Beautiful Torment *Book One of the Beautiful series*

3) Breakfast

The servants quarters were built on the east side of Granston House so that every morning it was the rising sun that roused Lucy and the rest of the staff from their beds. The sun, however, was not quite up when Rosalind shook the young girl awake. Outside the window, the sky was painted a stale gray with the smallest strip of gold clinging to the horizon.

Lucy yawned. Her muscles felt stiff and tired as if she were a decrepit old woman instead of a spry young maid of only eighteen winters.

"What is going on?" she asked Rosalind, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. The stretched neckline of her white nightgown slipped over her shoulder. Like most of her clothing, it was too big. Everything she wore was handed down from the other girls, and Lucy was the smallest one in the house. Something they all took care to remind her about with constant teasing that sometimes bordered on abuse.

"Madam wants us in our best dresses. The butter on bacon as she put it. Wash up, quickly. You have got cinder on your nose. Brush your hair. Clean your teeth. Do it fast."

Lucy frowned, trying to remember if today was some sort of holiday she had forgotten about. Or perhaps they were expecting rich callers this afternoon...She yawned, stretching her arms overhead. It was then, mid stretch, that the memories of the previous night hit her like a barrel of bricks.

The Duke...Could he still be here? His manservant had been so certain they would leave the moment the deed was done. "He is still here then, the Duke?" she asked softly.

Rosalind nodded, her movement around the room was that of a whirlwind. She threw open the doors of their shared wardrobe, the thing older than the gods themselves, and skimmed the meager selection within. After a moment of deliberation, she settled on a pale blue gown with white lace trim for herself and a dusk rose with a low straight neckline for Lucy.

Though the light pink color brought out the mint green shade of her eyes, Lucy hated the way it pushed her breasts nearly to her chin. Paired with the skin tight corset, it made even the simplest chores a challenge. "Is this really necessary, Rosalind? I cannot stand this thing."

"Madam's orders," Rosalind said back as she peeled out of her nightgown and began pulling on the layers of underclothes required for the fanciful dresses. "There is fresh water in the basin. Wash up. No cheek today unless you want a meeting with the Madam's cane. She is in a mood- already hit me once this morning for looking at her wrong," she whispered, rubbing a budding red welt on her arm.

Lucy's shoulders sagged, but she stood up and went to the washing basin. Just as Rosalind said, its waters were clean and cool. She splashed her face and neck, rubbing in circles until her fair skin blushed pink and fresh. Once clean, she toweled off and started the tedious task of pulling on her underclothes. The girls took turns helping tighten and tie each other's corsets and button the backs of their dresses closed. Rosalind had pinned her blonde hair back into a loose bun, and she helped Lucy braid her long auburn locks before tying it off with white ribbon.

"You are a vision, Luce," Rosalind said softly in Lucy's ear as they stared into the small mirror that hung over their wash stand.

Lucy felt herself flush, unused to compliments. Though Rosalind was only a few years older than Lucy, she had a hardness of someone twice their age. Life had not been kind, but the girl rarely spoke of her trials, instead remaining closed off and cold towards almost everyone. Yet, there was a sweetness in her that she reserved only for Lucy, and only when they were alone.

"We must hurry. Bernadette is waiting for you in the kitchen with the Duke's tea. Ivy has taken ill in the night, which explains why she did not help the madam when the Duke arrived. So I am at the witch's beck and call today." A bitter edge wove within Rosalind's words as she smoothed the front of her dress and pulled the door open. Her hand swept forward, motioning for Lucy to go first, which she did.

The halls were dark and quiet. Whatever servants were not awake and set to work were still sleeping soundly in their beds. Lucy envied them. The girls moved hurriedly, following the designated service halls that led to the kitchen, but they had to part ways before entering.

"I will see you at luncheon," Rosalind said, giving Lucy's hand a small squeeze. The girl nodded and made her way into the kitchens, set deep within Granston Houses' underbelly.

She caught the sound of Bernadette's cursing long before she reached the bottom of the stairs and saw her. The old cook was in a frenzy, covered in flour and a thin layer of sweat.

"Useless girls! Where are they?" she raged to herself before catching sight of Lucy's approach. "Thank the gods, finally some help. Nance was nowhere to be found this morn', off frolicking with the gardener I suppose. Helena's tending poor ivy. I need this tea brought up to the Duke, now."

Lucy shivered, remembering the crawling feeling the Duke had given her the night before when she led him up to Isabelle. Predatory. The thought of being in his presence again made her feel sick to her stomach. "Could not I bring something out to the manservant again? Or go fetch Nancy for you?" She asked desperately and attempted to hide her blush at the thought of the Duke's servant. Trying to tell herself that she only wanted to go talk to him to make sure he did not snitch on her for spoiling his dinner, but the thoughts fell flat. Her own heart, racing at the memory of his dark eyes and wry smile, ratted out her true intention. She simply wanted to see him again.

"Gods above, girl! What world do you live in? Some twisted place where servants are treated before their masters?" Bernadette crowed. "Bring him the tea and inform him that Madam Caledonia requests his presence in the dining room for breakfast. Go now."

It was clear the cook was not expecting Lucy to respond by the way she thrust the tea tray into her hands and spun her towards the door. As she slowly climbed the stairs, she looked down at the careful arrangement Bernadette had created. Everything was served in the madam's finest porcelain. The flowered pot with two cups, saucers, sugar, and cream. To top it all off, beautifully iced cake squares surrounded by grapes sat off to the side. Lucy's stomach grumbled at the sight, but she did not dare nab a single fat grape. The walls had eyes. Someone was always watching at Granston House.

At Isabelle's door, she took in a deep shaky breath and crossed her fingers that the Duke would still be asleep. She could slip in, set his tray down, and make a quick exit. Surely, Madam Caledonia could send someone else to summon him for breakfast once he woke.

The door creaked softly when she pushed it open and made her cringed at the sound. Her eyes shot straight to the canopied bed where Isabelle and the Duke slept. Isabelle lay naked as the day she was born and the Duke in nothing but a pair of thin white bloomers. His bare chest was thick with muscle that one did not typically see in royalty, as most were fat and lazy. Feeling scandalous for looking, Lucy quickly turned her face away, her eyes set on the tea table near the two lounge chairs. Unfortunately, the surface was covered in empty wine goblets and the remainder of the Duke's dinner that had not yet been cleared away. Lucy scanned the room, looking for a spot to set the heavy tray. The only place big enough was the oak nightstand on the Duke's side of the bed.

Tiptoeing, Lucy made her way towards it. The silver teaspoon rattled softly, but neither the Duke nor his whore stirred at the sound. She lowered it down and carefully peeled her fingers away, hardly daring to breathe. Almost thinking herself successful until a searching touch grabbed a handful of the back of her dress. The assailant's hand found the hem, dipped under, and made to travel up her leg to her most intimate places beneath.

Letting out a yelp and, without thinking, slapped the hand away before stumbling forward into the dresser. She gripped the edge of it to steady herself, her fingers turned white at the tips. Dread pooled its way from the pit of her stomach and boiled up into her chest. She thought perhaps it would flood her lungs and she might drown in it.

Before she could turn around to apologize, the Duke was upon her. His hands grabbed her upper arms and used the grip to spin her around so she was forced to face him. When she failed to meet his eyes, his large hand clamped under her chin, cold fingers pressing into both sides of her cheeks hard enough that she felt her teeth bite into them.