A Scarred Duke's Beauty: A Historical Regency Romance Novel (Regency Hearts Entwined), page 1
A Scarred Duke's Beauty
A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL
ABIGAIL AGAR
Copyright © 2024 by Abigail Agar
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
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A Scarred Duke's Beauty
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
A Duke Torn Between Love and Duty
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
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A Scarred Duke's Beauty
Introduction
Lilith Bergerac is not who others think she is - certain others, at least. The product of an illicit affair, Lilith arrived in England from France, and ever since, she has struggled to fit in. To make matters worse, she is unexpectedly thrown into a web of lies when her father arranges for her to marry the mysterious Duke of Blackmore. Despite her reluctance and the secrets she must keep, Lilith's strong spirit and compassionate heart begin to unravel the hardened exterior of the enigmatic duke.
Will she make the right impression, or will her past be her downfall?
Dominic Spencer, Duke of Blackmore, has withdrawn from society, shrouded in rumours of disfigurement and disability following a near-fatal carriage accident. Knowing he has no choice but to marry and produce an heir though, Dominic resorts to the strangest of means to make a match, and when that match arrives, he finds himself pleasantly surprised. Elizabeth intrigues and challenges him, as her kindness and vivacity begin to pierce the armour he has built around his heart.
If only he could be sure that it is his true self she is after…
As Lilith and Dominic get to know each other, they find they have more in common than they thought. However, as the time for critical decisions comes, they both must face up to those things that held them back, wondering if the other can truly accept them for who they are... Will Lilith’s past and Dominic’s disability be barriers to romance, or can love bloom, even in the midst of chaos?
Chapter 1
Norfolk, England, Spring, 1809.
“Curse these damn stairs,” Dominic Spencer, the Duke of Handsworth, said, grimacing as a pain shot through his left leg.
He had to bite his lip, steadying himself on the rail to avoid falling as he caught his breath.
“Let me help you, brother. I know you find the steps difficult. We should really move the dining room to the drawing room. It would be much easier for you,” Sophia, his sister, said, holding out her arm.
But Dominic shook his head.
“I don’t need your help, Sophia. And as for moving the dining room, I hardly think the servants would thank us. Do you?” he replied, turning to his sister, who rolled her eyes.
“I was only trying to help, Dominic. There’s no shame in it. You had an accident. You can’t do the things you used to. You’re… I was only trying to help,” she said, looking at him sympathetically, and Dominic sighed.
He did not want sympathy—or help. He would manage, and he would prefer it if the rest of the family did not mention the carriage accident that had led to the sorry state he found himself in. He knew precisely the word his sister had been about to use—a word he found humiliating for its connotations.
“Trying to help a cripple. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? Because that’s what I am, isn’t it? A cripple,” he replied, still clinging to the stair rail to steady himself, as the pain in his leg now began to subside.
Sophia blushed, shaking her head and mumbling an apology.
“I just wanted to help. You know I don’t think… well, it’s not your fault, it is? You had an accident. And you’re getting better. I know it’s taking time, but… you’re doing so well. Six months ago you couldn’t have walked up one step, and now you’re nearly at the top without any assistance,” she said.
Dominic knew his sister was only trying to help. He had become used to well-meaning sentiments from those who wanted to assist him.
But it was the sense of pity he found hardest to endure—that he, the twenty-eight-year-old Duke of Handsworth, a man who had spent his youth serving in the Napoleonic wars, fighting for king and country, a man of sporting prowess, respected and admired should be reduced to a mere shadow of himself—a cripple. It was humiliating, and to be reminded of it in his own house was even worse.
“Yes, what a marvelous achievement. Perhaps in another year I’ll be able to climb up to the landing, instead of sleeping in the morning room,” Dominic retorted.
His sister appeared not to notice the sarcastic tone of his words, and she smiled and nodded.
“Precisely—a little at a time, brother. That’s the way to do it. Now, let me help you to the dining room. The others will be waiting,” she said, and taking Dominic’s arm, she walked slowly at his side as he limped along the corridor to the dining room, where the voices of the rest of the family, and their invited guests, could be heard through the open door.
Dominic was not looking forward to dinner that evening. His mother had arranged it, inviting the family of Dominic’s youngest sister, Selina’s, betrothed to dine with them.
The courtship had been hurried—a whirlwind romance conducted over the course of the winter, and now Selina was to marry the son of Sir Arthur Grieg, the member of parliament for the district, and a prominent local landowner. Dominic had approved the match at the insistence of his mother, whose laughter now rang out from the head of the table as he and Sophia entered the room.
“Oh, Dominic, here you are at last. I feared you weren’t coming. Where have you been?” she exclaimed, ushering him to the place next to her.
It had taken Dominic longer to get ready than he had expected, having refused the help of his valet to perform more intimate tasks, he had insisted on dressing himself, and now he glared at his mother, not wanting any fuss to be made.
“Good evening, Sir Arthur, Lady Grieg,” he said, as the guests rose to their feet.
“Good evening, Your Grace. I trust we find you as well as can be expected?” Sir Arthur said, holding out his hand to Dominic, who nodded, shaking Sir Arthur’s hand, before giving Lady Grieg a small nod of his head.
They were an elderly couple, white-haired, their faces displaying their advancing years, and yet Dominic knew it was them who felt sorry for him—pitying him, even. Now, he turned to glance across the table, where Selina was standing next to her betrothed.
Rupert Grieg was a year or so younger than Dominic himself, and the two of them should have had much in common. But once again, it was the look of pity Dominic resented. It made him feel angry, even as he reminded himself he had to be polite. Selina was happy, and that was what mattered.
“Your Grace, how nice to see you,” Rupert said, hurrying around the table and holding out his hand to Dominic, who nodded, and forced a smile to his face.
“It’s good to see you, Rupert. And what a happy occasion we celebrate this evening,” Dominic said.
“And I have to thank you most kindly for allowing Selina and I to marry. I promise to take good care of her,” Rupert said.
The way he spoke—his mannerisms—made Dominic feel as though he was being talked to like an old man, rather than an equal. There was respect, of course, but Dominic did not want to be viewed as a relic placed on a pedestal. He was still young—he and Rupert should have been friends—and yet Sir Arthur’s son was treating him more like an ancient statesman than a man with whom he could laugh and joke, ride out with, and be a brother-in-law to.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Dominic replied, as now the party sat down to dine.
Talk was of the forthcoming wedding, a grand affair to be held in London.
“It’s just so much easier in the capital—we know so many people there, and one can’t expect them all to come out here to Norfolk. I’m sure it’s the same for you, Your Grace,” Lady Grieg said, addressing Dominic’s mother, The Dowager Duchess of Handsworth, who nodded.
“Absolutely. I agree entirely. London makes much more sense. We’ll open up the house there for the season. We’ve got plenty of room for g uests, and Selina and Rupert can enjoy being a newly married couple about town. I remember when the late duke and I married, we had invitations every evening for three months. It was remarkable,” Dominic’s mother said, laughing and shaking her head.
“We plan to go to Bath, too, Mother—did I tell you?” Selina said, and the dowager gushed.
“Oh, Bath—how wonderful. A summer season in Bath—can you think of anything more wonderful than that? Isn’t it marvelous, Dominic?” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight.
Dominic was bored. He had no interest in weddings, or London society, or honeymoons in Bath. The evening was becoming interminably dull, even though they had only just been served the soup. Yet he was pleased for his sister. At just twenty-one years old, she had made a good match. Rupert Grieg was a good man, with good prospects, and his parents were supportive of the match, too. As his sister’s ward, Dominic had given his permission, but he was dreading the wedding itself, fearing yet more pity when he appeared in public.
His carriage accident had been the talk of the ton, and sympathy had poured in on every side, but the result of such attention had been his retreat, and in the past year, Dominic had become something of a recluse, fearing the very reaction he had received that evening from their guests.
“I’m sure it’s wonderful, yes. You’ll be very happy together, I can see that,” Dominic replied, glancing across the table at his sister, and smiling.
She was a pretty creature, blessed with the same looks as their mother—long, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. She had a dimple in her chin, and her skin was pale and soft, after the fashion of the day. In this, she resembled Sophia, too, though being three years younger, she had already achieved what Sophia desired most of all—a betrothal.
“And we’re very grateful to you, your Grace, for giving your permission to the match,” Rupert said, nodding to Dominic across the table.
“I’d be a cruel man to refuse my sister her happiness,” Dominic replied.
He wanted his sisters to be happy, and he was glad at the thought of the match, even as the thought of the wedding itself filled him with dread. He could picture the sympathetic looks, hear the whispered pitying…
“You certainly would, but I know you’re not,” Selina replied.
Talk now turned to other things, and having finished dinner, the dowager invited Rupert and his parents to join them in the drawing room for coffee.
“Isn’t it lovely to have these longer evenings now. I grow so weary of winter and its dark nights. In the late spring and summer, I feel I should stay awake for as long as the sun bids me do so,” she said, rising to her feet.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to,” Dominic said, remaining seated as the others followed the dowager’s example.
His mother looked at him in surprise.
“You’re not joining us, Dominic?” she asked, and Dominic shook his head.
He was not purposefully trying to be impolite, but he found the process of getting up from a chair—be it a dining chair, an armchair, or a high-backed chair—difficult. He did not want the rest of the party to watch him struggle, or worse, offer to help. It would be well-meant, of course—an arm proffered, a jovial comment passed.
But Dominic would feel embarrassed, humiliated, even, and he wanted to be left alone to get to his feet by his usual, ungraceful, means. His mother raised her eyebrows.
“I have some work to do. I’m sure Sir Arthur understands what it’s like to bear responsibilities for an estate,” he said, and Sir Arthur gave a curt nod.
“Certainly, your Grace. We shall say goodnight to you now,” he said, holding out his hand to Dominic, who shook it and smiled.
Rupert hurried to do the same, before offering Selina his arm, but as the party filed out, Sophia lingered.
“I know what you’re doing, Dominic. There’s no need to be embarrassed,” she said, but Dominic shook his head.
“But I do feel embarrassed, Sophia. Didn’t you see the way Rupert looked at me? He’s only a year younger than me, and yet he pities me. So does his father—a man twice my age. I can’t even stand up without making this ridiculous show,” Dominic said, as now he leaned forward to push himself up with both hands on the table.
Sophia stepped forward to help, but Dominic shook his head.
“Please, Dominic. You don’t need to do this alone,” she said, but Dominic was adamant, and with a supreme effort, he stood upright, taking a deep breath as he did so.
“There, you see—I did it. And I didn’t need any help in doing so,” he said, feeling proud of himself for this minor victory.
Sophia shook her head.
“But we want to help, Dominic. There’s no shame in it. You’re getting better, and if you need help in doing so, so be it. Why are you so proud?” she asked, but Dominic did not answer.
He was not proud—not in the least. But to ask for help was to admit defeat, or so he felt, and Dominic had no intention of admitting defeat. He had faced difficulties before—commanding the king’s forces against Napoleon, and assuming the responsibilities of his title following the death of his father.
Dominic was possessed of a strength of character, one he prided himself on, and his injuries were simply another challenge to be overcome, or so he told himself when he found everyday tasks an uphill struggle. He would get better. He had to.
“I’m not proud, Sophia. I just… it doesn’t matter. Go and join the others. I’ll be quite all right,” he said, and his sister put her hand on his shoulder.
He looked at her, and she gave a sympathetic smile.
“Is it because Selina’s getting married?” she asked.
Dominic sighed. He did not want to have this conversation—it was one he had already had with his mother on numerous occasions.
“You mustn’t feel ashamed, Dominic. A crippled duke is still a duke,” she had said, trying to make him feel better about his prospects of marriage.
But Dominic had retreated so far from society that the prospect of marriage was out of the question. What woman would want to marry a cripple? He hated to use the word, but it was true, and until he regained his strength, Dominic had no intention of pursuing a match.
“No. You know my feelings on the matter, Sophia. I don’t want to get married. It’s… not going to happen,” he said, and his sister tutted.
“But you do want to get married. When you returned from the continent, you spoke of nothing else. Marriage was always your expectation. And what about the arrangement with the Harris family? Aren’t you going to honor it?” his sister asked.
Dominic rolled his eyes. He knew it was their mother who had put Sophia up to this—he had known something was brewing, and that his sister was only waiting for the right opportunity to raise the matter of a long since forgotten arrangement made between the Spencer family and that of the Earl of Russell, Philip Harris.
As a child, Dominic had been subject to an arrangement whereby if neither he nor the earl’s daughter were married by the age of twenty-one, they would marry one another to the benefit of both estates.
It had been a vain and somewhat bizarre arrangement between the previous duke and his friend, the earl, and one with no legal binding. Dominic’s mother had mentioned it in passing several times, and while Dominic had not taken the suggestion seriously, the dowager’s enthusiasm for the idea had now become more pronounced.
“Will they? You can hardly expect the earl’s daughter to want it any more than I do,” Dominic replied.
He had only met the earl’s daughter once when they were children. The earl was his father’s friend, and the last time Dominic had seen him had been at the old duke’s funeral. The thought of reminding the Harris family of such an outdated arrangement seemed ridiculous.
