4: Beauty and the Beast

Sunlight streamed through the large window and across the foot of the bed, and for a moment Beth forgot where she was. She turned onto her back, staring up through the canopy of drapes hanging across the four poster bed, her anxiety and frustration over her situation returning as the after effects of sleep wore away.

Beth hated how helpless she felt, trapped in a castle in the middle of a vicious storm that showed no signs of easing up. She sat up in bed and stretched her tired limbs, then scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders against the biting cold of morning.

Since there was nothing she could do about her situation, she focused instead on the small things she could control, such as getting dressed and straightening her bed. She was certain that Fiona would be upset with her for cleaning up a bit, but Beth wasn't the type who expected others to wait on her.

Once the bed was as close to perfect as she could get it, Beth went to the armoire where Fiona had placed her few dresses and her travel bag, and pulled out her simple brown dress with the long sleeves and square neckline. Though the gown was plain with no embellishments to draw the eye, Beth had always thought the gown complimented her figure and the neckline was quite charming. Besides that, it was a gown that her father had picked out for her on her last birthday.

Beth brushed a tear away and closed the armoire doors gently, not wanting to start the day off with such sad thoughts on her mind.

She pulled her hair into a loose braid and then checked herself in the mirror, giving her cheeks a light pinch to bring some color into them before she headed out the door.

In the hallway she was immediately greeted by the rich scent of bread mingled with the smell of coffee, and she rushed down the stairs and through several corridors before she found her way into a large kitchen.

The room was dimly lit, the orange glow from the fireplace in the far corner crawling up the stone wall. Cupboards lined the opposite wall, the counter beneath it nearly spotless save for the few serving dishes that Fiona had no doubt taken out for breakfast.

Beth smiled when she saw Mr. Leonard sitting hunched over in a small wooden chair in front of the fire, lighting his pipe.

"Good day, Miss," Mr. Leonard said when he caught sight of her.

"Good day," Beth smiled. "How are you faring this morning, Mr. Leonard?"

"Quite well," Mr. Leonard said, a puff of white smoke drifting from one corner of his mouth. "Didn't get much sleep though."

Beth took a small stool from the corner and sat down before the fire near him, warming her hands. "Neither did I. Did you hear the noises as well?"

"Noises? No, Miss." Mr. Leonard frowned. "It's just hard being away from my wife and daughter, is all."

"I am sorry, Mr. Leonard," Beth said sadly. "We wouldn't be in such a predicament if I hadn't insisted that we make haste."

Mr. Leonard patted her hands gently where they rested in her lap. "There, now dear girl. Don't go blaming yourself for this. I was just as eager to see this journey come to an end as quickly as possible, same as you. I've been on the road for too long without seeing my family. I miss them something awful."

Now it was Beth's turn to give him comfort, so she patted his hand softly and offered him a reassuring smile, which he returned.

"Beth!" Fiona cried, coming out of the pantry with several jars of preserves. "Good heavens dear, what are you doing up at this hour! I was going to prepare you some breakfast, I thought perhaps you might like to sup in your room this morning."

"Oh no, Fiona. I couldn't possibly spend my entire morning cooped up in my room when there is so much to explore."

Fiona paled for a moment then turned from Beth, busying herself with pouring coffee and slicing bread.

"I won't go anywhere I'm not supposed to, I assure you," Beth added, hoping that she might be able to bring up the strange events of the night before.

Fiona turned and placed her hands on her hips, eyeing Beth suspiciously. "You made that same promise just yesterday, and where did I find you last night? Sneaking about in the west wing."

"I was not sneaking Fiona!" Beth said defensively. "I just—"

"Seeing as you ladies have things to discuss, I'll take my leave," Mr. Leonard said, clearing his throat. He grabbed a cup of steaming coffee from the counter and hurried out the door, closing it tightly behind him.

"I was not sneaking," Beth murmured after a few moments of silence, feeling like a scolded child as she stared up at Fiona from her seat on the small stool. "I was in my room, when I heard the strangest sounds. I could have ignored them if they had happened only once, but then I heard it again. So, naturally, I went to see what it was. It sounded as though someone was in agony, yet at the same time it sounded almost…animal."

Fiona sighed then took a seat in the chair where Mr. Leonard had been sitting, the wooden frame creaking under Fiona's generous girth.

"It had to have been an animal outside, dear," Fiona said simply. "After all, what else could it be? I know you want it to be something far more extraordinary, seeing as how you are in a castle and all."

Beth opened her mouth to argue, but she could see that Fiona intended to stick to her explanation about the sounds, whether it satisfied Beth or not.

"Very well, Fiona," Beth said, eyeing the old woman skeptically.  Beth was willing to let the subject drop, but she was most definitely not satisfied. "I will take your word for it then."

"Good girl," Fiona said, clapping her hands on her knees and pushing up from her chair.

Beth stood quickly and helped Fiona to her feet, the older woman chuckling and saying something about how the cold made her joints stiff and uncooperative.

"I hope you're hungry, dear," Fiona said.

"Oh, yes," Beth said, though she was still full from the extravagant supper from the evening before.

It seemed Mr. Thorne had given her another reason to be irritated with him—he had abandoned her just when Fiona had come into the dining room the night before, serving Beth tray after tray of meats, cheeses, and rich puddings.

Yet even though Mr. Thorne was an infuriating man with a short temper, Beth still got butterflies in her stomach every time she recalled the tenderness of his kiss, and the feel of his soft lips on her hand.

"Fiona," Beth said as she stepped around the older woman and took a seat at the scuffed kitchen table. "May I ask you something? About Mr. Thorne?"

Fiona hesitated for a moment, then turned towards Beth. "Alright, dear."

"Last night, when we spoke…you mentioned that Mr. Thorne was ill," Beth said, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Is his situation very bad?"

Beth held her breath as she awaited Fiona's answer, not understanding the fear that ate away at her insides at the thought of Mr. Thorne's suffering.

"He has lived with his…ailment for many years," Fiona said slowly, as though she was trying to choose her words carefully. "The pain he suffers is awful to see, and I cannot imagine the agony that he goes through because of it. Most of the time he can live several weeks without incident, but lately—"

Fiona looked away sadly, tugging at the white apron around her plump middle.

Beth's heart sank at the thought of Mr. Thorne being ill. No wonder he was so distant, so closed off from the rest of the world. And when Beth added to that the terrible pain that Mr. Thorne suffered, she understood why he could sometimes be rather callous—he was in pain.

"I'm so very sorry Fiona," Beth whispered.

Fiona sighed, wiping at the tears in her eyes. Beth stood and wrapped her arms around the older woman's neck, hugging her close.

"You love him very much, don't you?"

"He is like a son to me," Fiona choked out. "I would do anything for him, just as Mr. Gibbs would."

"Mr. Thorne is very lucky to have you, Fiona," Beth said, her own tears running unchecked down her face. "I'm sure he loves you just as much. Even if he doesn't quite know how to show it."

Fiona chuckled, pulling away from Beth so that their eyes met. "You seem to know Mr. Thorne's manner very well already, dear."

Beth wiped her cheeks and smiled at Fiona, who was busy wiping at her own bloodshot eyes. "Well I'm sure he shows kindness more freely with you and Mr. Gibbs. After all, I am no more than a stranger to him. I suppose that is why I seem to bother him so."

Fiona laughed, shaking her head. "Trust me, dear. You are no bother. Especially not to Mr. Thorne. I daresay he enjoys your company very much."

"Well it doesn't seem that way to me," Beth said simply, taking her seat. "He can't even be in the same room with me. No matter what I say or do, I only irritate him more. I remain silent and he seems annoyed, I speak up and he looks positively disgusted—it seems there is no winning with that man."

Fiona laughed again, serving Beth a small plate of bacon with a slice of bread slathered in strawberry preserves.

"My dear," Fiona said, taking a seat across from Beth and pouring herself a large cup of coffee. "You are a smart young lady, clever, charming, quick-witted— which is why I can't believe you don't see what is right beneath your nose."

"Fiona what are you talking about?" Beth asked, reaching for her cup of coffee.

"It is quite obvious, Beth," Fiona said. "Mr. Thorne is falling in love with you."
Beth accidently spilled her cup of coffee across the table, apologizing as she moved quickly to clean up the mess, only to have her strawberry jam covered bread stick to the elbow of her gown. All the while, Fiona shook her head and laughed.

~~~

"What were you thinking, Mrs. Gibbs?" Garrett shouted, turning from the books spread across the table in his laboratory to stare down at the stout woman.

"I did what I thought was best to appease the young lady's curiosity," Mrs. Gibbs said with a tight nod that meant there was no room for argument. "I needed to tell her something, sir. She is no fool, after all. Would you rather Miss Townsend discover the truth?"

Garrett raked a hand through his hair and began to pace, trying to decide if what Mrs. Gibbs had done was going to do more harm than good.

"So now she thinks I'm some sickly man who is in constant pain?" Garrett asked, wondering how Miss Townsend had reacted to Mrs. Gibbs revelation.

"At least it explains away your behavior," Fiona muttered.

"And what is that supposed to mean, Mrs. Gibbs?" Garrett demanded. Not that he needed to ask. He had been a dreadful host at dinner, had nearly brought Miss Townsend to tears. He hadn't slept at all that night thinking over what he had said—and how Miss Townsend had called him out on his crass words.

But more than anything he couldn't stop thinking about their kiss. Though it hadn't been planted where he had truly wanted it to be, it had sent a spark through him that was unlike anything he had ever known. If such a small kiss could induce such a reaction, Garrett wondered what a well placed kiss to Miss Townsend's lips might do.

I hope I shall have the chance to find out.

"Miss Townsend thinks that you hate her," Mrs. Gibbs said, the anger in her voice cutting through Garrett's thoughts. "She believes she can do no right in your eyes, no matter what she says or does. And she is certain that you think she is beneath you."

"I never said—" Garrett barked, but Mrs. Gibbs raised her hand to silence him. It amazed him that after so many years he still feared Mrs. Gibbs and the fiery temper that matched her wild red hair.

"You didn't have to say anything. Your behavior has been positively dreadful, and you know it." Fiona sighed, then went on. "Peter tells me you were trying to distance yourself from the young lady, to protect her. But don't you see how cruel your words have been? How deeply you have hurt the young lady?"

Garrett glanced away, too ashamed to meet the furious gaze of the woman who all but raised him. She was right, after all, and the shame of that awareness was more painful than the curse that had plagued him for so many years.

"Does she—" Garrett cleared his throat then glanced at Mrs. Gibbs. "Does Miss Townsend despise me? For what I have said to her? For the way I have treated her?"

Mrs. Gibbs face softened and she stepped closer. "Of course not, dear. She wants to know you, I am certain of that much. I can see that she is…intrigued by you."

Garrett nodded slowly. Intrigued? That sounded promising, and he was more than a little relieved to know that she didn't hate him.

"Now then," Mrs. Gibbs said, straightening his cravat and smoothing the hair back from his face. "Miss Townsend is in the library, last I checked."

"I'm in the middle of a very important—" Garrett began.

"It can wait," Mrs. Gibbs said.

"I assure you it cannot," Garrett said. "The full moon will be upon us soon, and I have yet to—"

"Yes, yes," Mrs. Gibbs said with a wave of her hand. "Your formula is not yet perfected and so on. But you have had great success so far, have you not? The formula can stop the transformation for several hours, isn't that so?"

"Yes," Garrett said irritably. "But you forget, Mrs. Gibbs, that during the days before my transformation these past months I have experienced spontaneous transformation on the nights before the moon is even full. Just last night I had to administer the formula because my teeth had begun to elongate and my bones—"

Garrett grimaced as he recalled the agonizing pain that came during his transformation, when his bones cracked and broke to accommodate his new form.

"It's just a morning stroll through the castle," Mrs. Gibbs said gently. "Miss Townsend may not be here very much longer, and I am certain that you would enjoy spending some time with her. And knowing you, my dear, you will regret it for the rest of your days if you don't take this chance with her."

"How is it that you always know just what to say to put things in perspective, Mrs. Gibbs?" Garrett asked, marveling at the older woman's insightfulness.

"You only think I have a unique perspective, my dear," Mrs. Gibbs chuckled, practically pushing him towards the door. "When in truth, everything I have said already lies within your own heart."

Garrett shook his head as he made his way down the hall, knowing Mrs. Gibbs was right.
He had been thinking about Miss Townsend all morning, hoping for an excuse to seek her out. And thanks to Mrs. Gibbs, he had one. After all, he wouldn't want to disappoint Mrs. Gibbs.

~~~

The ballroom was unlike anything Beth could have imagined in her wildest dreams. It was at least three times larger than the small two bedroom cottage that she and her father had shared, with high vaulted ceilings painted with small cherubs looking down at her from the clouds. A set of large glass doors at the far end of the ballroom led out onto a small terrace, which at the moment was buried beneath several feet of snow.

Large mirrors etched with vines and roses were attached to the walls, making the room seem far more enormous than it already was. The floor beneath Beth's feet was of a dark green marble, the rich color broken up by filigree in a shade of pale gold.
Along the walls between the evenly spaced mirrors stood statues carved of white marble, so detailed and lifelike that Beth felt somewhat uncomfortable whenever her back was to one of them.

Beth was looking over the effigy of a Roman soldier poised for battle when she caught a glimpse of her appearance in one of the mirrors. She frowned at her plain reflection, her dress to dark for her fair complexion and her hair pulled in a braid that made her look positively common.

Being in such a grand ballroom made her realize that such a life of elegance and beauty would never be meant for her, and for some reason it filled her with sorrow. She had never been one of those ladies who needed material things to fulfill her life, so why did she suddenly long for such extravagance?

Because he would be a part of it, came a whisper from the deepest part of her mind.

She couldn't help but laugh at such a ridiculous notion. Mr. Thorne? And she? Even after what Fiona had said, Beth knew it would never happen. Though the very idea that Mr. Thorne might fall in love with her was oddly thrilling, she knew that he couldn't possibly see her in that light. Just looking at herself in the mirror made that point clear.

"I have thought long enough about Mr. Thorne," Beth said to her reflection in a somewhat motherly tone. "So for now, I want to do something that I daresay all young ladies dream of at some point in their lives. I want to dance in a ballroom."

She thought back to the last time she had danced—not merely skipping about whilst doing her chores but truly dancing—smiling when she recalled her towns annual Christmas Festival. Beth had been sixteen at the time, and had been thrilled when the Blacksmith's son, Jacob, had asked her to dance. It had been a thrilling evening, her first real dance, which had ended with a clumsy but sweet kiss on the pathway leading to her home.

But that had been a lifetime ago, at least that was how it felt. Beth wasn't that girl anymore, the girl who had been so full of life, the girl who had been unaware that the world could be a cruel and evil place. It was Edmund Leech that had shattered her illusion of how sweet life could be, making her father's death and the events that followed painful to recall.

"We'll have none of that," she told her teary eyed reflection. "This is a party, after all."

She felt silly for talking to herself, for pretending. But deep down Beth knew that she needed this small escape from the reality that she knew. She wanted to recapture some of the joy that had once been her constant companion. Unfortunately, Beth wasn't sure that she remembered the steps of a single dance, not even her favorite; the minuet.

"It isn't something one forgets," Beth said, tapping her cheek. She turned from her reflection and walked to the center of the ballroom, directly beneath the massive crystal chandelier which dangled from above.

Beth glanced towards the door to be sure that it was closed tight—the last thing she wanted was for someone to walk in on her while she lived out a girlish fantasy, namely Mr. Thorne.

She took a deep breath and curtsied to her invisible dance partner, blushing when she realized just how easy it was to imagine Mr. Thorne standing before her, looking as handsome as ever in some dark brown frock coat with his hair pulled back from his face.

Beth laughed at her foolish thoughts, certain that a man like Mr. Thorne would never be caught dead at such a frivolous party. She could just imagine him, brooding in the corner, thinking the whole thing was a ridiculous waste of time.

She shook her head, pushing her thoughts of Mr. Thorne aside—at least for the moment— then she took a step forward, her right hand outstretched. Or was it supposed to be her left?

"That isn't right," she said with a disappointed huff.

Beth brought her hand to her lips and nibbled absently at her fingernail, willing the steps that once came so easily to pop back into her head at her command, but still they refused to come to her.

She tried once more to remember the dance, counting in her head as she moved, the only sound in the room the swish of her skirts and the howl of the wind outside.

"It's no use," Beth muttered, crossing her arms. "I can't believe I've forgotten it."

She looked around the empty room, no longer seeming like a grand ballroom but rather a dark and depressing tomb. How long had it been since anyone had danced in the lovely space? How long had it sat empty, without the sound of laughter and music— how long had it gone without light?

Beth couldn't believe the strange turn her thoughts had taken. Was she truly feeling sorry for a room? It seemed a silly thing to be so concerned over, but deep down she knew that Mr. Thorne was exactly like the ballroom. Lonely, hollow, devoid of the happiness and love that it was made to encompass.

Beth stood quietly for several moments, just thinking about Mr. Thorne, and the loneliness that came from the way that he lived. Not only was he isolated, but now she knew that he was dealing with a terrible illness that was painful and incurable. She knew he would be furious if he thought that she took pity on him, but what she felt was not pity. What Beth felt was a desire to take care of Mr. Thorne, to help him in any way she could. Yet she was sure that Mr. Thorne would be disgusted by such a gesture.

The sound of the wind outside, and the way it whistled between the seams of the French doors caught Beth's attention, and for some odd reason it reminded her of a melody she hadn't heard since she was a girl. Before she knew it she was moving her feet. She still couldn't manage to remember the steps of the minuet, but that didn't bother her in the least, because she was dancing as she used to—from her heart.

Beth's skirts pooled around her as she twirled, her braided hair whipping about her shoulders, and before she knew it, she was laughing. She hadn't behaved so freely since she was a child, dancing because the feeling struck, laughing even though there was nothing particularly funny about a situation.

And she was laughing, the sound of her melodious giggles reaching to the rafters. She was sure that if someone were to walk in and see her in such a state, they would think that she had gone mad. But they couldn't understand how hard her life had been during the past year, devoid of laughter and fun. Heartache had ruled her life for so long, and she found it odd that she had finally discovered her light once more in such a dark and oppressing castle.

For some reason that realization made her laugh harder.

Beth's laughter stopped abruptly when she twirled for nearly the hundredth time and her eyes locked with Mr. Thorne's.

She stopped with her back to him, clasping her hands tightly behind her back and letting out a shaky breath before she turned to face him.

"Mr. Thorne!" Beth swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath. Dancing like a wild banshee certainly was freeing, but quite exhausting, she was now coming to realize. "I…um…you see sir….h-how long have you been standing there?"

Mr. Thorne closed the door and stepped further into the room. "Long enough."

Long enough? What does that mean? Long enough to see what a little fool I am? Long enough to see that I lack any kind of grace?

"What on Earth were you doing?" Mr. Thorne asked, his tone amused.

"Dancing," Beth said defensively, swiping a loose strand of hair out of her face.

"Dancing?" Mr. Thorne said, crossing his arms. "Well if that is how the young ladies are dancing these days, then I daresay I have been out of society for far too long."

Beth felt heat rise in her cheeks under his steady gaze, and she looked down at the floor. Mr. Thorne was completely silent, and when Beth dared a glance in his direction he was standing as still as a statue, looking her over.

"I couldn't remember the steps," Beth murmured weakly, wanting to fill the silence that was swallowing her up, hoping that she would get through a conversation with Mr. Thorne without facing further humiliation.

"You dance very well, Miss Townsend," Mr. Thorne said softly. "Very…passionately. I must confess I have never seen anything quite so captivating."

Beth's head shot up and she met his gaze. He was mere feet from her now, which she found odd since she hadn't heard him move. What she found stranger was what Mr. Thorne had said. Had it truly been a compliment, just for her? Even though she had been dancing and laughing like a madwoman in his elegant ballroom, he found her captivating?

Beth wasn't sure if the heat blossoming in her cheeks was from the exertion of her dancing or from Mr. Thorne's compliment. She hoped it was the former, because she couldn't afford to be vulnerable around Mr. Thorne again. For some reason, beyond her understanding, he had a tight hold on her heart and she knew that one word from him could easily crush it.

"Although," Mr. Thorne said, glancing down at his boots as he closed the distance between them, "I know of a way that your dancing could be greatly improved.

"Oh?" Beth braced herself for one of his usual cutting remarks, already telling herself that she would react with more calm than she had at dinner the night before. "And how would that be, Mr. Thorne?"

He looked at her as though the answer should have been quite obvious. "Why, with a dance partner, of course."

Mr. Thorne stepped closer but she inched around him and towards the door, smiling apologetically. "Perhaps another time, sir. I'm quite tired out, you see. And I really should—"

"I wasn't asking, Miss Townsend," Mr. Thorne said, his voice low.

Beth swallowed hard and glanced towards the door, wishing she had spent the morning in her room rather than feeding her silly desire to explore the castle.

Mr. Thorne swore under his breath and raked a hand through his hair, his lips a grim line of determination. "Won't you please do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Townsend?"
Beth eyed him warily, but offered a slight nod. She was certain that even if she did refuse him he wouldn't have allowed her to leave.

Mr. Thorne held out his hand, which Beth took, tingles of pleasure crawling up her arm at the light contact. He led her to the center of the room, taking a step back so that they were facing one another. He bowed low, but never took his eyes from her face, and when

Beth curtsied, she found that she was unable to pull her eyes away from him as well.
Mr. Thorne offered her his right hand, and as if from memory, Beth placed her left hand atop his. With small steps they began to move, and Beth couldn't help but smile up at him when she realized what they were doing.

"The minuet!" Beth laughed as she tapped her foot. "The very dance I was trying to recall! You have saved the day, Mr. Thorne."

To Beth's great surprise, Mr. Thorne smiled down at her, revealing his perfectly straight white teeth. His whole face lit up when he smiled, especially his eyes. Beth was so busy staring up into that handsome smile—that smile just for her— that she stumbled slightly on the next turn. Mr. Thorne caught her by the elbow easily with his other hand, and helped her steady herself. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes with a meek smile, making him chuckle. Beth would have never imagined that she was the type of young lady who would become so overwhelmed by a mere glance from a man.

Just you wait and see, Beth dearest, her friends had teased. Someday you will become just like one of those ladies in the novels that you always laugh about—tripping all over your skirts because of a man.

Beth shook her head. Apparently, they had been right.

~~~

Garrett stared down into the bright brown eyes of the little siren he had found dancing around in his ballroom. He had never seen anything in his life as beautiful as Miss Townsend's passionate dancing. He only wished she hadn't spotted him watching her, for he could have spent the entire morning simply watching her move.

"You're awfully quiet, Miss Townsend," Garrett said softly. She had been so deep in thought that she looked almost startled when she looked up into his eyes.

"I suppose I have nothing to say," she said, but Garrett could see by the way she was nibbling away at her bottom lip that she was anxious to say something.

Garrett frowned. It was strange how quickly he had memorized her little quirks. Such as the way that her eyebrow shot up when she was amused, how she toyed with her hair when she was nervous. But the one thing that he couldn't seem to get out of his mind was the way she had trembled when he had kissed her delicate hand.

Garrett cleared his throat, hoping that if he engaged Miss Townsend in conversation he might take his mind off of her nearness, as impossible as that notion seemed.

"Nothing to say?" Garrett said with a hint of teasing in his voice that he didn't quite recognize. "I find that very hard to believe, Miss Townsend."

Miss Townsend smiled up at him, her cheeks a lovely shade of pink, strands of her thick brown hair curling around her face where they had come free of their braid.

"Well I do suppose I have a few things to say," Miss Townsend said, as Garrett turned her and she tapped her foot. "Or rather, a question to ask."

"Alright, Miss Townsend."

"What were those strange noises I heard last night?" Miss Townsend asked, her gaze unwavering.

Get's right to the point, doesn't she? Garrett thought.

Garrett didn't miss a beat in their dancing, but his jaw clenched tight at the probing question. "I thought Mrs. Gibbs explained it to you perfectly well last night, Miss Townsend. It was nothing more than sound carrying from the woods below. Perhaps animals. Perhaps the wind. I suppose we will never know for sure."

"Yes I know what I was told to believe Mr. Thorne," Miss Townsend said, clearly frustrated. "But I know what I heard. And it was not outside, it was in this very castle. In fact, I am certain that it came from the west wing."

Garrett froze mid step, turning his icy gaze on her. "You are mistaken, Miss Townsend."

She glared up at him, a look that Garrett found both amusing and endearing. It seemed the young lady was not one to back down from an argument, not even with him.

"No, I am most definitely not mistaken," Miss Townsend said, pulling her hand from his grip. "I know what I heard, because you and Mrs. Gibbs heard it too. Something very strange is going on here, sir. At least have the decency to admit that much."

"I will admit to nothing, for there is nothing to admit," Garrett said evenly. He hated lying to her, but what choice did he have? Revealing even the smallest detail of what he was would only lead to disaster.

She let out a frustrated sigh, tugging at the thick braid of hair hanging over her shoulder.

Garrett took a step closer, his voice softening. "You're in a strange place, Miss Townsend, far from the normalcy that you are accustomed to. Even the most seasoned traveler would be frightened by the peculiar sounds that more often than not can be traced to natural sources. I must confess that I often hear strange noises in the night, and though I am certain they are merely carried to me from the wind, they are still quite unnerving."

"Why do you stay in this place, then?" Miss Townsend asked, casting him a confused gaze. "While I must admit that it is beautiful here, it is so isolated. And if strange sounds in the night are commonplace as you say…I simply don't understand why you would subject yourself to such anxiety."

Garrett frowned. He wished he could simply tell her everything, tell her that he wasn't isolating himself, but rather he was trying to keep from harming any innocent people.

"It is my choice to stay," Garrett said flatly, though his voice lacked the conviction of his words. "It is my ancestral home, after all, and I—"

"But you are quite ill, as I understand it. Wouldn't it better suit your needs to live closer to civilization?" Miss Townsend asked, covering her mouth abruptly as her eyes widened with shock. "Please forgive me sir, I spoke out of turn. I meant no offense…I was only—"

Garrett shook his head as her words died away, but he wasn't angry with her. Her question had come from curiosity, perhaps even concern—though he couldn't dare to hope for that.

"It's alright Miss Townsend, I assure you," Garrett said, and was warmed to see an apologetic smile spread across her lovely lips. "There is no cure for my illness, you see. Therefore I see no point in leaving this place. Furthermore, you only need look at me to understand yet another reason why I remain here. After all, why should I force others to look upon something so…unpleasant?"

"Your face isn't unpleasant," Miss Townsend murmured, stepping closer.

Garrett closed his eyes, wishing that her words were true, but he knew that she had only meant to be kind.

Garrett's eyes shot open when he felt Miss Townsend's smooth fingers moving across his face. Her touch was feather light, barely more than a whisper across his skin. Her touch was tentative and a bit unsure, but there was no fear in her eyes as her delicate fingers roamed along his scar.

Garrett didn't deserve her tenderness or her concern, but it warmed him to be receiving her affection just the same. Garrett kept his hands clenched at his sides to keep himself from taking advantage of her attention—but every fiber of his being screamed that he should pull her into his arms and brand her with a searing kiss. Such an act would be his undoing, because he knew that once he had a taste of her, he would never let her go.

In that moment, as Garrett looked into those sweet, trusting brown eyes and felt her gentle touch on his skin, he made a decision that would change Miss Townsend's life forever.

Miss Townsend must have seen something in his eyes that she didn't like, because she pulled her hand away as if burned, embarrassment marring her lovely features.

"Forgive my boldness, Mr. Thorne," she said, sounding somewhat breathless. "I hope I didn't offend you," Miss Townsend said carefully, her brows knitted together with concern. "I do apologize for my behavior, Mr. Thorne. I was so caught up in our dancing and our conversation, I daresay I forgot myself."

She looked positively mortified by her behavior, and Garrett wanted so much to tell her that he had enjoyed her attention, that no one had ever shown such trust and kindness to him.

Instead, he stood frozen as she took several tentative steps away from him.

Garrett didn't like the feeling of hollowness that consumed him when she was no longer close by—it was a feeling he had lived with for years after all—and now that he had found the cure for his sorrow in the form of a graceful young beauty, he would have to be a fool to ever willingly part with her.

The silence had stretched on for far too long, he realized, when Miss Townsend spoke.

"My behavior has clearly offended you," she said quietly. "I shall be going then. Good day sir."

She moved towards the door quickly, but Garrett was quicker. He stepped between her and her means of escape, his action eliciting a sigh of frustration from Miss Townsend.

"You did not offend me, Miss Townsend," he said, taking her hand and kissing the top of it lightly. He loved the way her eyes widened at the small contact, the way that her cheeks reddened under his gaze.

"Oh," she breathed. "I-I'm very glad to hear that, Mr. Thorne."

"I have enjoyed this time with you…very much," Garrett said slowly, hoping that he wasn't making a fool of himself by admitting that to her.

"As have I," Miss Townsend murmured. "Thank you very much for the dance, Mr. Thorne."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Townsend," Garrett said. "Make no mistake about that."

He bowed his head slightly and left the room before he did something foolish, like spoil such a sweet moment with a cruel remark, or worse, by forcing a kiss onto Miss Townsend.

There would be plenty of time to try for a kiss in the future, since he had already decided to do something that Miss Townsend would hate him for.

Garrett rushed up the main staircase, taking the steps two at a time, not even noticing Mrs. Gibbs standing at the top of the stairs, a soiled cloth and a tin of wood polish in her hand.

"Well?" Mrs. Gibbs asked when she saw him.

"Well what, Mrs. Gibbs?" Garrett asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"How was your time with dear Miss Townsend?" Mrs. Gibbs demanded, her rounded fists digging into her hips.

"Very…enlightening," Garrett murmured, not bothering to stop and speak with Mrs. Gibbs. After all, he had a very pressing matter to attend to, and therefore had no time for idle gossip.

"Is that all you have to say?" Mrs. Gibbs called after him. "Really, sir, you must give me more than that!"

Garrett passed the door to his laboratory and went straight into his study, which lay further down the hall. After taking a seat behind his large mahogany desk with a sigh, he tugged loose his red silk cravat and tossed it on the desk, tugging his collar away from his neck. He sat quietly for several minutes, contemplating what he was about to do.

"She will most certainly despise me for this," he muttered into the empty room.

But if I don't do it, she will leave, Garrett thought. She will leave and I will never see her again. And I can't let her go, I simply refuse to.

Garrett rose from his seat and went to a small round table near the fireplace, taking up his decanter and pouring himself a generous glass of port. He emptied the glass in a single swallow, then filled it again, returning to his desk.

He stared down at the blank stack of parchment for several moments, before finally taking up his quill and dipped it lightly into the small glass inkpot, writting a letter to Lord Cossington that would seal Miss Townsend's fate.

She will never forgive me, Garrett thought as he wrote furiously. But at least I will have her.

~~~

"Leaving?" Beth cried, standing so abruptly that the book that had been open on her lap tumbled to the floor with a thud.

"Yes, Miss Townsend," Mr. Leonard said, clutching his hat anxiously in his hands. "Mr. Gibbs and the gentlemen both agreed that the road would be clear enough for me to get through before the weather turns bad again."

Beth turned towards the large window in the sitting room, staring out over the blanket of white snow. She had been thrilled that morning to see that the storm had let up some, and that rays of sunlight peeked out from between the dark clouds.

"I'm coming with you," Beth said, turning towards Mr. Leonard.

"I don't think that would be wise, Miss," Mr. Leonard said sternly. "I will be riding with haste, and the journey will be treacherous. Besides, you would only slow me down."

"I am not an inexperienced rider, Mr. Leonard," Beth said, crossing her arms.

"I didn't say you were, dear," Mr. Leonard chuckled, patting her arm. "I'm just looking out for your safety is all."

Beth sank back down into her chair, picking up the overturned book on the floor and placing it on the table beside her. "I feel so helpless."

"You're worried about your position with the Cossington's, is that it?" Mr. Leonard said gently.

"We've been here for two days now, Mr. Leonard." Beth wiped at the tears in her eyes, the fear of her uncertain future looming over her. "I should be on my way to Cossington Manor as we speak, and instead I'm stuck in this medieval castle far from the rest of the world."

"I know it feels hopeless, Miss. But I have something that will brighten your mood, no doubt."

Mr. Leonard pulled a sealed envelope from inside his jacket, chuckling when Beth shook her head in confusion.

"What is that?" Beth asked, reaching for the envelope.

Mr. Leonard pulled it out of her reach and tucked the letter back inside his coat, giving it several pats. "Now, now, I have my orders. This letter is to be placed directly into Lord Cossington's hands, no one else is to touch it. Mr. Thorne made that very clear."

"Lord Cossington?" Beth raised her eyebrow, a wide grin spreading across her face. "A letter about my situation? A letter asking that they hold my position? Please, Mr. Leonard, you must tell me what it says!"

"Mr. Thorne only said that the letter would help secure your future," Mr. Leonard said with a shrug. "Mrs. Gibbs is certain that the gentleman is looking out for your best interest, and I would have to agree."

"I believe you are right." Beth murmured, awed by Mr. Thorne's kindness on her behalf. "I only wish you didn't have to go, Mr. Leonard. I am going to miss your company."

"No, I think you will only miss having yet another chance to best me at chess," Mr. Leonard laughed.

Beth felt a pang of sadness when she realized that she would not be playing chess with Mr. Leonard after lunch, a game made more fun by the exaggerated grunts and mutters made by Mr. Leonard when she managed to steal away one of his pieces.

But it was more than that—Beth had grown quite fond of the older gentlemen, and was going to miss him terribly. She swallowed her tears and managed a bright smile so he wouldn't think she was silly for growing so attached to him in such a short time.

"Thank you so much for everything, Mr. Leonard. I hope you know how truly sorry I am about the accident." Beth managed, wiping at her eyes. "I hope that I haven't caused you too much trouble."

Mr. Leonard waved his hand, his wrinkled face crinkling as he grinned wide. "Don't you worry about that any longer, dear girl. Mr. Thorne was kind enough to invest in my future with the carriage company. He has seen fit to give me enough to buy a fine new carriage and several well bred horses."

"He did that? That was very generous of him." Beth said, wondering why Mr. Thorne had extended such a kindness in the first place. He didn't know Mr. Leonard, and he certainly owed the man nothing. If anything, it was Beth and Mr. Leonard that were indebted to him.

Yet the fact that Mr. Thorne had gone out of his way for Mr. Leonard warmed her heart, and she couldn't wait to thank him for such a selfless act.

"Begging your pardon," Mr. Gibbs said as he knocked lightly on the open door. "But your horse is ready, Mr. Leonard."

"I suppose that means it is time for you to go," Beth said sadly, standing and giving Mr. Leonard a small hug before tugging the collar of his coat firmly around his neck as she had done for her father countless times in the past. "You be careful, Mr. Leonard. And have a safe journey."

"I'll be fine dear, not to worry. It will take a lot more than a bit of bad weather to do in an ornery old man like myself." Mr. Leonard patted her cheek lightly, smiling. "You take care of yourself, and keep your chin up. Everything will be fine in the end, you'll see."

With that he turned away and followed Mr. Gibbs out the door, leaving Beth alone with her thoughts.

Beth glanced out the window and watched as Mr. Leonard swung up onto a large brown gelding, Mr. Gibbs and Mr. Thorne speaking to him briefly before he rode down the pathway and through the gates, disappearing out of sight.

Beth stood frozen for several minutes, staring at the large gates, her skin prickling as she realized that, with Mr. Leonard gone, she would have to rely on Mr. Thorne to get her safely to Cossington Manor once the storm passed.

What if he won't let me leave?

Beth shook her head at such a silly notion. Why wouldn't he let her leave? After all, he had been kind enough to write a letter to Lord Cossington on her behalf, and it pleased her that he knew just how important a position with that family was to her.

When Beth finally pulled her eyes away from the gates, she saw Mr. Thorne walking with Mr. Gibbs towards the castle, and for a moment she wondered what it would be like to remain there, with Mr. Thorne. He was warming up to her somewhat, and had been the embodiment of a gentlemen during the few brief moments when they saw each other in the hall or on the stairs since the morning before when they had danced.

Beth was so deep in thought that she didn't realize that she was staring openly at Mr. Thorne, who had stopped in his tracks to stare right back.

Beth smiled politely and lifted her hand in a small wave, but Mr. Thorne made no move to return the gesture. Instead, he continued to stare at her, as a wolf might stare at a wounded fawn, his eyes dragging over her form. Beth shivered, lowering her hand slowly when his eyes met hers, and she saw that there was something all wrong about the color of his eyes—they appeared to be silver just as they had been two nights before.

It's a trick of the light—nothing more. Beth told herself over and over again.

Yet she had the same feeling as the night she had heard the strange noises—the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Beth inched away from the window and sat down in the small chair before the fireplace, contemplating what she had seen.

"It was nothing," Beth murmured, though her voice trembled. "I will be on my way soon enough, and whatever is going on here will be a distant memory."

She only hoped that her curiosity wouldn't get the better of her before then.