Breakfast At Carlisle Crest
* * *
Beth did not say anything, she couldn't say a word. Time and again, she had found herself rendered speechless by the Duke of Carlisle. His words and the look in his eyes held her in place and time; she was stuck in the particular moment. It was a miracle she could breathe at all.
When she had left Rosethorn Hill – her relative's home – for his, she had promised herself that she would not be entertained or marvel at whatever she would see, but as the Duke's coach drew closer to his home, she couldn't help herself; its size and beauty were breathtaking. For although she had visited it the night before, seeing it in daylight, though not materialistic, Beth thought one had to be happy simply working there. Tightly, she had clenched her dress in both fists, trying to hold on to her resolve but she had known it was a losing battle.
The halls, as the butler had led her in, were even more amazing to behold than she had thought. And when she saw the portraits and the paintings of running horses, she had concluded that they would be the last things to cause a stir in her. But sitting across from the Duke and being complimented so; she doubted she would last the morning.
Then she held his voice. "Your night was lovely, I suppose?"
She struggled to rearrange her thoughts. "It was good. Thank you." She managed a smile. "How was yours? After the ball, that is."
He considered. "The ball ended wonderfully." His eyes settled higher. "I never thought you to be a redhead."
She noticed he didn't answer her question. "I inherited it from my grandmother. So did my cousin." Suddenly self-conscious, she patted the side of her hair.
"Hmm." He stood up. "Take a walk with me. Let's build our appetite." He held out a hand to her.
Refusing to need his assistance, she rose on her own. He dropped his hand. "I suppose that will do, Your Grace." It was better than waiting.
Once again, Beth was amazed at the size and beauty of Carlisle Crest. The hall was long and well-lit. A red rug ran its entire length as far as she could see. A couple of portraits decorated the walls by the door of the salon they had been in. In one, she saw the portrait of the Dowager Duchess holding the hand of a young boy. It had to be the Duke. He was smiling.
She raised her eyes, observing him subtly from her line of sight. He wasn't now. He walked ahead of her, his hands clasped behind him, his posture regal and exalted. His profile, calm and stiff. Whatever had happened to steal his smile? She wondered. "Your home is lovely."
The Duke looked around himself, then at her. "I suppose." Then they resumed walking. She quickly followed, walking a step behind him. "What is your home like? Back in Ireland."
Westside Manor! "It is everything." She said smiling. He spared her a glance. "I have everything and everyone I could ever need."
"Save a husband."
She didn't need that. "I don't need a husband."
"So you've said."
He was teasing. "You are teasing, Your Grace."
"Am I?" Was he not? "Does your sister share the same sentiments as you on the topic?"
Beth's head was reeling. The Duke of Carlisle was a hard man to keep up with. How was it convenient for him to switch between topics? They stopped by the open windows.
She breathed down and looked out. A team of horses were running around the fields, galloping freely and happily. She couldn't help the smile that surfaced. "My sister wants her husband, Your Grace, as well as every other woman." The horses ran as far as they could manage, before running back to the starting point, circling the fields in glee and as much freedom as they could take. A young black horse galloped beside an older black one with all the excitement only life could give. It must be its mother. She thought. Again, she smiled, wanting desperately to wave at them. When she turned around, she saw the Duke watching her, behind him stood a row of Suits of Armour.
"I apologize. I was intrigued by how much you were enjoying the horses." He stepped closer, she stepped away. "They are a wonderful set."
His nearness unnerved her. "Were these Suits of Armour worn by past Dukes?" She swiftly walked to stand beside them, escaping his nearness lest he trapped her as he did the night before. "They are incredible."
He perused the Suits of Armour, sending his hands to his pocket as he leaned on the wall, away from her. "Probably one or two. Probably none at all." He drawled. "No one really knows."
A maid walked to them and bowed. "Your Grace, my Lady, the table has been set."
Finally! Beth screamed in her head. She wanted the morning to end as soon as possible. The Duke nodded to the maid who left immediately. He looked at her, when he wouldn't stop, she became unnerved. "Something wrong, Your Grace?"
The Duke raised himself off the wall. "I believed I behaved rudely towards you last night." Her eyebrow rose. "I apologize. I had no right."
Beth blinked confused. She did not think he would remember, let alone apologize. She had excused on the grounds of him being drunk and had managed not to think at all, until he had now reminded her. Still, "It was nothing." She breathed out. "Thank you."
He shook his head. "Shall we proceed to breakfast then?" She nodded in agreement and he waved her to his side. Silently, they walked to the dining hall.
Again, she was left in a daze. How could his home continually astound her?! The dining hall was almost as large as the north room in Westside manor. The table was long and grand and one side was currently filled with food. Was that all for breakfast? Was it all for them?
Beth let her eyes skim over the large table, wondering if it was not sinful to have such extravagance on the breakfast table. Different dishes occupied it: sausages, hash brown, bacon, eggs, dried tomatoes, buttermilk scones, mushroom, baked beans, toasts, pudding, mashed potatoes, bread, cheese, a pot of coffee, another of tea, butter, cold meat, a bottle of wine, olives, porridge, a jar of freshly squeezed orange juice and another of water.
"Is it to your liking?" She startled from the Duke's voice, he was standing behind her. "I asked the kitchen to prepare a lot. I didn't know what you would prefer."
He walked past her. "That was incredibly thoughtful." And elaborate.
His deep voice reverberated through the silent hall. "Do come in and sit." She walked to the table and stopped, not knowing where to sit. "Over here." He somewhat commanded towards the seat to his right.
She walked over and was surprised as the Duke pulled her seat. "Oh, thank you, Your Grace." He sat down too. She took the napkin and placed it on her lap.
Pouring her a drink and then his, he said. "You must have been surprised to receive my note, were you not?"
Surprised was an understatement. Shocked was the better word. She had been shocked, as much as the rest of the family. Her sister and cousin had pestered her to reveal how she had gotten the Duke to invite her over, and her Aunt had hurried over her dresses, picking them through one after the other, searching for a suitable one for her. All Beth could do was look fixedly, trying to fathom what was at play. She couldn't refuse the invitation for it would have been rude and disrespectful, and her Aunt would never let her. "I was." She drank from the cup he offered. "Clever of you to address it to my Aunt."
He nodded. "I had to leave no room to your refusing."
"I couldn't have even if I wanted to." She struggled not to remember how shocked she had been the night before when the rider had arrived at the very moment they were stepping out of the carriage at Rosethorn Hill, bearing his note, inviting her to breakfast at his home the following morning.
"And why not? Because I'm Carlisle?"
She nodded. "Very much so. No one can refuse you." No one would dare to refuse him. Two young maids entered from another door and proceeded to serve them. One set the plates before them and the other grabbed the jar of water but upon noticing the filled cups set it down and joined the other in serving food.
"What would you want to eat?"
What could she say? There was so much to eat, so much to choose from. "I would have whatever you are having, Your Grace."