Caught in the Storm of a Duke's - Abby Ayles Page 0,38

one. Thank you. However, I am not in a hurry and, in truth, neither am I eager to leave. It is only, I have been here a while now. I never intended to stay for this long. I am just passing by. I shall have to reach my destination at some point. I thought, the earlier, the better.”

Mr. Beauregard seemed to think about it for a moment.

“I cannot say that I disagree with that … yes, the repairs are still underway. We only know the extent of the damage caused on our lands, not on the neighboring ones. Beyond Sawbrook, we cannot be so certain of the condition of the roads. Nevertheless, I reckon you should be able to leave in another fortnight.”

“A fortnight? Goodness! I might as well make Dunham my home.”

She had hoped it would be a matter of days. Another fortnight would further weaken her resolve to leave.

Yet, she must. She was sure to start missing her father and mother soon, and her Aunt Tia would be so worried.

She was startled out of her thoughts when she heard what sounded like a chuckle.

She looked at Mr. Beauregard, frowning and shocked. No, surely, it could not be?

If it were, she could not tell, for his face was immediately somber once more, revealing nothing.

“I do not know if His Grace would object to that, my lady. There are more than enough rooms here.”

She realized, too late, that this was Mr. Beauregard’s way of teasing.

“I would not like to overstay my welcome.”

“No. You would not now, I’m sure.”

There was a pause; she shook her head. They remained in silence for a moment.

Finally, Mr. Beauregard spoke. “Is there anything more you would like to ask, my lady?”

Grateful to have been reminded, she answered swiftly.

“Yes. I would like to know if there has been any word from my parents or my aunt Tia?”

Mr. Beauregard shook his head and puffed out smoke.

“I am afraid not. Rest assured you shall be the first to know the moment word arrives.”

That was more than enough for her.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Beauregard. You are most kind. Well then, I suppose I shall leave you to enjoy the rest of your pipe in peace.”

“Good day, my lady,” he replied, bowing slightly.

Judith turned to leave. As she walked away, she decided to take a different turn about the house. It was not quite familiar, but she was certain she would find her way.

Moments later, her ears began to strain, as a beautiful melody began to reach her from her afar.

As she drew closer, the music grew louder.

She was astonished by the sound of it.

It was beautiful, yet sad, terribly sad. Whoever played the pianoforte with such skill, it was as though they plucked the strings of her heart.

Soon, she found the room that was the source of the magical music. She stopped to find the door slightly ajar.

She waited outside for a moment, contemplating the wisdom of entering. For all she knew, it could be the ghost of the late duchess, drawing her to her doom. She shook her head and chuckled at the silly thought.

But there was another nagging thought on her mind. Had she been wrong to even consider remaining at Dunham? Now that she thought of it, whatever could be the reason for wanting to stay?

Finally, she made a decision.

Strengthening her resolve, she grasped the handle, pushed the door open as quietly as she could and stepped inside.

She raised her eyes and when she beheld the sight before her, she stilled.

She tried to remind herself to breathe, to teach her heart to beat again.

It was the most beautiful, yet surprising thing she had seen in a very long while.

It was a ballroom, beautifully decorated with ribbons and flowers. At the center of the room, hung a mighty chandelier.

The windows were many, tall and large, and the doors to another balcony opened onto a lush green garden.

It was one of the places Mr. Beauregard had refrained from showing them. Yet, as magnificent as it was, it was not the room that stole her breath.

No, it was the man seated before her at the piano.

Of all the people she might have imagined to be the source of the music, she never would have thought it might be the duke himself.

There he was, dressed in black as always. He was engrossed in the music, eyes closed, face lifted to the heavens as he played.

His hands, long, firm, and strong, moved delicately over the keys with such mastery that