The Duke of Ice – A Regency Romance
Elizabeth Hawk had heard all the rumors about the Duke of Summerset, Harold Stonewall. She had heard that he aided the King in a decisive battle against the French. Some say he aided. Others say he smashed the French with a force of one-hundred men and then allowed the King to take most of the credit. She’d heard about his two years in France, hiding in barns and on farms to avoid being spotted. She’d heard about his reputed coldness, and his inability to show emotion of any kind. She’d heard that he was twenty-seven and had yet to take a wife.
But Elizabeth knew other things, too, things about her own family. They were on the wrong side of a monstrous debt. They had been whittled down by war to one son and one daughter, and their extended family was non-existence, and their friends had become ghosts. Elizabeth knew that her family was on the verge of total collapse. Soon they would be nothing but a footnote in England’s history, something to be passed over with bored eyes.
When she heard that the Duke of Summerset was holding a party and that she had been invited, she didn’t know how to feel. She spent her days sewing and repairing gowns, helping to tend the chickens and pigs and generally acting as un-ladylike as a supposed lady could. The Hawk family had let all their servants go. Father’s gambling debts had robbed them of most of their valuables. They were almost utterly ruined.
But a party at Summerset Castle! As soon as Elizabeth heard about it, she was excited. She had not been to a party for two years. Her friends had abandoned her since Father had insulted all of their fathers. She had lived alone, Mother rarely talking, Father too busy with drinking and lamenting his past to engage in conversation. She spent her time when she wasn’t tending the livestock in books. Father had not sold their books, which was a small miracle in itself. She read as much as she could, if only to forget what was happening in the real world.
When the missive came, Father peered at it through a haze of pipe-smoke and scrunched up his face. “What’s this, then?” he said. “The Duke of Summerset wants you, Elizabeth, to attend a party at his Castle? Well, I wonder what tricks he’s playing! I’ve heard lots about him; I have! Lots! I’ve heard that he drinks human blood. Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s true! He’s a beast on the battlefield, and he drinks human blood! When he returned from France, the first thing he did was order a chalice of blood!”
“Father…”
“No!” He lurched when he shouted, spilling wine down his shirt, which was already sodden with sweat. “You cannot go!”
“Dear, she can hardly refuse,” Mother murmured over her knitting. “Think how it would look. A Duke invites you to a party; you do not refuse. You accept, despite your misgivings.”
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile but quickly hid it with her hand. She made her face impassive again and then looked to Father, waiting for him to speak. She knew there was no use in pushing the matter. She simply had to wait. After a few minutes, Father let the letter drop to the floor and sucked on his pipe. “Fine,” he grumbled. “You can go.”
Elizabeth did not show her joy. Inside she was jumping and cheering and screaming in excitement, but outside she was impassive and still as stone. Living around Father, one learnt to hide one’s emotions. Father was not overly fond of displays of inner feelings, and Elizabeth had learnt to make herself calm in almost every circumstances, even if she was only calm on the outside. Plus, the turmoil of the past years had dulled her emotions until it was difficult to feel anything not tinged with depression.
But a party, a real party… that was something to look forward to.
“Thank you, Father,” she said quietly.
“You will need a dress,” Mother muttered.
“Yes, Mother.”
“You can have my good gown, the one I have saved.”
Elizabeth knew all about this gown. It was beautiful and elegant, with gold trimming and forest-green silk. Father had sold all of their gowns, but Mother had not allowed him to sell this one. He had fought her, but she had persevered and managed to succeed in saving it.
“Thank you, Mother,” Elizabeth said.
*****
The chandelier caught the summer light as it beamed through the high-set windows of Summerset Castle’s ball room. Elizabeth accepted a glass of wine from a server and walked to the edge of the room, where she could sit quietly and privately. The room was packed full of beautiful and noble people all laughing and joking with each other. There were only a few people not attached to a group. Elizabeth knew she had to wait to be approached by somebody, that it would be presumptuous and rude to merely attach herself to a group, but she was beginning to feel like a woman on an island sitting on this chair.
Across the ballroom was Charlotte Festrew, a girl who had once been a friend of Elizabeth’s. Father had lost money to her father and had refused to pay until violence was threatened. Afterwards, Charlotte had sent Elizabeth a short note severing all ties between them. Elizabeth knew it was foolish to hope that Charlotte had miraculously changed her mind, but she decided to try and approach her anyway.
Elizabeth’s legs were shaky, and her heart was like a war-drum, pounding, pounding. Charlotte was talking to a tall man with an elaborate beard, the mustache flicking upwards. She laughed at something he said and then turned to Elizabeth, the smile on her lips right up until the moment they met eyes. “You,” she said, her mouth hanging open for a moment.
“Who is your friend?” the man said.
“Elizabeth Hawk,” Charlotte said, with a worried look.
“Hawk? Daughter of Francis Hawk? The philanderer!”
“I do not believe he is a philanderer, sir, just a gambler.”
“Ha! This birdy has a sharp beak indeed!”
“Her family is in complete ruin,” Charlotte said, as though Elizabeth were not standing there. “Her father has completely trampled their finances. I’ve even heard rumors that her mother has taken to a situation in an estate, cleaning and helping with the children.”
“That is not true,” Elizabeth said, aghast.
Charlotte went on, oblivious of Elizabeth. “I’ve even heard whispers that the Father has taken to roaming the highways, pistol in hand, in the hopes of robbing some poor lord or lady.”
“Liar!” Elizabeth whispered fiercely, not wishing to disturb the party.
Charlotte turned to Elizabeth with a sad smile. “How are you even here, Elizabeth? Did you sneak in?”
Elizabeth was appalled. What had she done to provoke such slander? She had never been anything but kind to Charlotte. Only two years ago they had walked together in her family’s woods, laughing and joking all the way, telling each other what great friends they were. And now here she was, being viciously abused. She didn’t know what to say. No words would form. She only stood there, mouth hanging open, tears stinging her eyes. No, she told herself. No, no, no. She made herself cold and forced the tears away.
She is playing a dangerous game, the cold part of Elizabeth thought. Does she not recall what she told me, when we walked through the woods, about a certain night in the stables with the gardener?
Charlotte and the man were laughing. Elizabeth forced herself to smile and then said, as pleasantly as she could: “Charlotte, you must tell me who does your gardens. If I recall correctly, they are absolutely beautiful.”
Charlotte’s face dropped. She choked back a laugh. “I—I’m sure I don’t—know what you—”
Elizabeth didn’t wait for her to stop stuttering. She walked straight to the door and into the gardens, where a few people strolled. She was able to find a bench and seated herself gratefully. A fine film of sweat had built upon her upper lip. She touched it with her fingertips and then looked upon the garden.
“That was quite the show,” a voice said behind her.
Elizabeth turned and the Duke of Summerset, Harold Stonewall, stepped forward.
*****
The Duke of Summerset was a well-built man, with a muscular body, strong shoulders, thick arms, and muscular legs. He wore a military jacket and soldier’s britches, adorned with a dozen or so medals. His face was clean-shaven, and his black hair was cropped close to his head. His jaw was square and strong. His eyes were blue tinged with purple. “I have frightened you,” he said. His voice was cold and calm, untouched by even the slightest emotion.
“Not—not at all,” Elizabeth said, as she overcame the initial shock. “I merely came out here for some fresh air. I did not expect to see the Duke.”
“Well, here I am.” He walked around to the bench and stood over her. “May I?”
“Of course.”
“What happened in there? Lady Barnes seemed quite angry with you.”
“Our fathers do not agree on many things.”
“I have heard,” the Duke said. “I have also heard that Lady Barnes can be sword-sharp with her tongue. You must tell me, how did you rebuff her?”
“I’m sure you have more impressive tales,” Elizabeth said. “War, France, the King.”
He waved his hand. “They are not nearly as impressive as a riposte as expertly executed as yours.”
“It is rather a scandal,” Elizabeth said, whispering conspiratorially. “If I were to tell you, I would need your word that you would not spread the rumor.”
“You have my word, upon the King,” the Duke said seriously.
“Charlotte, two years ago, had a night in the stables with her family’s gardener.”
“A night in the stables, you say? You mean they fucked?”
Elizabeth blushed to her ears. She looked down at her hands, into the bushes, anywhere but into his eyes. When she glanced back, she saw that the Duke was staring steadily at her, his eyes burning into her. She quickly looked away. “That is—err, I believe what happened.”
The Duke nodded, and then jumped to his feet. He offered his arm. “Take a stroll with me, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth accepted his arm and together they began to walk around the gardens. She was aware of the jealous eyes that peeped from behind every bush, but she didn’t care about that. All her thoughts were seized by the Duke’s presence beside hers, by his arm on hers, by the hard muscle that Elizabeth could feel through the fabric of the Duke’s jacket. He led them far to the back of the garden, where none of the other party were, and they sat on a bench.
“It is nice here,” Elizabeth said.
“It’s private,” the Duke said.
“Is that a good thing?”
“It is a great thing,” the Duke said. “I do not want to share you with the rest of the party.”
Elizabeth did not know what to say to this. She looked around the gardens, watching a butterfly chart its course from flower to flower, watching a caterpillar crawl over and around a leaf.
“Tell me, Elizabeth, what do you crave most in the world?”
Elizabeth was taken aback by this question and was not sure how to respond. What did she value most in the world? Was it riches? No. Was it love? Perhaps. Was it knowledge? Maybe. “I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “What do you, if I may, covet most?”
The Duke shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “I merely follow the King, and do as the King orders me.”
“That is a noble pursuit.”
The Duke shrugged again. “Tell me, Elizabeth, have you ever been kissed?”
Elizabeth was twenty years old, she had been an adult now for a long time, but she had never been kissed. She had thought impure thoughts before, and had felt horribly guilty afterwards, but in real life, she had never so much as been held by a man. “I have not,” she whispered.
She almost flinched when the Duke’s hand touched her face. He brushed her chin with his fingertips and then turned her face toward him, so they were looking into each other’s eyes. His face was calm and composed. Elizabeth made her face calm and composed, though within she was more scared and excited and alive than she had ever been. The Duke moved his hand down from her chin to her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.
The kiss was full of passion. Feelings Elizabeth had not even known she possessed woke within her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the Duke. He placed both his hands on her face and moved his tongue into her mouth. She allowed him, and then moved her tongue around with his, their tongues dancing. Her hands were on his shoulders, and then she pulled away, breathing heavily.
“I can’t,” she said. “We are not married. We are not even engaged.”
The Duke smiled. “The world is still so simple for you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know—”
“I want you to stay at the Castle for a week or so, after the other guests have gone. I will write to your mother and father. It will be impossible for them to refuse.”
“What ever for?” Elizabeth said.
“So I can court you, of course, my lady.”
Elizabeth felt herself blush a fierce red. A Duke had just told her he wanted to court her. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She only looked at him, straight in the eyes, to see if she could discover his intent. Why would a Duke want to court a poor girl from a minor family? Why would a Duke bother with her at all? Because you’re nothing like those backstabbing, two-faced, sadistic harlots in there, perhaps!
The Duke once again offered his arm. And Elizabeth once again accepted. The Duke leaned in and kissed Elizabeth on the neck. Her skin pricked with warmth, and a tingly pleasure permeated her body.
When they returned to the party, the Duke left immediately to write the letter to Mother and Father, which he would send by messenger this very day. Elizabeth could imagine her father’s fury at reading the letter, but the Duke was correct. He could not openly refuse without causing a scandal, and Father had had too many candles as it was.
No, as far as Father was concerned, she was safe. But was she safe from the Duke? What, exactly, did he want from her? Thoughts whirred through her head, impure, un-ladylike thoughts, and feelings warred in her chest, lustful and frightening feelings.
That night, as she laid her head down upon the guest bed, she dreamt of the Duke.
*****
Elizabeth woke the next morning to a knock at her door. She put on the robe the Duke’s servants had laid out in the room and went to the door. Opening it, she saw a young girl with a freckled face. “The Duke wants to know if you want to breakfast with him, misses.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Elizabeth said, sounding much calmer than she felt. “I will be there presently.”
She quickly dressed in a day dress and fixed her hair, so it fell loosely to her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror for a moment. Her skin was so white it was almost ghostly. Her eyes were dark blue, almost black. She was thin, with a thin waist and thin neck. Her cheekbones were set high in her face, and there was something behind her eyes: a hint of mischief, of dormant playfulness.
When she entered the breakfast room, the Duke stood from his chair and waved Elizabeth in. The table was laden with pastries and cakes. The Duke pulled out Elizabeth’s chair for her and then seated himself opposite her. He smiled. “Did you sleep well, my lady?” he said.
“Very well, thank you,” Elizabeth lied. In truth, she had woken twice during the night, each time hot and flustered after a dream about the Duke, each time wanting to touch herself in a most inappropriate way. She had wanted to reach down, and just once, just touch—No, that is wrong, Elizabeth. Wrong!
“Good,” the Duke said, in his calm, emotionless voice. “We will walk the grounds after we have breakfasted.”
Elizabeth nodded, and they ate in silence. Afterwards, the Duke gave Elizabeth his arm, and together they walked around the Castle, under ornate arches and through wide open courtyards, and then toward the wood with their thick, healthy green leaves. “I am not built for the ball life,” the Duke said, after a long silence. “I was glad to find you at the party yesterday, because it seemed you were not built for the ball life, either. There is so much pretending that goes along with a life like that. One must always be on one’s guard, lest one ‘let something slip’ and cause a scandal. They stand around drinking wine and laughing, and they have no idea what is happening just right across the Channel.”
“It must be hard, fighting in a war,” Elizabeth said.
“I used to think so,” the Duke said. “And then the fighting stopped, and I returned to my Castle, and I was forced to mingle with lords and ladies for whom a crisis constitutes having to eat apple cakes instead of lemon cakes.”
Elizabeth laughed, and then swiftly covered her mouth.
“You may laugh, if you wish,” the Duke said. There was almost a hint of warmth in his voice, but not quite. It was more like there was the potential for warmth in his voice.
Elizabeth was so used to the cramped, suffocating atmosphere of her home life that the idea that she could actually laugh aloud was strange to her. She imagined the scenario at home: Father somberly drinking and smoking before the fire, Mother knitting, the only noise coming from her the click-click-click of the needles, and then Elizabeth reads something that makes her laugh, and she laughs aloud for the two of them to hear. No doubt Father would start raving about how his daughter finds their misfortune funny, and Mother would simply retire to her bedroom.
“Laughter does not come easily to me,” she said.
“Okay,” the Duke said. “What does come easily to you, my lady?”
Elizabeth tried to think of something, but nothing was magnificent: nothing was worthy of a scene like this. But then, she decided, did she want to be the sort of woman who pretends her life is grand and adventurous when in fact it was rather dull? Did she want to be a Charlotte-type woman? “I care for the pigs and chickens,” she said. “And I read a lot. Father did not sell our books, so I still have many to choose from. There are some Greek scripts, and I have taught myself the basics. Enough to get along with some simpler texts, anyway. I love to read. I forget everything when I read. I do not feel as though I’m even in the same world when I read. The pages eat me.”
The Duke nodded. “And lots of adventures happen in these books, do they?”
“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth said. “Adventures of all sorts.”
“What about solders-cum-dukes wooing beautiful ladies?”
Elizabeth smiled. “I have not read that tale yet, my lord.”
The Duke placed his hand on Elizabeth’s leg. Elizabeth felt the heat from his hand move up her thigh, up, toward her private area. She knew she should bat his hand away, or tell him to move it away from her. She was not that kind of woman. But he was not trying anything else, and his hand really did feel quite nice there. They sat like that for a time, and then Elizabeth laid her hand over the Duke’s. He squeezed her leg, and together watched the course of a bird as it ducked from the clouds, into the trees, and then back up into the clouds again.
“Will you dine with me tonight, my lady?” the Duke said.
“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth replied. “It would be my pleasure.”
The Duke stood and together they walked back through the gardens. Elizabeth did not know how to feel about all of this. One side of her was ecstatic and overly happy that she was here, in the Duke’s gardens, with this captivating man. Another half of her was wary. She had never dreamt, when she was among the pigs and chickens, that she would be in the Duke’s Castle alone.
Anything could happen here, she thought, with a mixture of excitement and fear. Anything at all.
*****
That evening Elizabeth donned one of the dresses the Duke had lent her – that he had left waiting for her in the dresser – and joined him in the dining room for a dinner of duck and potato. They ate in silence for a time, and then the Duke ordered wine and drank greedily. Elizabeth, who had never had lots of wine, decided to indulge for the first time tonight. She drank down a large glass and then another, and soon the room had become unfocused. The Duke laughed. “I believe you are drunk,” he said.
“Me! No, my lord, never!”
He laughed again, and Elizabeth laughed with him. The sound of her own laughter startled her, so rarely did she hear it. It was like listening to the laughter of a stranger. She sounded happier than she had sounded in a long time, this stranger; and Elizabeth was happy for her. After dinner, the Duke took her arm and led her from the dining room.
He led her through the Castle, past old paintings of previous Dukes and Ladies, past ornate suits of armor, past mounted animal heads, to a cavernous room. The room was dim, and the Duke rushed around lighting torches in the walls. When the torches plumed their orange light, Elizabeth took in a quick, frantic breath. The room was lined with shelf upon shelf, and upon each shelf sat dozens and dozens – or hundreds and hundreds – of books. Perhaps it was the wine, or the shock, but Elizabeth threw herself down in a nearby chair and looked around at the books.
“This is incredible,” she said. “This is absolutely incredible. How many are there? There must be thousands!”
“You like it?” the Duke said. “I am glad. This library is yours, if you will accept my proposal.”
“Your proposal?”
The Duke stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I wish you to be my wife, Elizabeth Hawk. Yes, we do not know each other well at all, but that need not hinder us. How many men and women become husband and wife simply through the exchange of letters? We are steps above them already, as one hour spent in person is worth one-hundred letters. I also believe it will be beneficial for your family. Of course, I will settle your father’s debts.”
“But why?” Elizabeth blurted, the only thing she could think to say. “You could have anybody.”
“I do not want anybody.” The Duke’s voice had not altered from the crisp deadpan monotone, in which no emotion was heard. “I want you. You are not like other women. You have not got their pretentiousness, their entitlement. You enjoy the quiet and nature and that is enough for me.”
Elizabeth knew she should say yes, but for some reason, the word simply wouldn’t part her lips. She didn’t feel comfortable marrying a man she had only known for two days, no matter how fine of a match it was. She knew he was right; marriages were often built upon the man and wife never having met once. But she had never wanted a marriage like that. In fact, had she ever wanted a marriage? She couldn’t recall fantasizing about it like other girls must have done.
“I need to think,” she said. “May I give you my answer at the end of the week?”
The Duke bowed slightly. “Of course. Now, let us enjoy the books.”
Together they walked through the stacks of books, occasionally picking one down and reading, sometimes just looking at the worn, ancient covers. Elizabeth found masses of French novels, which she picked up and looked over. She had enough French to read sentimental novels – some of her favorite novels were French – and she had a grand time reading over these. She began to amass a pile of a nearby table, which she would take back to her bedroom to read later. The Duke watched her with a sort of pride as she navigated the books. Whether it was pride for the books or pride for her, Elizabeth didn’t know. All she knew was that she liked the look in the Duke’s eyes. It was almost human. And a slight smile touched his otherwise straight-line lips.
“Are you having fun?” the Duke said when she had piled up around ten books.
“Yes, yes!” Elizabeth beamed. “I have never seen so many books. Even if I lived a hundred years, I would never be able to read so many books!”
“I know,” the Duke said. “It is a travesty, that people must go without books when I have so many which I rarely read.”
“You have lived it, though, haven’t you?”
“I have lived through much which is present in novels, yes,” the Duke said. “But I have not experienced all there is to experience. Who has?”
Elizabeth nodded and was about to pick up the books when the Duke rushed over and picked them up for her. She led him to her bedroom, and he walked in behind her and placed the books on the desk. “May I sit?” the Duke said.
Elizabeth nodded, and the Duke sat on the chair; she sat on the bed. They looked at each other for a time in silence. Elizabeth was feeling as though she had known this man her whole life. Perhaps it was because she so rarely attended social functions, or perhaps it was God’s interjection, but she felt as though she were not getting to know a person for the first time, but reacquainting with an old friend. The Duke regarded her with his hard face. “I hope the room is to your liking,” he said.
“Very much so,” Elizabeth said. “It is a lovely room.”
“And the hospitality? It suits you well, I trust.”
Elizabeth assured him that it did.
The Duke stared down at his hands and then back up at Elizabeth. “I must confess, Elizabeth, I have not much experience in wooing a woman. Most of my life has been spent fighting and serving the King. When it comes to matters of the heart, I am afraid I am damaged.”
Elizabeth wanted to go to him then and hold him in her arms. But that would be crossing a line she was not sure she wanted to cross. You have already kissed, you silly woman! What other line is there to cross! But couldn’t go to him so soon after the proposal; it would send a signal. Instead, she sighed and said: “I am damaged, too. The prospects for my family were good when I was young. I was the only girl of four boys, the youngest of the family. Then two of my brothers were killed in the war. The other is abroad; we don’t know where. After their deaths, Father started to gamble. He gambled my birthright away before I was fifteen, and since then I have been drawn inward. Within I cannot feel the pain that I so often feel without. Within, I am safe. It makes it difficult to interact with people. I find myself being cold just to keep people away. I only feel like I can tell you think because you are as cold as me, if not colder. I only feel I can tell you think because you are the Duke of Ice.”
“Is that what they call me? The Duke of Ice?”
“Some call you that, yes,” Elizabeth said.
“It is a silly nickname.”
“It is,” Elizabeth agreed.
“If I am cold,” the Duke said, “it is because the world has made me cold. I have watched all of my closest friends die. I have killed more men than a man should ever kill. I have lived amongst enemies for two years and found most of their people to be kind, just, not unlike our own people. I have been warped and ill-used by war. If I were not a Duke I would be a madman. As it is, people merely whisper of me in nicknames. I remember one day, I had been hiding in a barn. The farmer discovered me and made me leave. I did not blame him. If the army found me, they would punish him.
“So I ran. I ran, and I ran, and I ran. I couldn’t come home because the King was sending troops, and I am a loyal man. So I just kept running. Until one day I came to another barn. This one had two women hanging from it. It was awful. I never discovered why they had been killed or who was responsible for it. It was then that I decided it was better for a person not to feel anything at all. It is easier.”
“It can be,” Elizabeth whispered. “It can be much, much easier.”
The Duke nodded. “You look very beautiful when you look into the distance like that. Like you’re in a dream.”
“Duke,” Elizabeth said.
“Harold.”
“Harold,” she went on. “Please, tell me the truth, why do you want to marry me? There is a connection between us – I cannot deny that – but there must be some other reason. A man in your position cannot afford to marry based upon emotion alone.”
The Duke rubbed his jaw and let out a long sigh. “There is a reason,” he said. “But it is no longer valid. If the reason were not there, I would still wish to marry you as soon as you would have me. But fine, I will give you the reason I threw the party and invited so many unmarried women. The King wishes for me to marry. It is making him look bad, apparently, to have a renegade around him in peacetime. He needs me to marry so that the rumors about me can cease.”
“I am merely a pawn!” Elizabeth cried. “I am a piece in your game of houses!”
Elizabeth felt as though she’d been punched in the chest. She had kissed this man – she had kissed this man, for Heaven’s sake – and now he was telling her he had lied to her face. She had dishonored herself with him. If anybody were to find out that she had kissed a man without being married to him, she would be ruined forever. “I was just one of many, was I, at the party? One of many that you thought you could marry!”
“That is not how it is,” Harold said, his voice never changing tone or inflection. “I needed a wife. I saw you. You were by far the most interesting woman at that party. I spent time talking to the others, and I was disappointed. Yes, it started in a rather sordid way, I will give you that. But we have had a nice time of it over these past two days, haven’t we? I truly believe we are getting to know each other.”
“I do not know you at all,” Elizabeth said. “You lied to me and you—kissed me!”
“I should not have kissed you,” Harold said. “I own that. It was wrong of me. But do not tell me that you did not enjoy the kiss. I know you did, and you know you did. We both enjoyed it. Is that wrong?”
“We are not married,” Elizabeth said. “Whether or not it is wrong makes no difference when the consensus is that it is wrong. I will be ruined if anybody ever discovers this!”
“Nobody ever will,” Harold said calmly. “And it will not matter if we marry.”
“Is this your ploy, to kiss me and then blackmail me into marriage?”
“Now you are being silly,” Harold said. “I am not blackmailing you. I would never do something like that.”
“How can you just sit there and talk with such a calm voice? Are you not excited? Are you not sorrowful?”
“I am patient,” Harold said slowly. “I am patient, and I am sorry. But I will not weep if that is what you wish. I wept my last tears a long time ago.”
Elizabeth breathed heavily and composed herself, summoning her inner-calm. “Leave me now, if you if would,” she said. “Please, I wish to spend this night alone.”
“Very well,” he said, rising. “I will see you on the morrow.”
Elizabeth waited for the door to close behind him and then threw herself onto the bed, feelings twisting through her like gnarled branches.
*****
Elizabeth woke in the middle of the night with a feeling of almost overwhelming dread. Like every woman, she had heard horror stories about men using them and then ruining them. To some men, she knew, using a woman was just a sport, something to be done and then laughed about afterwards. You didn’t need to take a woman’s feelings into consideration when you were a certain kind of mind. You merely did what you wanted and damned the consequences. Elizabeth had to hope that Harold was not a man like that. If he was, she was already ruined. She had already crossed a line. Perhaps there is a land where a woman can kiss whomever she wants, but it is not this one.
She tried to reclaim sleep, but it wouldn’t come. She walked to the desk and lit a candle, and hunched over a French novel about a woman who is stolen from a small town and carried to Paris, where she learns how to become a proper lady. Only at the end was the small town French woman rumbled, when she failed to read a piece of Greek script. She was thrown aside by the man who had stolen her and was forced to return to her town, disgraced.
Elizabeth closed the book. The sun was rising. She fell into bed and closed her eyes. From pure exhaustion, she was able to sleep for a few hours.
She woke to a knocking at the door. The Duke wanted her to join him for breakfast. Part of Elizabeth wanted to scream: I’m not coming to breakfast. In fact, I’m going home this very minute! But the pull of the Duke was strong. Harold was a man who was extremely well-suited to her, despite his dishonesty. And as much as she hated to admit her weakness, she wanted to see him again. She wanted to look into his eyes and have him look back into hers. She wanted to feel his hand on her leg. God help her, she was attracted to this man.
She dressed in a simple gown and walked to the breakfast room like a woman walking to the gallows. She was doomed by her own attraction to him, she realized. But if she was doomed, so was he. And she knew one thing: if she had to, if it really came down to it, she could completely shut off her emotions and sever her ties with this man. Dishonor or no dishonor, Elizabeth could do it if she had to.
Harold looked anxious upon her entry. He nearly jumped out of his chair and rushed around the table to pull Elizabeth’s chair out for her. Elizabeth gratefully sat and waited for breakfast to be served. They ate a simple meal of bread and meat, and then the Duke leaned forward on his elbows and stared at Elizabeth. “I am sorry for my dishonesty,” he said. “Truly, I am.”
“If you are lying about this, what else are you lying about? That is what worries me the most. We have not known each other for very long. What secrets am I to discover after we have married?”
“You can ask me anything, and I will answer honestly. But the King’s direction is the only secret I have that pertains directly to you.”
“I will judge that,” Elizabeth said. “For example, have you been with a woman before?”
“Yes,” Harold said, looking down at the table.
“How many?”
“Six.”
“Six!”
“How is that possible?”
Harold shrugged. “I have travelled, Elizabeth. But they were always flings, over within a day and never thought of again. I want to marry you, to make you my wife, and to serve you well. That is the truth of it.”
She looked into his eyes and tried to gauge if he was being dishonest or not. As far as she could tell, his feelings were sincere, but how was one to know? For all she knew, he had used these same exact lines on the other six women. But there was the lust, as well, that was calling out even now, as she looked at him. How she wanted to touch him more, and have him touch her more. How she wanted to go further than a kiss…
Stop it, she told herself. Stop thinking like this. It is not proper! You are a lady!
But thoughts of that kind were not so easily extinguished. “I would have some proof that you really wish to marry me,” she said slowly.
“How am I to prove it to you?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I do not know. But that is that I require.”
“If I can prove that I am sincere, will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she said, far too quickly. She laughed at her own eagerness. “Yes,” she repeated. “If you can prove it.”
The Duke nodded and then rang the service bell. The freckle-faced girl Elizabeth had seen around the Castle walked in. “Katherine,” Harold said.
“Yes sir?”
“Have you heard the good news?”
“The good news, sir?”
“Yes! You haven’t heard? Elizabeth and I are getting married.”
The girl’s face lit up, and she congratulated the two of them before retrieving the plates. Harold grinned for the first time since Elizabeth had met him. “You see?” he said. “She will tell the other servants, who will tell the messenger boy when he comes in the morning. Before you know it rumors will be all over England. We are, for all intents are purposes, publically engaged. But just to make it more definite…” He rose and walked to a table upon which rested a quill, inkpot, and paper. He scribbled quickly and then handed Elizabeth the paper.
It read:
Mr. Hawk,
I am delighted to inform you that your daughter and I are engaged,
Signed,
Harold Stonewall
He folded the paper and enclosed it in an envelope, which he sealed the Stonewall seal. “I would be a flagrant liar indeed if I denied that I wrote this letter, seeing as it bears my signature and my seal. Now, I will send this off immediately.” He rang the service bell again. A different servant entered this time. She grinned as she collected the plates. “Congratulations, m’lord, m’lady.”
News does travel fast.
“Take this letter to town and have it sent to the Hawk residence immediately,” Harold said. “I wish for England to know of our engagement as soon as possible.”
After the servant had left, Harold returned to his seat and smiled at Elizabeth. “Is that sufficient proof, my lady?”
“Harold, I want to ask something of you, but I fear it may be monstrously un-ladylike.”
“Ask away, Elizabeth. Social mores have never overly interested me.”
“Would you accompany to my bedroom?”
Her mouth was dry as she said this. She was worried that the Duke might laugh at her, or turn on her utterly. Instead, he rose to his feet and walked around the table. Standing over her, he offered her his arm. “Let us retire for the morning, my lady,” he said.
*****
Harold placed her on the bed as though she weighed nothing and began undressing her. Every part of Elizabeth was alive with anticipated pleasure. Her private area was pulsating with warmth. Harold’s body was strong and firm over hers as he unlaced her bodice and threw it upon the floor. Soon she was naked, laying on her back and looking up at him. He pulled off his own clothes until he, too, was naked.
His body was muscular, rippled with strong, tense muscles. His skin was white and hairless. Scars marked him here and there, but they were faded and did nothing to detract from his attractiveness. “I will be inside you soon, my lady,” he said.
His private area was hard and big. She had never seen a man’s parts before, but as soon as she saw this one, she knew it would be amazing. She reached out, and he walked toward her, and then her hand touched it. “What shall I do?” she said.
“Rub it, my lady,” he said.
She rubbed it up and down, gripping it in her hand and hoping she was doing it right. She was so excited that with her other hand she reached down and began to rub her private parts, that special hot spot on the outside that she sometimes rubbed even though she knew she shouldn’t. Harold began to moan. He reached down and grabbed her breasts, pushing them together, tweaking her nipples with her fingertips.
Then he leaned over her and parted her legs with his knees. “It will hurt at first,” he said. “But then it will feel amazing.”
Slowly, gently, he pushed himself inside of her. He was right. At first, for the first few minutes, the pain was extraordinary. She bit her lip and closed her eyes and waited for the pain to pass. And then, as he began to go quicker, the pain faded, and a white-hot pleasure replaced it. It was warm and wet and like nothing she had ever experienced.
She lifted her legs and began to move with the motions of his thrusts, pushing down as he thrust into her. His private went deep inside of her, touching a hot spot that caused pleasure to pulsate through her body. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as something built within her, like water against a dam, building, building. All she knew now was his private entering her, the heat between her legs, the tingles all over her body. She pushed down again and again, and then—
Everything released in one rush; the water washed over the dam. Pleasure washed over her body. She let out a loud moan, and Harold pushed into her harder and faster, pushing and pushing, thrusting hard and deep. Both of them were moaning now; pleasure had captured the two of them at the same moment.
Harold rolled onto his side when it was over and took Elizabeth in his arms. “That was incredible,” she whispered. “I never knew it would feel like that.”
“I never knew it could be like that,” Harold said. “It was never like that before.”
They lay there in silence until around midday when Elizabeth woke to a kiss on the forehead. Harold was leaning over her, his hands in her hair. “I have an idea, my lady,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Let’s get married today, right now.”
“Harold, are you—”
“Yes, I mean it. If we did not love each other, we would be in a terrible situation now. The only decent thing for me to do would be marry you. Luckily, I want to marry you. I think I love you, Elizabeth. Why should we wait?”
Elizabeth did not need to think about it any longer. The only possible negative was that Father and Mother would not be able to be there. But if Father came he would only ruin it in some way, and Mother would never come without Father. She jumped to her feet, still naked, and threw her arms around him. His hands reached down for her buttocks and began to rub. “Later, we’ll do it twice,” he said into her ear.
She giggled and kissed his neck.
“I will call for the parson,” Harold said. “Dress, and we will be married within the hour.”
He left the room, and Elizabeth went to the dresser and sorted through the clothes.
What an odd series of events, she thought, a wide smile on her lips.
*****
She had chosen a simple white gown for the wedding. Harold was dressed in his military garb. The parson gave a traditional speech about the sanctity of marriage and then asked them both if they wanted the other person. Elizabeth had no problem saying I do, and neither did Harold. Within the hour, the two of them truly were married.
Afterwards, they walked the grounds of the Castle hand in hand. It was good to feel his bare hand against her bare hand, skin on skin, and not have to worry about scandal or retribution of any kind. They were man and wife now; it was the most natural thing in the world for man and wife to walk hand in hand together. They walked into the woods and far away from the Castle until they came to an enclosed copse of trees where they could sit and pretend that the greater world did not exist. Sitting on an upturned log, Elizabeth truly felt as though they were the last people alive.
“This is only the start,” Harold said. “My lady, we will have a beautiful life together. I believe that a man and wife can never fully know each other, but I promise to do my best to know you as well as I know myself. I want us to become one, my lady.”
“Where do you think we will be in five years, my love?” Elizabeth wondered.
#
The Hawk family is no longer spoken of with such vindictiveness. The marriage between the Duke of Summerset and I put an end to that. Soon after our marriage, the Duke paid off the our family’s debts in full, and invited Father and Mother to come and live in the Castle (in their own wing, of course). This allowed us to check Father’s gambling before it started. He has not gambled in five years, and he grumbles less, too.
The Duke and I are as one; or, rather, the Duke and our two children our as four. He was everything I wished him to be on that day long ago in the woods, where I rested my head on his shoulder and talked of the future, and he laughed and said he would give us everything. The King has even visited us once or twice, and Charlotte practically begs me to come to some social function or other.
But I am content to lay awake at night in the Duke’s arms, breathing heavy from our love-making and looking to the future which still looks so bright.
Perhaps, Ms. Diary, this proves something. Perhaps this proves that one does not have to conform to cunning and meanness to get along in the world. Perhaps this proves that one need not have a heart of ice. Take the Duke, for example. He used to be cold, but now he has thawed and grows warmer every day.
Perhaps ice often hides the warmest hearts.
*****
THE END