Breakfast At Carlisle Crest

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Beth did not say anything, she couldn't say a word. Time and again, she had found herself rendered speechless by the Duke of Carlisle. His words and the look in his eyes held her in place and time; she was stuck in the particular moment. It was a miracle she could breathe at all.

When she had left Rosethorn Hill – her relative's home – for his, she had promised herself that she would not be entertained or marvel at whatever she would see, but as the Duke's coach drew closer to his home, she couldn't help herself; its size and beauty were breathtaking. For although she had visited it the night before, seeing it in daylight, though not materialistic, Beth thought one had to be happy simply working there. Tightly, she had clenched her dress in both fists, trying to hold on to her resolve but she had known it was a losing battle.

The halls, as the butler had led her in, were even more amazing to behold than she had thought. And when she saw the portraits and the paintings of running