To Beguile a Beast Read Online Free PDF Page A

very. It’s just…”
    “He startled you and you screamed,” Helen said. She looked about the dingy walls of the hallway, searching for how to reply to her daughter. Abigail could be so sensitive. The slightest criticism sent her brooding for days. “I know you feel awkward, sweetheart, but you must think of Sir Alistair’s feelings as well. It can’t be very nice to have a young lady scream at the sight of you.”
    “He must hate me,” Abigail whispered.
    And Helen’s heart squeezed painfully. It was so difficult being a mother sometimes. Wanting to shield one’s children from the world and their own weaknesses, and at the same time needing to instill honor and proper behavior.
    “I doubt he feels anything as harsh as hate,” Helen said gently. “But I think you shall have to apologize to him, don’t you?”
    Abigail didn’t say anything, but she gave a single jerky nod, her thin face looking pale and worried.
    Helen sighed and continued in the direction of the kitchens. Breakfast, in her opinion, generally made things better.
    But as it turned out, there was very little to eat in Castle Greaves. The kitchen was a vast, terribly ancient room. The plastered walls and groined ceiling had once been whitewashed, but the color was a dingy gray now. A cavernous fireplace, much in need of sweeping out, took up one whole wall. Judging from the dust on the pots piled in the cupboards, not much actual cooking was done here.
    Helen looked about the room in dismay. A single dirty plate lay on one of the tables, evidence that someone had eaten a meal here recently. Surely there must be a pantry with food somewhere? She began opening cupboards and drawers in a state of near panic. Fifteen minutes later, she examined her booty: a single sack of mealy flour, some oats, tea, sugar, and a handful of salt. She’d also found a small dried up piece of streaky bacon hanging in the larder. Helen was staring at the supplies, wondering what could possibly be made for breakfast out of them, when the full horror of her situation finally dawned on her.
    There was no cook.
    Indeed, she hadn’t seen any servants this morning. Not a scullery maid or footman. Not a bootblack boy or a parlor maid. Had Sir Alistair any servants at all?
    “I’m hungry, Mama,” Jamie moaned.
    Helen gazed blindly at him a moment, still dazed by the magnitude of the job ahead of her. A small voice was screaming at the back of her mind, I can’t do this! I can’t do this!
    But she had no choice. She must do this.
    She swallowed, threw a blanket over the screaming voice in her mind, and rolled up her sleeves. “We’d better set to work, then, hadn’t we?”
    A LISTAIR PICKED UP an old kitchen knife and broke the seal on a thick letter that had arrived just this morning. His name was scrawled on the outside in a large, looping, nearly illegible hand that he recognized immediately. Vale was probably writing to exhort him once again to come to London or some other such nonsense. The viscount was a persistent man, even when shown no encouragement at all.
    Alistair sat in the largest of the castle towers. Four tall windows spaced evenly around the curved outside walls let in a wonderful amount of light, making the tower perfect for his study. Three wide tables took up most of the room. Their surfaces were covered with open books, maps, animal and insect specimens, magnifying glasses, paintbrushes, presses for preserving leaves and flowers, various interesting rocks, bark, bird nests, and his pencil sketches. Against the outer walls, between the windows, were glass cases and shelves holding more books, maps, and various journals and scientific papers.
    Beside the door was a small fireplace, lit even though the day was warm. Lady Grey was getting on in years, and she enjoyed warming herself on the little rug in front of the fire. She sprawled there, taking her morning nap as Alistair worked behind the largest table, which also served as his desk. Earlier