Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(45)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Perhaps if he would have visited this particular home, the country estate once in the last ten years, his smile wouldn’t shock them so. But all they had to go on was rumors of the murders and Dominique’s eccentric reputation. He hadn’t been to this estate in years. And his staff still wasn’t sure how to respond to him.

Gathering his wits, he managed to stop laughing as he nudged Hunter, who also stopped grinning like a fool. “Thank you,” Dominique addressed the maid. “For all your hard work, as Hunter has, I’m sure, explained, we are to have a ball in honor of my wife for agreeing to be saddled with me the rest of her days. And, as a surprise, every single staff member is to bring their family and friends to the glorious event tonight.”

At his announcement, the maid’s eyes widened until he was certain they would roll back as she fainted dead away.

“Are you able to notify the staff, Miss…?” Truly, he hadn’t even a clue what her name was. What type of man was he that he could not remember a person’s name! It was as if the darkness he had lived in had destroyed his memory as well.

“Hopkins, Beth Hopkins, your highness.” She curtsied, a flush rising to her cheeks.

“Miss Hopkins.” Dominique said the name. “Do I pay you well?”

Hunter cleared his throat and nudged him. “Dominique, stop scaring the poor girl. I’m sure there is a better time or place to discuss such things. This is not it.”

Dominique ignored him. It wasn’t at all proper to discuss such things publicly in front of anyone, especially a titled guest such as Hunter, but his curiosity was piqued. The fact he had no idea of her name spurred him to think of other notions he hadn’t considered. Had he been a better master than his father? Had he provided for his servants?

He nodded his head and crossed his arms. After a few minutes, in which Miss Hopkins looked to be thinking of a lie, she licked her lips and answered, “You pay me quite well, my lord, for I am able to feed my family and that is all I ask.”

“And clothes, are you able to purchase clothes?”

She was silent.

“And coal for your fire?”

Still no answer. Tears pooled in her eyes.

“Wax for your candles?”

Her lip began to tremble. Hunter’s hand braced Dominique’s arm. Devil take it, he wasn’t going to bite the woman’s head off!

“Allow me to ask you again, Miss Hopkins, and pray do not insult my intelligence by being anything but honest, yes?”

She nodded and closed her eyes.

“Do I pay you well?”

“No, my lord. You do not pay me well.”

“Thank you,” Dominique answered.

Miss Hopkins eyes flashed open, darting from Hunter to Dominique before settling back onto Dominique with a quizzical look.

“I shall double your salary and that of every other staff member as of today. I imagine you can include that piece of information when you invite everyone to the ball tonight, yes?”

“Y-yes, my lord.” A tear ran down her cheek as she curtsied, then reached for his hand, his gloved hand, and bestowed a kiss upon it. “God preserve you, my prince.”

It was the first time any of his staff had ever called him "prince" since his father’s death. In his bitterness, Dominique had always thought it was because of the horrid memories of his father, that they had no desire to remind him of his title, of the title he inherited after murdering his own father.

But now, the way that Miss Hopkins said "my prince", made him believe that perhaps, for the first time in his life he had earned his title. And all because he extended the one thing his father never had.

Mercy.

Chapter Twenty-eight

If I would have known that my music would become my cocoon, that I would turn a blind eye to the darkness of the world, using my own justification for my actions, then it is entirely possible I would have tried to stop what I became. After all, no man wakes up one day hoping to be a beast, praying he can turn into something that people will mock and hate. No, it is a slow fade into the very thing you promised you would never become. How could I have not seen my own father’s reflection when I looked into the mirror? Had I known, I would have fought; I would have tried to be something—anything but him.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Isabelle awoke with a start. The room was cast in evening shadows. With a yawn, she made her way to the window and noticed the bright white moon had begun to rise into depths of the blue sky. How long had she been asleep? Confused, she looked around her room. Was dinner to commence soon?

She walked to the door adjoining her room and Dominique’s, the one where she so often shared his bed. Why was it, that as her hand touched the door, memories of his touch flooded her body until she was shivering with desire? It was ridiculous.

But wonderful all the same.

The sleep did nothing to alleviate her worries, for although she felt more rested than she had in the past week, she still could not help but concentrate on his sudden change in behavior. With a sigh she leaned her head against the door and allowed herself a few selfish tears. She was so hopelessly in love with him.

What was wrong with her? She was made of stronger stuff, and yet she couldn’t help but have a heavy heart as she pushed open the door.

But the thing of it was…Well, it wouldn’t budge.

She pushed harder, this time allowing her whole body to move against it.

Still, no movement.

Panic overwhelmed her. Had Dominique locked her in her room?

She banged her fist against the door, twice. Before a throat cleared.

“Miss? May I be of service?” Her maid, Amy, gave her a slightly bewildered look from the open door in the bedroom. Drat, why hadn’t she thought of that? Clearly, sleep had done nothing to clear her muddled thoughts. If anything it had made it worse. How could she forget the actual door into the hallway?

“No, er, that is to say, I was just wondering where I might find my husband.”

Amy grinned and looked down at the floor. “Pardon my firm hand in this, my lady. But the master of the house has left strict instructions as to dinner this evening. If we are to be on time, we must get you ready.”

“But…” Isabelle put her hands on her hips and bit her lip. “Surely, he isn’t demanding I meet him for dinner? Are we truly back to the origin of how I arrived?”

Amy beamed. “Quite the opposite, my lady. Now, if you’ll just have a seat here. The gown just arrived an hour ago and has been pressed. If you’ll allow me, I’ll help dress you before I fix your hair.”