Chapter 5

As the Duke's footsteps faded slowly from earshot, Marian turned on her heel and started walking in the opposite direction from the one he had taken.

She walked blindly, neither knowing nor caring where she went; all she cared about was getting as far away from the Duke as the confines of the house would allow.

The house, however, was even larger than she had imagined it to be, and at first, she found herself wandering down apparently endless corridors and up and down stairs, pausing from time to time to push open doors and peer curiously into the rooms inside.

At last, she turned a corner and found herself face-to-face with Ben, the butler, whose friendly smile allowed her to breathe a little more easily.

"Is there something I might fetch for you, Miss?" he asked, giving a small bow. "Something that might make your stay more comfortable?"

"I doubt that very much, Ben," Marian sighed then, seeing the old man's face fall, she took pity on him.

"If you have time, you might show me around?" she suggested, smiling at him kindly. "I must confess, I find myself somewhat lost?"

"It's not surprising, Miss," said Ben as he turned and led her back in the direction from which she'd just come. "The house is one of the largest in the county. It was built, of course, for a fine family and their guests. But now —"

He trailed off, and Marian looked at him, curiously.

"And does the Duke have many guests, then, Ben?" she asked.

Ben shook his head.

"Why, no, Miss," he said. "In fact, other than the Marquess of Wyre, who visits from time to time, I believe you are the first since it happened."

Marian did not need to ask what the butler referred to. Seeing a chance to find out more about the Duke, however, she cautiously probed further.

"Were you here, then?" she asked quietly. "When... it... happened?"

Ben shook his head sorrowfully.

"Rose and I — that's my wife — had been given the day off," he explained. "We had gone to visit Rose's sister in the next village. By the time we got back, it was all over."

His faded blue eyes squeezed shut as if in pain, and Marian found herself impulsively reaching out to take him by the hand.

"I have often wondered," the old man went on, "if we might have somehow managed to prevent it, had we been here. But —" He shook his head, sadly. "Of course, I fear nothing would have stopped him. His anger, when it was roused, was terrible to behold. It was as if he were the devil himself."

He shuddered at the memory, and Marian squeezed his hand silently. She badly wanted to know of whom the old man spoke. The Duke? Could the man she had just eaten breakfast with really be described as a "devil"? A shiver ran down the back of her spine, and she turned back to Ben, who was pushing open the door of a room.

"This was the young lady's — the Duke's sister, you know — favorite room," he said, crossing the floor to open the dusty curtains. Marian stepped inside, looking around.

"I can quite see why," she said approvingly. As the drapes opened, sunlight flooded into the room, making it feel warm and welcoming, despite the chill of the season.

It appeared to be a sitting room, and Marian sank into one of the comfortable chairs which sat before the now-empty fire, looking at the elegant furnishings and tasteful watercolors which lined the walls.

"This was painted by the Mistress," Ben said, pointing at a painting of the house itself. "And this by her daughter." The second painting showed what appeared to be the view from this very room which looked out to a small lake in the grounds at the back of the house. Marian shivered again as a wave of sadness threatened to engulf her. The women who had painted these scenes were now gone — cruelly murdered. And the man everyone believed to be responsible was, even now, somewhere in this house. It did not seem possible.

Marian gave herself a small shake and got to her feet.

I'm scaring myself by thinking of such things. I must try to be stronger if I'm to survive this.

Ben drew the curtains closed again before leading Marian out of the room to resume her tour.

There was a library and a billiards room, the drawing room she remembered from last night, and a sunny morning room. On the first floor, there was even a vast ballroom with a piano at one end covered in dust sheets.

The house was beautiful, even in the woeful state of neglect it had been allowed to fall into. Dust covered the surfaces in each room, fires remained unlit, and the curtains were all firmly drawn as if the owner of the house wanted to make sure no light crept in.

Or perhaps he just doesn't want anyone to be able to see inside.

After a while, Ben left to resume his duties, and in an act of defiance which she suspected she might regret later, Marian went from room to room, defiantly throwing open the drapes and allowing the morning sun to shine through the windows at last, making the dust motes appear to dance in the air.

The Duke might be able to prevent me from leaving, but I refuse to make it easy for him to keep me here.

When she was done, she stood at the ballroom window, looking out, frantically scanning the horizon for any sign of life.

Surely someone must pass this way sooner or later. Someone who might look up and see me here.

Unfortunately for Marian, however, the horizon remained stubbornly empty, and the hoofprints she saw in the mud outside were the ones her own Beauty had left last night. As she'd noticed when she arrived, the grounds which surrounded the mansion were overgrown and thick with weeds although the carefully arranged flower beds and decorative hedgerows bore all the signs of careful planning. Like the house itself, someone had once loved this place. Now, though, it was in such a state of disrepair that Marian feared any passers-by might assume it had been wholly abandoned and pass by without ever seeing her.

Well, I'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen. I'll sit here all day if I have to.

After a while, though, the low rumble of her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten since breakfast, and no sooner had the thought occurred to her then a delicious scent of cooking started to sneak up the stairs and into the room in which she sat.

Reluctantly tearing herself away from her vantage point by the window, Marian followed her nose back downstairs then down another flight of steps again until she found herself in a vast kitchen with a scrubbed wooden table occupying its center.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room was spotlessly clean, the reason for which Marian soon discovered standing up to her elbows in soapy water which she turned away from with a cheerful grin as she saw Marian approach.

"Ah, Miss Marian," greeted Rose, the cook, beaming at her. "I thought I might be seeing you sooner or later. Now, tell me: do you like cake?"

Marian did, indeed, like cake. And biscuits and sweets and all of the other treats the older woman now set before her, Marian's eyes growing wider and wider as each new dish appeared.

"Is this all for me?" she asked in wonder, smiling for the first time since she'd left her father's house the day before. "Just me?"

"Maybe not all at once," laughed Rose. "I've made some proper food, too which you should have first. But it's a long time since we had a young lady in the house. I think I may have let myself get a little bit carried away with the cakes."

Her expression was wistful, and Marian looked at her curiously.

"Who was the last young lady to stay?" she asked, thinking of the clothes the butler had given her last night and the sadness in the Duke's eyes when he had caught sight of them.

"Why, that would have been the Duke's sister, Lady Catherine," the cook replied, pushing a plate of biscuits and cakes in Marian's direction. "But when she was alive, there were all manner of visitors to this house: gentlemen and ladies alike — some of the finest in the county if not the land. Oh, you should have seen the gowns some of them would wear, Ma'am. The finest satins and lace! The ballroom would be filled with color and life."

She paused, looking suddenly sad. Marian badly wanted to ask her what had happened to the Duke's sister. If the rumors she'd heard were to be believed, it was the Duke himself who'd happened to her and to his mother and father. But surely this kind-natured woman wouldn't have stayed to work for a man who had killed his own family? She chewed a mouthful of cake thoughtfully.

"How long have you worked here, Rose?" she asked when she was done. "May I call you Rose?"

"Of course, Ma'am," the cook replied. "And to answer your first question, I've worked here forever. Longer, even!" She laughed, a bubbly, infectious sound which made Marian's spirits rise just a fraction. "I was here when both the Duke and his sister were born," she went on. "And I'll be here until I die if I have my way, for I love this family as if it was my own. Of course, it's just the Duke himself, now…"

Her voice trailed off, and Marian decided to risk another question.

"What kind of a man is he?" she asked timidly. "He strikes me as a cruel one. I wondered how you can bear to work for him?"

The cook looked at her shrewdly.

"He may seem cruel at times," she acknowledged with a nod, "but what a man seems to be on the outside is not always the same as what's in his heart. And what's in Andrew Rueford's heart is gold. Pure gold. Nothing less."

Marian's eyes widened in astonishment, and Rose laughed again.

"As for how I can bear to work for him," she continued, "I've answered that already. I love his family as my own, and he treats me accordingly. It's as simple as that. I will never leave him — at least not while there's still breath in my body."

Marian looked on silently as the cook got to her feet and started to clear the dishes from the table. She still couldn't quite find the courage to ask the question on the tip of her lips: the one about the Duke's family and what had happened to them. Nevertheless, she felt somewhat reassured — both by the woman's certainty that the Duke's heart was a good one and by her cheerful, uncomplicated presence.

"Tell me more about the balls that used to be held here, Rose," she urged, helping herself to another treat. "It's been such a long time since I last went to a ball, I've almost forgotten what it's like."

"Well then," said the cook, turning to face her with a smile, "let me remind you…"

Marian stayed with Rose for as long as she could, putting off the moment she'd have to be alone again in the dusty old manor. Or even worse, the moment she'd find herself face to face with the Duke once again.

At last, though, Rose stood up to begin preparations for dinner.

"Away with you," she said, batting away Marian's offer to help. "A lady helping in the kitchen? Why, I wouldn't hear of such a thing! The very idea of it!"

"May I come back and eat with you, Rose?" Marian asked, shivering at the thought of having to face the fearsome Duke across the dinner table once more.

"If it pleases you, Ma'am," the cook replied. "His Grace normally takes his dinner on a tray in his study, so I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Marian could not bring herself to care what His Grace thought of her dinner plans, but as she walked back up the stairs to the ballroom, she found herself wondering what he got up to, locked in his study all day on his own, not even emerging for dinner.

It must be a lonely kind of life. I feel almost sorry for him.

Almost.

Approaching the ballroom again, Marian pushed the door open and walked across the vast, empty space to the window again, trying to imagine what the room must have looked like when it was filled with people, the way Rose had described it.

It must have been quite something. I wish I could have seen it.

She shook her head sharply, to get rid of the thought. This house was the place of her imprisonment, not some kind of enchanted castle where she would dance the night away with a handsome Prince.

Or Duke.

With a deep sigh, she sat down on the window seat once more, her eyes trained on the grounds in front of her. Having spent such a large fraction of the morning in the same spot, Marian was already tired of the view. There was nothing else for her to do, though, in this lonely place, and although the chance of someone passing this way and seeing her at the window seemed slim, it was the only plan she had. So, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the window and settled in for a long wait.

Twenty minutes later, Marian's eyes had just started to close from sheer drowsiness when a sudden movement outside made them snap open again. Sitting up straight, she scanned the horizon, her heart beating frantically with hope.

There it was again!

She leaned forward eagerly, her face almost to the glass as the tiny figure drew closer.

It was a man on horseback.

And he was headed this way.