Bowing, Allan left the room, and Cedric followed, but headed in the opposite direction towards his study. He passed down a painting-lined hallway, these ones were scenery of the wild English countryside, as opposed to the portraits of his forefathers in the library. He passed the billiards room, music room, and library, finally arriving at a closed door.
This study was where he felt at home, the smell of lemony beeswax polish, ink, and oiled leather. He had shelves that reached from the floor to the soaring ceiling, all filled with law books, trade manuals, and old papers his father had sent down to him.
His boots sank into the soft carpet and, bypassing his massive mahogany desk, flung the long velvet drapes aside to view thegardens. He plucked a few books from his shelves and rounded his desk, piled high with a multitude of invitations that he was inevitably going to decline, before he fished out his writing materials.
As he sat, his valet came with his coffee carafe. As he poured, he asked, “Is there anything you will need, Your Grace?”
“No, Torren,” he said as he dipped a pen in ink. “But thank you.”
As he took his seat and began to work on the marriage agreement, his mind flickered to the young lady in his joining suite. “The interim Duchess,” he snorted. “That’s not a phrase I never thought I’d say.”
Although Helen had been dead for nearly ten years, her shining blond hair and beautiful, spiteful smirk flickered through his mind’s eye. He could hear her say,once she knows you, she’ll run from you, too.
He clenched his jaw.One thing at a time.
Chapter Eleven
It was a swift, cool breeze that woke Ariadne, and eyes fluttering, she took a moment to reorient herself, then at the sight of the luxurious—but staid—room.
The sky was darker than she had remembered when going to be, and she winced inside at knowing she had slept all day.
She slipped from the bed, her hands dragging over the clean, crisp linens dressing the bed, and after examining her room, she found her washing room.
She plunged her hands into the icy water and splashed her face, and the temperature jolted her awake. Staring at the mirror, her face pale, she tried to find the best in the situation.
At least my sisters will have the leeway to find the one they will love.
She eyed the third door, wondering if, like her mother and father’s chambers, it led to the duke’s. Tentatively, she tried the door and pushed in, lingering in the doorway, only to look.
His room was bleak, with exposed dark stone walls, leather furniture, one portrait above his fireplace, and aside from his bed, a mirror image of hers, only spread with dark sheets, and a rectangular rug under its side.
There was nothing in his room to speak of his personality; no portrait of his late wife that would tell of grief or warm memories of her, nor were there any ornaments, whimsical or not, to tell her what he liked.
She slowly backed away and closed the door.
As she headed to the door that led to the hallway, she knew that the smart thing to do was to find the Beast and speak with him about how their marriage would be— but she wanted a moment to herself before she faced him again.
I do not know what to do around him.
She tried every door she passed, hoping to come upon a library sooner than later, and at the last door in this wing—or maybe it was the next one? She had wandered so many halls that she had lost track. Pushing that door in, it opened to a cavernous room with two stories of books.
The lower level was square with bookshelves aligned with the walls, while there was a large seating area of couches, coffee tables and curule chairs across from a large fireplace.
End tables held candlesticks with tall beeswax candles ready to be lit while the top level only held shelves. A staircase led to those but what intrigued her was the ladder that led to the row of tomes in a recessed shelf above the seating area.
“At least I will not be entirely bored with my time here…” She investigated the shelves across from the fireplace and found they were ranged from history to philosophy to art and even epic poems, like the Odyssey and the Iliad.
“Nothing on plants…” she stepped away
As she moved from the seating area, her eyes flickered up to the books above the seating area and her eyes caught on the spine of a thick tome,De Materia MedicaorTheVienna Dioscorides
Her head felt light; how on earth had he gotten his hand on such a prized book?
Her head swiveled to the ladder, and she moved it to where the book was. She began to climb. Halfway, she felt the boldness of her decision begin to waver—and the moment she looked down, it plummeted out of the bottom of her stomach.
Grabbing at the ladder, she swallowed and lifted one foot over the other until she got to the ledge. Reaching out, she trappedher air in her lungs as she pulled a large tome from the shelf and balanced it on the edge of the ledge.
Flipping the cover, she gently paged through the highly detailed, hand-drawn illustrations and descriptions of both healing and toxic plants.
