“Ah, you noticed that, did you?” Isobel tried to force another one of her joyful laughs, but this time it was a little strained. “You are perceptive, my Lady. Very perceptive to notice such a thing considering matters.”
“You sound nervous.”
“It is just because the staff have talked of it for so long. Yet we are used to it now too.” She sighed, quite resignedly. “The walls became bare after the fire at Aldenbury Club. The late Duke’s gentleman’s club in London. Since then, most ornamental things have been taken off the walls—any pictures or paintings of family and friends in particular were taken down. Pray, do not tell the duke I told you that though. He prefers to keep his business private.”
“I quite understand. Thank you.” Charity walked around the bath.
“Here, smell this one. This is my absolute favorite.” Isobel’s cheerful mannerisms returned as she pushed another bottle under Charity’s nose. “Rose and hibiscus.”
Charity lingered, intently smelling this one for some time. It was indeed a beautiful scent; one she could imagine enveloping her body in.
“It is quite mesmerizing,” Charity said with approval. As Isobel returned the bottle to a small table beside the bath, Charity realized that Isobel could be a good source of information. The kindly maid with her eagerly chatty ways may tell Charity things she longed to know. “Isobel, may I ask you something more?”
“Of course,” Isobel urged her on.
“The Duke of Axfordshire… what does he look like?” Charity rather hoped her face would not blush with the question, but a mere second later, she felt the heat begin to grow up her cheeks. She lowered her head downward, hoping to catch the steam of the bath to use as an excuse, yet feared it was too late.
“Oh, His Grace has a charm of his own,” Isobel said with a giggle. “I am guessing you have noticed he is quite tall.”
“Yes, his voice comes from quite high,” Charity explained with a smile and waved her hand way above her own head height.
“He maintains a strong build too, though I suspect that is from all the walking and exercise he takes on the grounds,” Isobel tattled away. “I’ll just collect some towels for you.” Her footsteps drifted away across the room as she went in search of these towels. “He has deep brown hair too that he often keeps tousled. Have you always been blind, my Lady? Or do you know colors?”
“I know colors. I lost my sight when I was young, but I remember them well.”
“Then you should be able to picture it if I say his hair is the color of nutmeg. You know that lovely spice you get in Christmas cake?”
“I remember it.” Charity smiled.
It was one of the few memories she had of her mother. She was just four years old when, one Christmas, her mother had shared a slice of Christmas cake with her, sitting beneath the evergreens they had trailed over the mantelpiece together in their parlor. The Christmas cake had been full of ginger and cinnamon, but most particularly, of nutmeg too.
“And his eyes?” Charity asked, encouraging Isobel on.
“They are blue. But not like yours, my Lady. Deep blue, like a wild ocean,” Isobel said with a rather wistful sigh. “He has the occasional sunspot to his skin, and I heard a maid say once he had too wide a jaw, but I do not agree with her, and I do not really think she meant it either. She blushes every time he is in the room.”
Ah, so he is handsome too…
“Thank you,” Charity said softly. “I like being able to picture people.”
“I’m glad I could help. There is the scarring too, of course, but he tries to keep that covered up with his cravat—” Suddenly, again like before, the sound was muffled by a hasty hand.
“Scarring?” Charity repeated, surprised.
“Goodness, look at the time! I must go and finish setting up breakfast for the master. I shall leave you to your bath. Ring the cord beside your fireplace should you need me, my Lady. You should find it about five paces to your left from where you are now.”
“Thank you.” Charity smiled, appreciating the description Isobel had given.
After the maid left, Charity did not move or climb into the bath just yet. She was left stumped, thinking of something Isobel had said.
Why is the Duke scarred?
CHAPTER 7
“Icannot keep hiding away here.” Seth rubbed his eyes as he sat up on the bed.
He had been woken that morning by Charity bumbling around the room in her desperation to make her exit. He’d let her have it, pretending to be asleep, though in actual fact he was leaning on an elbow, watching as she danced with that tall vase, in danger of smashing it to pieces. Judging by the color of her blush, he wasn’t certain which of them was more embarrassed by that kiss.
I gave in to temptation. I should not have been so impetuous.
