Her Beastly Duke (Damsel in Distress #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Walcot Hall, Gloucester

M iss Briar Walcot sat in the sparsely furnished drawing room, her fingers tracing the worn edges of the beloved book she held. Its once vibrant cover now faded and dog-eared, told the tale of countless hours spent in its company. The spine, a testament to its age, had been cracked multiple times; pages, once pristine, were now almost falling out, and the edges of a few were bent. She was sure that her tears had fallen on the pages many times before, blurring her vision as she tried to read. Briar closed the volume with a sigh. She had read it so many times that she knew some of the passages by heart, and she yearned for new material, but they could not afford it.

She looked around the drab room with its tattered drapes and worn carpet. The most valuable pieces of furniture were gone, and she had long since given up on dreaming that their family’s circumstances would change for the better. It had all been too much since Father died. Only then did they know how good he was at keeping secrets. She did not think they would recover from the shock after the will was read. Even the very memory was painful, and she would much rather forget it. Four years had passed since her father died, and when Briar thought they were destitute, she realized that it was only now that she understood the word's true meaning.

Duncan burst into the drawing room, his tall, lean figure, usually so agile, seemed to be weighed down by the burden of their circumstances. His trembling hands, the hastily poured drink, the unsteady gaze—all spoke of a battle he was fighting within. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating with the weight of their shared anxiety. Briar, too, felt the urgency of their situation. The brandy, usually a source of comfort, seemed to offer no solace to Duncan. He poured another drink, his movements more frantic this time, before turning to face her. His smile, usually a source of warmth, was absent, and his eyes, usually so full of life, were clouded with worry.

Briar’s heart lurched. Her brother seemed even more unsettled than usual. “Duncan, is all well?”

He grimaced and could not meet her eyes.

Whatever it was, it could not be that bad. Duncan was a good, gentle soul. He was fair and honorable; perhaps that was why he struggled to say whatever bothered him.

“Duncan, what is it? Clearly, there is something that upset you.” Briar stood up, but he took a few steps toward her and flopped onto the sofa.

She reclaimed her seat in the armchair and patiently waited.

Duncan's eyes were feverish and over-bright, his gaze darting. He sat forward and placed his hands on his knees. “I have done something rather foolish. You might never forgive me.”

He dropped his head in his hands, and Briar's heart skipped a beat. The hairs raised on her nape and arms. Nothing else had happened since Duncan dropped his head, yet she felt that things were moving quickly, but they were not. She forced a smile in place and attempted to keep her voice light.

“What have you done, Duncan? Out with it.”

Her brother said nothing. Briar wondered what could be so bad that he would hesitate to share it with her. He usually confided in her, discussing any private matters and problems. They were confidants, each other’s pillars of strength in this harsh world. She could not think of anyone with whom she would rather share her feelings and secrets. They had always been safe with him.

“Duncan, whatever it is, just tell me. I am sure we can work it out together,” Briar said with the empathy she truly felt. Whatever it was, she did not want him to feel alone.

Duncan used both hands to rub the back of his neck. He shifted as though unable to get comfortable before he raised his head and took a deep, shaky breath.

“I have gone and done it this time. Bloody hell! It is rather dreadful.”

Briar immediately felt thirsty, but she was afraid to move. She had heard Duncan swear before, but it made her stomach churn this time. There was such desperation in his voice, and she swore his anxiety was infectious. Would he finally tell her they would lose their home? This was the worst-case scenario, and she had always resisted thinking about it because she hoped it would never get that far. His anger at their family’s dire straits was palpable, and it only seemed to grow with time. The departure of the servants, unable to bear the financial strain, had left only Clair, their faithful housekeeper, with them. Briar, too, had taken up the household chores, not out of obligation but out of a shared understanding that they were all in this together.

Have we lost our home, Duncan ? She silently screamed. Taking another steady breath, she decided to wait and listen. He had a secret, and he certainly could not hide it.

“I have done something that, if it were made public, would certainly ruin my honor and what is left of the family name. I’ve passed off a fake Wellington depicting the battle of Waterloo.” The words rushed from Duncan once he started, and beads of sweat lined his brow.

Good Lord! Alarmed, her heart pounded. “A fake Wellington?”

“Yes.”

Duncan did not meet Briar’s eyes, and she detected the slight tremble of his chin. He was likely berating himself for his reckless decision. Briar dazedly shook her head. She knew her brother, and he was not a cheat. If someone else had told her Duncan had done this, she would have been the first to defend him. Her brother was honest, but not only that, he had an appreciation for fine art. Was this what debt and a bit of despair had made him do? It was a desperate act, and truth be told, it frightened her.

Briar wondered how long Duncan had worked on obtaining the forgery. She understood it was a complicated process that was not limited to creating the artwork itself. The forged artwork had to look plausible, copying Wellington’s style, artificially aging the artwork, and using not only advanced chemical solutions but regular dust and dirt as well. A clean Wellington smelling of fresh paint and varnish would unlikely convince an art connoisseur. She wanted to know the details, but this was not the right time to ask.

Briar stood and started to pace, her mind furiously churning.

Things had taken a turn for the worst at Walcot Hall last season. There was a terrible drought, and they lost half of their crops. What remained was not of the best quality, and it was not enough to prevent the chain of events that followed. Briar supposed the drought was the final nail in their proverbial coffin. Duncan tried to shield them from the worst of it, but she observed that he had become restless ever since. He finally confided the bank was unwilling to provide a further loan.

There was nothing of great value left to be sold at Walcot Hall. Although they were in a bind, the last time she spoke with Duncan, he seemed resolute that he would find a way to get them out of it. She had no idea passing off a forgery was what he had in mind, for she would certainly have talked him out of it.

A fake painting was indeed serious.

It was an unmitigated disaster .

It was described as a classy crime, but no convicted art forger would be praised for their artistic skills and tricks used to pull off the deception. In polite society, a gentleman’s honor was everything. Duncan was the Baron of Walcot, and it must pain him to realize that his honest attempts to provide for them had failed, so he turned to less favorable actions.

She stopped her agitated pacing and turned to her brother. Briar could feel his desperation and frustration. “Whom did you pass the Wellington … to?” Forgery , the unspoken word hung thick in the air.

Duncan paused, and a deep look of shame appeared in his eyes before he replied, “The Duke of Berkley.”

Briar’s hand flew to her chest, and she gasped. “The beastly duke!” she cried before she could stop herself.

“Yes.” Her brother scrubbed a hand over his face. “I am so foolish!”

Briar’s mind scrambled to think of a way they could extricate themselves from the debacle. What was Duncan thinking? How could he have sold a forgery to the duke? Everyone in Gloucester had heard about the beast. His vast landholdings and wealth did not protect him from the gossip. It was said the duke was a recluse who lived alone on Berkley Estate. He was badly disfigured, with a myriad of scars running from his hairline to his chin. He had such a dreadful appearance that he had taken to hiding behind a mask. He did not attend social events and did not accept visitors.

The reason for his scars was even more titillating for the haut ton , who never wasted the opportunity to tittle-tattle. Apparently, the beastly duke had been injured in a duel while on a trip to France during his youth. He was caught in a compromising position with a lady from the French court or something of the sort. The lady’s husband was obliged to call him out, and the duke accepted. Clearly, it had not gone well for the duke.

Of course, Briar herself had never laid eyes on him, and it was just as well. The thought of a gentleman being so disfigured that he resorted to wearing a mask made her uncomfortable. “How could you act so in regard to a man everyone calls the Beast of Berkley? Such a moniker should have informed you he is not a man to be deceived!”

Duncan tilted his head to the ceiling and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The gentleman is merely scarred, Briar. That hardly makes him a beast.”

Briar's brows shot up, and her voice raised in a pitch. “You have seen him?”

Duncan’s lips flattened, and he shook his head. “I have not. Why do you ask?”

“I merely wanted to know if he was as disfigured as they said. After all, he caused the haut ton to descend into frenzied gossip and ladies to swoon and act quite uncomfortable in his presence. That is how he became known as a beast, Duncan.”

“I am less concerned with his looks and more with my predicament, which will soon be our predicament if word gets out.”

“How did you hand over the forgery to the duke?”

“I dealt with his steward, and perhaps that is why I managed to get away with it. He was less astute and not as meticulous.” Duncan tipped his head to the side and whispered, “What have I gotten myself into? I knew within a few minutes I had made a mistake. I thought about going to the duke and apologizing, but… I do not think he would understand anything I explain.”

Briar did not immediately have an answer to Duncan's dilemma. An awful, sinking feeling swirled in the pit of her stomach. “When was the transaction?”

“Yesterday,” Duncan replied sheepishly.

Briar frowned, turning over an idea in her thoughts. “Well, if it was only yesterday and you dealt with his steward, the duke may not have seen the painting yet. We could simply retrieve it,” she said with more bravado than was sensible.

“ Simply , you say. And how do you propose that we do that?” Duncan almost stuttered.

“I presume you did not go to Berkley Estate.”

“I did not, but the painting was delivered there.”

Briar nodded. “Good. We know where it is, and we will go there and fetch it.” Such nonchalance, as if one decided to break into the beastly duke’s home every dayand steal. She must have taken leave of her senses. But what else could they do?

There was a slight hesitation as Duncan pursed his lips in thought. “I do not see how this will work. We could hardly waltz onto the vast estate, locate the painting and waltz back out without being detected. Furthermore, what pretext would we use to gain admittance when the duke does not accept guests?”

“I take your point. He is ever the recluse.” Briar drummed her fingers against her palm and pondered for a moment. “If the duke does not accept guests, he would have instructed his staff to turn them away. But what if the guests were in a position where he could not possibly refuse to accommodate them? Let’s say they were stranded in the dead of night.”

The corner of Duncan’s mouth lifted. “Hmm. You may be on to something … Hang on. They ? What do you mean they?” The smile had fallen away, and a piercing gaze replaced it.

A rather ridiculous question if Briar ever heard one. “You and me, of course.”

“I can see those wheels turning, Briar. What are you thinking?”

Briar tilted her head to the side. Briar knew she needed to reassure and convince him her plan would work. Duncan hated showing any sign of weakness, and she did not like to see him so wounded. “Well, we stand a better chance of getting admitted if we are together. I hardly think they would turn a lady of good breeding away in the dead of night. We will present ourselves as aristocrats, so being inhospitable would be very difficult. After all, we are of the same class and would extend such courtesies.”

Duncan nodded, but he did not look convinced.

Briar thought she knew what he was thinking. “You seem skeptical.”

“Why should they admit us? What reason would we give?” Duncan asked.

She was one step ahead of him. “A broken-down carriage would be the perfect ruse to get refuge. Do you not think?”

“It is plausible, but only if it is quite late in the evening. Otherwise, they would try to repair the damage so they could send us on our way,” Duncan replied.

Briar nodded in agreement. “That makes sense as we need to spend the night.”

Duncan sat up and appeared more animated. “I cannot believe that I am considering this. What will we do once we are there? How will we go about it?”

“We will search for the painting once everyone has retired for the evening, and you will leave the money you were paid for it.” Briar paused for a moment. “This is a sound plan unless you can come up with something else.”

The frown creased Duncan’s brows. “Perhaps we should not rush to act, lest we err and find ourselves in an even worse position.”

“Think about it, Duncan. We will certainly be worse off if he discovers the painting,” Briar said with conviction.

Duncan ran both hands through his hair and sighed. His head fell into his palm again, and he had been quiet for so long thatBriar wondered if he was asleep.

Duncan sighed heavily. “We must be discrete, so we must use a false name.”

Briar grinned. “I have already thought of a couple, brother. How about Fairweather or Marsden?”

“I think Marsden will do. Are we to do this tonight?” Duncan held her gaze.

“The sooner, the better. It is a few hours away so we should make our way as Mama and Victoria retire for the evening. We will leave Berkley Estate as soon as we retrieve the painting to ensure we return before we are missed.” Briar spoke bravely, but she was loathe to think what would befall them if they were caught.

Duncan stood. “I will organize the equipage and everything else that we need.”

Briar watched as Duncan walked from the room. He seemed to walk tall again. He had a purpose. He was undoubtedly relieved at the possibility of resolving the issue without ruining his honor. He would not escape unscathed because the duke would know what he had done, but that was the lesser of two evils.

Briar was thrilled at the prospect of doing something exciting. It had become boring at Walcot Hall since they started watching every penny they spent. Socializing was an expense, for there were new wardrobes and the cost of entertaining, and they could not host guests without the full complement of servants. The last time she did anything remotely exciting was when she was launched into society at sixteen.

She was dazzled by the London season, but her father passed away shortly after they returned to Walcot Hall. During her period of grief, she mourned not only her father but also her way of life. Duncan had returned to complete university at Oxford before he resumed full responsibility for the estate. Mother had insisted that he should see Oxford through, although Briar did not see any point other than keeping up appearances.

Baroness Irene Walcot had not taken the change from wealth to retrenching well. She spent a great deal of time in her bedchamber for the first few months before she gradually started to join the rest of the family for meals. Ever since their father passed away, her mother was fragile, so there would be no point in telling her about their escapade. Mother would become quite distressed, and she would draw within herself again. Briar was happy her younger sister, Victoria, was quite independent. She was often off alone, finding ways to amuse herself so Briar did not need to worry about her being underfoot.

It had taken quite a lot for Duncan to admit he had been foolish and that he had made a terrible mistake. She was grateful he had done the right thing by confessing because she was confident they could resolve it. The situation was not irreparable. Briar refused to accept that it could be—not until they tried everything, as there was too much at stake.

Briar had to prepare for the journey. As she exited the drawing room and climbed the stairs, she could not help the niggling thought that crept into her mind. Neither she nor Duncan had been to Berkley Estate, and they were taking a huge risk to sneak around it at night.

What if one of the servants caught them snooping around?

Briar’s step faltered, and she held onto the banister as she climbed the stairs. Worse yet, what if they ran into the duke? Her mind was blank. She did not know what the devil she would do, and she hoped she would never have to find out.