Chapter 17

William inhaled deeply, looking at the burnt down barn. He reminded himself that at least no one got hurt… this time.

"How about a strong drink, old friend?" he suggested to Stephen, who immediately nodded.

"I think that is exactly what we need at a moment like this," Stephen agreed, as the two men found their way back into the mansion, entering the drawing room.

Even the air inside seemed heavy with a faint scent of smoke, a lingering reminder of the ordeal that they had just endured. As they entered, William's gaze fell on the decanter of brandy resting on the sideboard. He reached for it with a steady hand, his movements deliberate yet tinged with a sense of weariness. Memories of Rose's tender touch and whispered words still lingered in his mind, comforting him in the midst of turmoil.

With a quiet sigh, he uncorked the decanter and poured two generous measures of brandy into crystal glasses, the amber liquid glinting softly in the candlelight. His motions were fluid, instinctive, as if he were lost in the rhythm of the task. As he handed a glass to Mr. Trent, their eyes met briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They both knew the weight of the events that had transpired, the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Stephen took a sip of his drink, the edge of his glass lingering a moment or two just a few inches away from his lips, as his eyes refused to leave William's side.

"That servant girl outside…" Stephen started, pausing purposely.

"You mean Rose?" William inquired.

"Yes, I forgot her name," Stephen patted his forehead amusedly. "A nice girl. I met her on the way here the first time I came to visit you. Very helpful."

"She is," William nodded.

Stephen tilted his head a little as he spoke. "But with you, it seems she is even more than that."

William's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, she seems to be more than a servant girl," Stephen clarified. "The way she tended to you while you were unconscious…"

"Oh," William said, his blood boiling at the memory of opening his eyes and seeing her above him, like a vision of an angel. "She is a healer, and so is her aunt. I suppose it is a healing character trait."

"No, no, old boy," Stephen shook his head. "There is more to that. She was caressing you and whispering to you."

William shrugged seemingly indifferently, but inside, his heart was ablaze. She was caressing him? Whispering to him? He wanted to remember all of that, but he couldn't. It was all a dark haze of nothingness.

"Like I said, she has that nurturing note." William was adamant.

"It seems to be more of a loving note, if you ask me."

"No, no." Now, it was William's turn to deny. "We are in a strictly professional relationship."

The thought seemed preposterous even to him as he said it aloud, but he didn't want to admit to his friend something he couldn't yet admit to himself.

"You are the duke and she is your maid," Stephen clarified. "I am merely surprised to see you so close with a member of your staff."

But she is so much more than that… tell him! That little voice urged. Only William refused to listen. He didn't want to say any of that.

"There is nothing between us," William said as calmly as he could.

But he realized that Stephen was right. Worse yet, it was more serious that William himself realized if she was caressing him and whispering sweet words of solace as she waited for him to wake up. The thought both thrilled him and petrified him. Love was not something he ever thought would be possible for him. Not looking the way he did. Yet, she was caressing him, caressing his scars, saying every time that she didn't see a monster when she looked at him.

He gritted his teeth, reminding himself that hope was a dangerous thing. Too much of it, and one's heart could easily break. He had to be cautious and the best way to be cautious was to keep everyone at a distance.

"Do you have any idea how the fire broke out?" Stephen asked, as his voice brought William back to the present moment.

William closed his eyes. Rose had already asked him that, but now, the events that preceded the fire were a little less hazy. "I believe it was some children from the village," he said quietly. "They've been causing mischief for a while now, breaking windows on the mansion and calling me a monster."

He gestured to the scars that marred his face, a painful reminder of the horrors he had endured. "I can't say I blame them for calling me a monster," he added with a bitter edge to his voice. "I've grown accustomed to it over the years."

Stephen's expression softened with sympathy as he listened to William's words. He reached out a hand to place it reassuringly on his friend's shoulder.

"You are no monster, William," he said firmly. "You are a man of honor and courage, and you've faced challenges that most could never imagine. Those children simply do not understand."

"I doubt I would ever be given the chance to explain that, old friend," William sighed with a heavy smile. "So, I suppose I simply have to put up with their mischief for a little while longer."

Stephen frowned at those words. "But a fire… that sounds more than mere mischief, Will. You need to be cautious."

"Perhaps," William agreed, but he didn't want to tell his friend that there always needed to be a balance of good and bad in life. He had survived the war, and others didn't. He wasn't there for his father and brother to save them, once again him surviving, while they did not. The broken windows and the fire were merely fate's way of establishing order in the midst of chaos. He deserved people's scorn.

He gestured at his glass, getting up. "How about another one?"

Stephen grinned. "You are reading my mind, old friend."

***

The human capacity for adjustment had always surprised Rose. The same theory could be applied to wounds. People knew they had to continue functioning, and so they did. Immediately after the fire had been put out, Mr. Hancock had given out new duties and obligations to everyone employed, and after only an hour, life in the mansion seemed to be back to normal.

But it only seemed to be. For Rose, it was different. She couldn't forget that she almost lost William. She couldn't forget the desperate, loving kisses she showered him with. She doubted she would ever be able to.

Rose moved gracefully through the grand halls, putting the final touches on her tasks for the day. She straightened the curtains, dusted the ornate furnishings, and ensured that every room sparkled with cleanliness and order.

As she moved from room to room, her mind wandered back to the events of that morning. The sight of the burning barn, the fear and uncertainty that had gripped her heart as she rushed to William's side—it was a memory she knew she would never forget.

But amidst the chaos and turmoil, there had been moments of undeniable connection and strength. The way William had looked at her, the touch of his hand as she had knelt beside him in the grass—it was a reminder of the bond that had formed between them, a bond that felt deeper and more profound with each passing day.

The last place where she needed to draw the curtains was the drawing room. Seeing the door ajar, she gently opened it. She was greeted by the sight of the duke and Mr. Trent reclining on the couches, both men sound asleep. A smile tugged at the corners of Rose's lips as she watched them. They both looked so peaceful in sleep, their cares and worries momentarily forgotten.

Moving quietly across the room, she approached William. She reached out a hand to gently brush a lock of hair from his forehead, her touch feather-light and tender. She yearned to kiss him again, softly on the forehead at first, then leave a light trail of kisses down his cheek all the way to his lips.

Her body thundered with heat at the memory of their encounter in the kitchen, the same encounter she didn't want to end. But he pulled away from her. She tried to remind herself why he did it, but that did little to diminish her own longing for his lips and hands.

She found a soft throw on a nearby armchair, and she tucked it around him, ensuring that he was warm and comfortable, before pausing to gaze at him with a fond expression. She couldn't imagine that the villagers could think such things about him. They didn't know him at all. None of them. If they had, they would realize that they were cruel toward a man who didn't deserve it.

In the flickering candlelight, William's features softened, the lines of worry that had etched themselves into his face smoothed away. He looked so vulnerable in sleep, yet there was a strength and resilience that shone through, a reminder of the man he truly was. There was nothing monstrous about him. On the contrary, he was a man who could awaken so much in a woman. She knew from her own experience.

The memory of the kiss they had shared lingered in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of the forbidden attraction that had sparked between them. She had felt the warmth of his lips against hers, the electric thrill of his touch, and for a fleeting moment, she had allowed herself to believe in the possibility of something more.

But reality soon came crashing back, harsh and unforgiving. She was just a maid, bound by the structures of class and society, while William was the duke, with responsibilities and obligations that extended far beyond their fleeting connection. The look she had seen in Mr. Trent's eyes earlier served as a stark reminder of her place in the duke's life—a mere servant, easily replaced and forgotten.

She sighed heavily, trying not to think about it. That was when she noticed that Mr. Trent was still holding a glass clutched in his hand as it hung from the side of the couch. Not wanting to have it break, she approached him, reaching out slowly, intending to relieve him of the precarious object before it could slip from his grasp and shatter on the floor.

But just as her fingers brushed against the glass, Mr. Trent's eyes snapped open, his grip closing around her wrist with unexpected force. Rose gasped in surprise, the suddenness of his awakening catching her off guard.