Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

“ S o, this is Carramere Castle,” Rosalie said to herself the next evening as she stood outside of the carriage looking up at the impressive facade of the building in front of her.

“Is it everything you hoped for?” Clara asked as she stepped down from the carriage and came to stand next to Rosalie.

“Everything and more,” Rosalie breathed. “Now we are truly in a Gothic novel, Clara.”

“A romantic Gothic novel?” Clara asked, and Rosalie saw her maid’s eyes dart to the Duke, who was standing a little farther away, also glaring up at the castle.

“No,” Rosalie forced herself to say as she took in the dark, angry look on her husband’s face. “I think a haunted one.”

But haunted by what, I cannot be sure.

It had been a long day of traveling, during which her husband had barely spoken a word to her. He was avoiding her, she knew, and it made her angry. Something had felt as if it might happen last night—a kiss, perhaps—and she was furious at him for initiating that before she had told him she was ready—if she ever became ready!

More than that, she was furious at herself. How could she allow herself to get so swept up in the moment with a man who had trapped her in a marriage she had never wanted?

“He has barely spoken to me in days,” she’d complained to Clara in the carriage. “I am a woman, not a piece of furniture, and he has to acknowledge my existence.”

“But you have always craved to be alone,” Clara had replied, her nose wrinkling in confusion. “Alone with your books—isn’t that what you’ve dreamed of?”

“I am used to being alone when surrounded by people,” Rosalie had corrected her, “but now the emptiness and calmness is starting to make me restless…”

Perhaps things would improve now that they had arrived at their destination and could begin this honeymoon the Duke had promised.

Carramere Castle really was magnificent. It was huge and not at all like the typical stone castle that populated England. This one appeared to have been built in the style of Versailles with a facade of honey-colored bricks and large, French windows that seemed to reach from floor to ceiling. It stood three stories high and stretched out around them, closing them into a courtyard filled with fountains, hedges, and marble statues.

Rosalie was in awe. She had never seen anything like this. But as she turned to take it all in, her eyes fell on one part of the castle that was decidedly less beautiful than the rest.

The west wing of the castle was black. From a distance, it was hard to tell exactly what had made the honey-colored bricks black, but she suspected it was some kind of mold. The bricks were blackened, the glass gone from the windows, and the structure of the facade was in tatters.

So that is the damage that is going to take a great deal of time and money to fix.

She glanced again at her husband, and she saw that he was also staring at the darkened wing of the house. If she’d thought his expression was unhappy before, it was nothing compared to how it was now. A look of such venomous anger had come over him that for a moment, she was afraid of him.

He’s undoubtedly just worried about all the repairs it is going to take to fix the castle, she told herself. That and how expensive it is going to be.

Steeling herself, she walked over to him and gently put a hand on his arm. Despite the care she took not to frighten him, he still flinched at her touch and then turned to stare at her.

“What troubles you, Duke?” she asked softly, trying hard to keep her voice calm. It felt a bit like talking to a horse when it was skittish. She didn’t want to spook him, and after seeing the scars on his back the night before, she knew he had reason to be spooked by people who weren’t gentle with him.

The Duke, however, was clearly in no mood to be soothed. He frowned down at her and then shook himself free of her hand.

“Nothing troubles me,” he snapped. “I’m merely looking forward to a nice hot bath and meal.”

“Is that the section of the castle that is in most need of repair?” she asked, nodding towards the blackened wing. “Is it mold? My cousin always said mold was the hardest to get rid of in a house.”

“It isn’t mold,” he said flatly. “And I would ask you not to go anywhere near the west wing while you are here. Everywhere else you can go freely, but that area is dangerous. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, but…” Rosalie wasn’t sure how much information she could get out of him now, but she was curious. “What happened there?”

The Duke gritted his jaw. “And I would also ask you not to ask me questions about it.”

Rosalie tried to remain calm, but the Duke’s foul temper and rudeness grated against her. She wasn’t the type of woman to calmly let herself be talked down to, and her sympathy for the Duke would only last so long.

“I won’t go to the west wing,” she said with forced calm, “but I can’t promise I won’t ask questions. This is my home too, now, and I will be responsible for organizing many of the renovations, so I need to be kept informed about the state of the house. If you won’t speak to me, then I will have to ask the housekeeper.”

“Fine, do that,” the Duke snapped. “Now I must go and check in with my steward.”

And with that he stalked away, leaving Rosalie fuming in the drive.

I cannot be around Rosalie right now.

The thought pounded through Nathan’s head, drowning out all others. It was like a dream beating repeatedly through. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Rosalie’s comfort or support. In fact, the feel of her hand on his arm had been so reassuring, so comforting, that a lump had risen in his throat. But he couldn’t let himself feel such emotions. Leaning on someone else for support would only make it harder for him to be self-sufficient when things inevitably went south.

There was another reason he couldn’t be around Rosalie right now, though, and this one was infinitely more terrifying: he didn’t trust himself in her presence.

The grief and pain were mounting inside of him like they always did when he returned to the castle and saw the west wing, and he didn’t want to lash out at her. It had happened in the past when his memories of Carramere Castle had so overwhelmed him that he had taken out his rage at the person closest to him.

That’s how I got this horrible nickname to begin with .

But the last thing he wanted Rosalie to see was him as the Beast of Carramere.

As Nathan approached the castle, the doors opened, and the butler came out, his expression anxious.

“Your Grace,” Mr. Thomas said, bowing deeply, “we have been reopening the house these past few days, as you instructed, but we ran into several problems, and we were not expecting you to arrive for a few more days.”

“Yes, we made haste from London,” Nathan replied, glad of the distraction that had come in the form of his butler. “I didn’t want to waste any time on the road.”

“Very good, very good,” Mr. Thomas said, nodding even as his frazzled expression said otherwise. “The only thing is that we are still opening the castle; it is not up to snuff yet for the new Duchess.”

“Don’t worry about the Duchess,” Nathan assured. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

This was true; any daughter of Jebediah Crampton had to be tough to have survived this long.

“I’m sure she is,” the butler said, looking positively alarmed, “but it isn’t just that… The damage to the house is more severe than it was when last you were here. By the Grace of God, the floors and walls have held up in the west wing, but they are unstable, and the wood is rotting where it was burned. The beams are also weak, and it’s a miracle that the whole wing hasn’t collapsed.”

The older man tried to keep up with Nathan’s long strides, so he was panting as he continued. “Not only that, but there are leaks in the ceilings. And without the resources to fix these problems…” the butler trailed off and cleared his throat. “Well, let us just say that things have deteriorated.”

Nathan knew that Mr. Thomas was frustrated with him for not having set aside funds to fix the castle, and the butler was right to be so.

It had been years since the fire, and still, Nathan couldn’t bear to take the time or energy to put the place back in order. He had the funds; the problem wasn’t money, it was his lack of desire to spend any time at the castle because even if he had his steward do most of the work, Nathan would still have to be at the castle on a regular basis, and he couldn’t stand that idea.

“I am here now, so we will make the best of it,” Nathan said. “Now that I am married, the Duchess and I will be able to go over the plans that are needed to rebuild the castle.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Mr. Thomas nodded, but his eyes were still darting around nervously, and he kept biting his lip, as if he had more to say. Nathan folded his arms. There was something else his butler wasn’t telling him; Nathan had known him well and long enough to be able to see when something else was amiss.

“What is it?” he asked. “Go ahead, and tell me. Don’t spare any details.”

The butler sighed and finally his eyes came to rest on Nathan’s. “Well, you see, Your Grace... While some of the bedrooms, like those in the servants’ quarters, have sustained no damage, I am sorry to say that the bedrooms on the top floor—those reserved for the family—are almost entirely unlivable. The ceilings are caved in, there is water damage and mold, and of course, many of the rooms are still burnt. The only one that is at all suitable for you and the Duchess to stay in is a small guest room in the east wing. It is not much, but it is all I can safely say will not pose any danger to your health or life.”

It took Nathan a moment to realize what the butler was saying then it hit him.

As horrifying as it was to think that most of the bedrooms in the house were damaged so severely they couldn’t be slept in, there was something far worse lurking in the subtext of the butler’s words. I will have to share a bed with her.

Nathan felt his heart stutter to a stop before starting to beat once more. “I see,” he forced himself to say. “The Duchess, however, likes her privacy. Perhaps the Duchess could stay in the guest room, and I could sleep in the servants’ quarters.”

The butler blinked, and his brow furrowed.

“I s-suppose that is possible,” the old man stammered although he didn’t look so sure. “It would not be very comfortable for you, though, Your Grace.”

“That is of no matter,” Nathan said.

“Well, if you insist…” The old man frowned. “I can relocate some of the footmen to the stables in that case.”

Nathan swallowed. He wasn’t about to let his hardworking servants go without a room just because he and Rosalie were not yet sharing a bed.

“No, I won’t allow that,” he said. “The footmen should remain in their rooms, and I will stay with the Duchess.”

“I’m sure the footmen won’t mind,” the butler hurried to say, but Nathan shook his head.

Sleeping in the same bed as Rosalie wouldn’t be so bad. But then, why was his heart hammering inside of his chest? Why had his mouth gone dry? And why was he beginning to sweat on the back of his neck?

Turning, he took in his wife, who was still standing in the middle of the courtyard, talking to her lady’s maid.

She’s not going to be happy with me, he thought grimly. But then, when has she ever been?