Page 38 of Her Tiger of a Duke
“Then I shall speak with him,” Beatrice said. “For now, let them go earlier unless he gives instruction. I will not have the servants working half the night for no reason.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
They finished in the gallery, where portraits of somber-looking ancestors lined the walls. Beatrice could not help but see how similar they all looked, and there was a dull ache in her chest that her own family did not have such a striking resemblance.
“I would like these cleaned,” Beatrice said quietly as they wandered. “They are dull. And the windows too. Half of them are clouded, which means that less light can come in.”
“Certainly, Your Grace. The maids will need ladders, of course.”
“Then you must give them time, and tell them to take care,” Beatrice said. “I do not mind how long it takes; I want this room to feel lived in again. I want the house to feel like a home.”
Mrs. Forsythe studied her for a moment, her face softening slightly.
“It has been some time since anyone’s taken such an interest, Your Grace.”
“Then it’s about time someone did.”
Mrs. Forsythe smiled, a hint of sadness in her eye, and walked away. When she was gone, Beatrice lingered a moment longer. The house still felt vast and unfamiliar, but soon there would be traces of herself in it. There would be light in the morning room, flowers in the drawing room. It would be the sort of place that she wanted to live in, and one where she would be happy to host.
It was not quite home yet, but it was beginning to bend toward her, room by room.
As she continued to look at the paintings, one in particular caught her eye. It was of a girl, no older than sixteen, with wild blonde hair and hazel eyes just like Helena’s which was perhaps what forced her to stop and pay attention. Beatrice narrowed her eyes, approaching it with caution.
She wondered if she was about to learn of yet another secret, perhaps that Helena had always been known by the family and that was why Owen had been so insistent on protecting her, but as she arrived close enough to read the plaque beneath it, the hairs on her arms stood on end.
Lady Lydia Harcourt, beloved daughter and sister
The resemblance was uncanny between Helena and the girl, and Beatrice hoped that she could one day show her friend the painting. She wondered just who the girl was, for she had never heard of her and there was no date, which was most bizarre.
The room was silent, and there was nobody else near her, and in the quiet she wondered what sort of life the girl in the painting had led, if she had fallen for a commoner like her friend had, or if she attended balls and gossiped with other young ladies. She wondered if she had dreamed of her debut like most ladies or dreaded it like her friends all had. She did not know why she was so drawn to it, but she could not tear her eyes away.
“It is time for dinner, Your Grace,” Ella announced, standing by the door.
Reluctantly, Beatrice followed, leaving it behind.
“Mrs. Forsythe tells me you will be making changes,” Owen initiated conversation as they ate.
“Many, yes, as I told you. It is not that there is anything wrong with the house, but it–”
“Does not feel like a home. Believe me, I know.”
“May I ask why you have never changed it?”
“My mother liked it, and I liked my mother. Granted, our tastes could not have been any more different, but I had a good deal of respect for her.”
“And you are certain that you do not mind me making such changes?”
“If I did, do you believe I would have given you reign to make such alterations in the first place? Beatrice, I know that you are used to doing what is expected of you, and so you should think of it this way. Your role is to make this household the best that it can be. I trust that you will do what is right for the household, and I look forward to seeing what you have chosen.”
“I look forward to doing it, especially the changes I have planned for the gallery.”
He froze, eyes wider.
“Why were you in the gallery?”
“It was the final room. Granted, it shall take the maids a while to clean the paintings, but it will look spectacular when it is finished, do you not think?”
“Indeed,” he replied, but his voice was slightly strained.
