To England, With Love

Chapter VI: When Ladies of a Feather...

Garden of the Chatsworth House ~ September 1818

The Duke of Devonshire had freakishly unnatural eyes. They were magnificent, and bewitching and unreal and, childishly, infinitesimally, Bella had thought them to be even supernatural.

Bella was naught one to judge in the eyes faction of a person's facial features. She was, all and after, a mulatto with eyes as blue and as expressive as a full white man; as her father.

But as she toured the estate in the noon with Duke William Cavendish, (who most likely had a copious amount of work to accomplish), with the British, tentative sun caressing his face, and the serene, yet meticulously decorated nature that chirped and blossomed and bloomed around him, and the mechanical movements of his mouth as if he had given this tour umpteen of times; his irises appeared almost amber, a cool amber; like two rather unreal and misplaceful looking pupils.

Once in a while, his piercing glare swung to her face, impaling her; combined with his immaculately combed blond halo, his perpetual cold smile and his deep, dark aura, he seemed even more beautiful, and Bella fought tooth and nail to reign in her attraction towards him, remembering how unpleasant he actually was while shooting her regular snark and wit his way all afternoon.

The truth was that, his eyes were mesmerising and one could see why the Cavendish line held pride over their most notable, dominant feature. The Duke, however, had naught seemed too fond of his eyes or any part of his anatomy, for that matter. Apparently, her beauty was in the eyes of the beholder but his clearly was naught. If Bella thought her guess it be educated, the Duke may or may naught have been a wee bit annoyed by his beauty.

He was naught to be blamed after all. From her observations, the average Englishman was as thin and wiry and pale as a whitewashed beanpole. As a Duke, his beauty would have preceded his power almost comically, which probably is what would have been a contributor to his cold demeanour?

Bella did naught know.

As soon as he had offered the tour of his estate, he had practically ran the society out of his home and Caroline had playfully rebuked them soundly, behind their backs of course, instead of to their faces; much to the Duchess' relief.

As they walked together on the quaint cobblestones lined with gold and across the neat trimmings of the front of Chatsworth House, Bella had felt a most serene aura, alien to her at first, as a result of the grief that ensued within her; nonetheless, it was a welcomed serenity.

"Miss Wilton, are you keen on what I am saying?" The Duke had a most annoyed expression on his face, swapping the deceiving smile with a mouth twisted in irritation.

Bella hid her smile with her fan, he had most likely thought that she had naught been listening; she could naught blame him, she was positive that she had a look of disinterest on her face. Lennox was speaking in such a methodical manner, it was giving her quite a bore.

"Why certainly, My Liege, you were telling me about the Victorian maze that we are fast approaching; carved and designed by Lord Lesley St. Augustus, the bastard child of Earl William Cavendish III, in the fifteenth century."

If Lennox was impressed, he did naught show't. If Lennox was slightly even more annoyed at her sly smile, he did naught show't. Instead, he continued on tour and Bella continued her aimless thoughts and daydreams about; well, whether it was cliched or naught, his eyes.

They had travelled through the beautiful maze expertly, as per the instructions of the Duke and had made it out with so much as a scratch. Bella decided to interrupt the silence.