him? He’s a beast. People say he sleeps all day and walks about at night like a nocturnal creature, and that he can curse people.”
“What?” Anastasia blinked. “Camilla, my dear! Surely none could be so foolish as to truly believe such a thing, could they?”
Camilla shot her a look. “Well, I don’t think the last bit can be true,” she admitted. “But he is rather frightening in his appearance, so I understand how people might assume it.”
Anastasia shook her head. She felt a little sad. While she had never felt pushed out by society, she had been raised by her mother to try and accept people in spite of their differences. It seemed confusing and hurtful that other people did not see things that way.
