Prologue

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I care not, Mother. The ton may call me whatever they wish."

His mother shook her head and clicked her tongue, striding from one side of the room to the other. "This is not to be borne, Crestwood! How can you bear to be called such a thing as that."

Lifting one shoulder, Arthur gazed into the flames as the fire licked the sides of the fireplace, the crackling of the firewood beneath the only response he offered his mother. Society could call him what they wished, he did not care. The ton which once thought him the most wonderful, the most handsome and most eligible of gentlemen had now turned their backs upon him.

"This came from Lady Clara, I am sure of it."

At the mention of the lady he had once been betrothed to, Arthur jerked as cold anger ran through him. "No doubt it has. After all, she is one of the few who saw me when I returned home though she was quick to reject me thereafter."

His mother sighed heavily and shook her head. "Whatever are we to do? You are meant to be making your way to London this Season and – "

"I shall be doing no such thing!" Half rising out of his chair, Arthur narrowed his eyes at his mother. "Whatever makes you think that I will set even one foot in London? After the war, I have been more than contented residing here and this is the only place I intend to be. I can give you my word on that."

"And what of Isabella?"

Arthur's retort was kept back as the name of his sister on his mother's lips silenced him. Thus far, he had not given much thought to the requirements of his sister given that he had spent the last two years recovering from his time at war and from the broken engagement. Now, however, he realized there was a slight difficulty there. His sister was of marriageable age, which meant she was now due to make her come out. That would require a trip to London.

"You can take her." With a sniff, he let his gaze return to the fire rather than look into his mother's face. "There is no requirement for me to attend."

"Aside from your duty, as her elder brother and as the Earl of Crestwood!" There was no anger in his mother's voice but rather a quietness which made Arthur's jaw clench. She was speaking the truth, he knew, but all the same, he did not want to hear a word of it. "You are quite correct that I could take Isabella to London to make her debut but you know as well as I that it would not be right. You are the one who ought to be with her, as well as myself. Since your father passed away, that duty passed to you. Besides which, do you really believe that with your removal from society, with your hiding away, the ton will not ask her a great many questions about you? Their focus and their interest will be solely upon you and your absence rather than upon your sister and her eligibility."

"If I am present, Mother, their attention will be solely upon me." Shaking his head, Arthur threw his mother a glance as she came to sit down beside him. "There is no good in this idea. You should take Isabella to London. Leave me here."

"Oh, Arthur."

It was unusual enough for his mother to call him by his first name and Arthur's heart twisted as she sat down next to him, starting when she took his hand in hers.

"Must you always remain in fear?"

The quiet words whispered around his heart and Arthur scowled, looking back into the flames of the fire rather than into his mother's face. She did not and could not know what his life was at present, could not imagine the many memories which flung themselves through his thoughts whenever he had even a moment of peace, robbing him of it almost at once. The war had been brutal and terrible and yet, his mind would not release him from it. The explosion which had knocked him to the ground, placed him in the infirmary and torn one side of his face and body with agony was repeated in his mind almost every day. He had believed that Crestwood hall, his home and his fortress, might protect him, might help him to recover but it had done nothing of the sort. Instead, it had become his prison.

Should I return to London?

"You cannot spend the rest of your days here in Crestwood Hall," his mother said softly as though she knew precisely what he was thinking. "It will do you no good."

"Please, Mother." Arthur rubbed one hand over his eyes, his fingers running across the scars which ran across his cheek. Thankfully, there had been no injury to his eyes, nothing which had taken his sight from him – though that did also mean he could see his own reflection quite clearly. How often had he winced when he had looked in the mirror? How often had he jerked his head away, hiding the sight from himself?

Could you imagine what the ton would think of you ?

"You are also the Earl."

Arthur frowned, looking back at his mother. "I am aware of my title, Mother."

"Then you are also aware, I am sure, that you are required to produce the heir," she said, all the more gently. "It is something which is expected."

The tension that gripped Arthur's jaw tightened to such a degree, it required him several moments to loosen his muscles sufficiently in order to articulate his words."That is not one of my priorities at the moment. I must recover."

"No, Crestwood."

A little surprised at the sharp, quick response from his mother, Arthur looked across at her, seeing her shake her head.

"You have no need to recover any more than you have done already," his mother continued, firmly. "The injuries to your face and to your body have long healed." Holding up one hand, palm out towards him as he began to speak, her clear blue eyes drove back into his. "I am not saying that I understand the pain and the torment with your own mind, Crestwood, but I am stating, quite clearly, that staying here in this house with only myself and your sister for company will do you no good. Thinking of Lady Clara and what she did to you will continually burn in your heart. Lingering here will only permit the shadows to wrap around your shoulders all the more. It will encourage the darkness to cling to you all the more tightly. Trust me, my dear son. I care about you and I care also about Isabella and you both deserve a happy future."

"I am sure I can be perfectly contented here in Crestwood Hall." Hearing the slight waver in his voice, Arthur cleared his throat, angry at his own lack of control. "I can be happy."

"Can you?" With a slightly narrowed look, his mother squeezed his hand, only for Arthur to pull it away. "Can you truly be happy being known as the Beast of Crestwood Hall? Can you be contented with the ton believing that you are nothing but a brute? That the war has changed you so greatly, you can no longer find any happiness within society?"

Arthur closed his eyes and let out a long breath. What his mother was saying made sense and yet, he did not want to accept it. Not even for a moment. This was his security and even though he hated the whispering darkness, the lingering shadows, he could not think of a future where he stepped back into society. That would mean revealing his face to them all, to show them the red scars which still laced his cheeks, and brought an ugliness to his once handsome features. They would see a gentleman cowed and broken by the vileness of war, rejected by his betrothed and now burdened by all he had endured. He was no longer the happy, carefree, contented gentleman who had once been a part of society. Instead, he barely recognized himself.

"Please, Crestwood." Leaning forward, his mother set one hand over his though Arthur had to fight against himself not to withdraw it. "At the very least, tell me you will consider it."

"I will." The response came quickly and Arthur caught the look of relief which spread across his mother's face. Whether he had said it because he genuinely would do so or if it had come merely because of his desire to have his mother drop the conversation at hand, Arthur did not know but all the same, he felt a great deal of relief when Lady Crestwood rose to her feet.

"Thank you, my son." Reaching out, his mother settled her hand against his cheek – the one which bore all the scars – and Arthur instinctively jerked away. His mother, her gaze soft, bent low and looked into his eyes, keeping her hand firmly where it was. "There is nothing wrong with these scars, Crestwood," she said, softly. "You have borne a great deal of pain, carried an impossibly heavy burden and have yet endured. These marks are only an outward mark of the weight you continue to carry, I know, but they are not something to be ashamed of. Hold your head high, my son, for you have done more than many a gentleman might and have prevailed through it all."

With a smile, she rose and walked away, leaving Arthur to look back into the fire and letting the silence begin to curl around him again. Despite his desire to forget all that his mother had said, it would not leave him and even though he had no wish to think on making his way to London, the idea settled so heavily upon his mind, he could not think of anything else.

Was it time for the Beast of Crestwood to return to society?