Breaking the Beast by Nicole Casey
Isabel
For all Bonita’stalk of a “bonafide castle,” I still wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted me as my hired town car crested the final hill. I gasped as the turrets rose into view, and my driver let out a low whistle.
“What is it you said you did, Miss?” he asked.
“I’m a writer,” I said, my eyes still fixed on the bleak grey stones of the castle walls. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had to cross an honest-to-goodness moat before we arrived, complete with alligators.
“Well, doesn’t look like you’re going to be at a loss for material,” the driver said. “Whoever lives here must be certifiably looney.”
I said nothing, but secretly, I agreed with him. I had been expecting a lavish estate, not this relic straight out of King Arthur’s time. Not for the first time, I wondered just what I had gotten myself into.
But there was no time to change my mind now. Before I knew it, we had arrived (no moat, more’s the pity), and the driver began to unload my bags. I had overpacked somewhat, unsure of what I might need or how long I would be staying, but looking at the castle in front of me, I began to doubt that I had packed anything suitable in any of my bags. In fact, I doubted that I even owned anything suitable.
“You sure you’ll be all right here, Miss?” the driver asked, as if reading my thoughts.
I wasn’t at all sure, but I put on a brave face. “Of course I will, thank you,” I said brightly. Belatedly, I wondered if I was expected to tip him, but when I reached for my purse, he held up a hand to stop me.
“All taken care of, Miss,” he said. “Good luck with your writing.” With that, he was pulling out the long drive. I watched him go, feeling suddenly very, very alone.
Aside from the castle to my back, there didn’t appear to be any other structures within walking distance, only lush greenery as far as I could see. I turned in a circle, taking it all in. A horrible noise erupted behind me, and I whirled, heart pounding in my throat, to find a peacock gazing at me with beady black eyes.
“Oh, hello …” I said, bemused. There had been no room for pets in our house growing up, not even a fish, and as a result I’d never felt fully comfortable around animals. “Are you a … nice bird?”
At that, the bird let loose another horrible gobble before turning and strutting away, his magnificent plumage spread out behind him. This was certainly not the welcome I’d been expecting.
No turning back now, I told myself, before picking up a bag in each hand, squaring my shoulder, and marching up to the front door. There was no doorbell, only a large, ancient-looking door knocker. Tentatively, I raised the knocker and let it fall. Almost before the knock sounded, the door opened, and I found myself gaping at one of the prettiest young men I’d ever seen in my life.
He appeared to be around my age, 30, but his large eyes and button nose gave him a younger look. He had tousled, wavy brown hair, and I felt the strangest urge to run my hands through it. Get a hold of yourself, I scolded myself, You are a professional.
The beautiful young man was speaking: “You must be Mademoiselle Perez,” he said, a slight accent coloring his words. “Bonjour! Welcome to Castle Villeneuve. Please, come in.” With that, he took my bags from me and ushered me inside.
“Isabel, please,” I said automatically. The large oak doors clanged ominously as they shut behind me.
“Charmed,” the man said, bowing slightly. I fought the urge to laugh, feeling slightly hysterical. “I am Raphael, I’m the head servant here.”
Bonita had mentioned a full household staff, but I still found myself surprised. This was a far cry from the cramped, noisy quarters I had spent my life in. In my neighborhood, people worked as cleaners and nannies; we certainly didn’t employ them.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, finally finding my voice.
“Here, I’ll take these to your room and give you a bit of a tour. Follow me.” With that, Raphael grasped both bags in one hand as if they weighed nothing, and trotted off down the corridor. I followed mutely, too stunned to speak.
“It can take some time to find your way around here,” Raphael chatted amiably as we walked, pointing out various rooms. “But you’ll get the hang of it. I remember when I first arrived, I kept getting lost. I’d head out looking for the dining room and find myself in the wine cellar.” He laughed. “The empty wine cellar, I might add. There’s no alcohol allowed on the grounds.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I assured him, and he nodded.
“Yes, Étienne says you were once a counselor? That is good, very good.”
Étienne?I thought, Who is Étienne? As if reading my mind, Raphael laughed.
“But of course, you haven’t met Étienne yet. There are six of us on staff total: Étienne is Jacques’ valet, Bernard, the head waiter, Vincent, the housekeeper, Alexandre, the gardener, and Isiah, our chef. You’ll meet all of us before long.”
My head spun. I would never be able to keep all of these men straight. A head waiter? Avalet? I felt like I’d stumbled into some kind of time warp. The feeling was heightened by the decor; apparently The Beast had a fondness for antiques. Raphael noticed me examining a large, valuable-looking candlestick. “That is one of Jacques’ favorite pieces,” he said. “It comes from the same village in France where he and Bernard grew up.”
I looked up, surprised by this piece of information. “Are all of the staff from France?” I asked.
“Mais oui,” Raphael said, smiling. “We have all known Jacques for many, many years.”
I was struck by the familiarity with which Raphael referred to his employer. Not Mr. Martin or Monsieur, but Jacques. This certainly wasn’t the usual employer/employee relationship.
“And how did you come to work for The—Mr. Martin?” I asked.
“Long before he moved to America. When he retired from wrestling, he hired Vincent as housekeeper, and Vincent asked if I wanted to join the staff. I was young, only 25 or so, and wanted an adventure. My family was very large, you know?”
I nodded. If there was one thing I understood, it was a large family.
“I love my parents, and my siblings, but I wanted to travel. Vincent offered me this position, and I thought, when will I again have the chance to come to America and live in a castle? So I came.” Raphael shrugged, as if this were the simplest chain of events in the world.
“So that was five years ago?” I asked, “Have you been home since?”
“Villeneuve is my home now,” Raphael said simply.
“But surely you must miss your family,” I pressed. “Five years is a long time.”
“Oui, sometimes,” Raphael admitted. “But the men here are my family, too. They are like brothers to me. And I am needed here. I am content.”
Contentto me seemed a long way from happy, but I decided it was best not to push the issue. I was here to write, not to counsel. It seemed incredible to me that such a young, attractive man was content to spend his youth hidden away in a remote castle, but I supposed stranger things had happened.
Raphael came to a sudden stop. “And here we are,” he said, gesturing with some fanfare towards an open door. “This will be your bedchamber. I hope it will be to your liking.”
I stepped inside the room and gasped. My entire apartment back home could fit into this one room. It was decorated in shades of soft gray and blue with a large canopy bed serving as the main focal point of the room. My bed back home was a twin, and I judged this to be a king-sized bed at least. A cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, and Raphael beamed.
“I am pleased that you like it,” he said. “Please, make yourself at home. We hope you will join us for dinner tonight at seven. Isiah is preparing French cuisine to welcome you into our home. Do you think you can find the dining room by yourself?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t at all confident I could find my way around. Raphael gestured towards the wall beside the bed. “There is an intercom system, just there,” he said. “If you need anything, just press the button, and I’ll be here.”
“Thank you, Raphael,” I said. With another small bow, Raphael left, closing the door behind him.
Immediately, I did what I’d been longing to do since I first entered the bedroom: I took off my shoes and pressed my bare feet into the thick, lush carpet in the center of the room, luxuriating in the feel of the soft fibers between my toes. That done, I turned my attention to exploring my new bedroom.
Two ornate armchairs sat in front of the fireplace, as well as a small table adorned with a tea set and a plate piled high with delicate finger sandwiches. Raphael had said dinner would be at seven, which, according to the antique clock on the mantel, was still almost six hours away. I had been too jittery to eat breakfast in the morning, so I fell on the tiny sandwiches, which were delicious.
When I had eaten my fill, I noticed a small card on the table next to the teapot. Unfolding it, I read:
Bonjour Mademoiselle,
I have prepared you some light refreshments to welcome you to our home. I hope you will enjoy it. If there is anything you need, I hope you will not hesitate to let me know. We want you to be comfortable as long as you are our guest here. We are all thrilled to have you, and look forward to getting to know you better.
Cordialement à vous,
Isiah Boucher
Isiah, that was the chef, I remembered. Smiling slightly, I refolded the note and slipped it into my purse. If dinner that night was anything like the tea I had just had, I knew it was going to be amazing. But how was I going to pass the hours until then?
It didn’t take long to unpack, and my few possessions appeared meager and cheap next to the opulent decor. A large, freestanding wardrobe stood against the far wall, and I almost felt it judging me as I filled it with old, comfortable sweaters and jeans.
As I organized my toiletries in the en suite bathroom, soft piano music began to play in the distance. I straightened and listened harder. It couldn’t be coming from very far away, and I was under no orders to stay in my bedroom until dinner, so I decided to investigate. I left the door open when I left, concerned that I would never find my way back in a hallway full of identical doors.
It didn’t take long to find the source of the music. Down the hall, an open door led into a kind of sitting room, complete with a baby grand piano. A man sat at the piano with his back to me, playing a tune I did not recognize.
He played beautifully, and I found myself entranced. From behind, I could only see his full head of dark hair and his long, elegant fingers as they danced across the keys, but he played with such talent that I found myself fantasizing about the feel of those fingers on my body.
Abruptly, I shook myself out of my fantasy. What was I doing? I was here to do a job, not to fantasize about every attractive man I met.
I coughed quietly to announce myself, and the man’s back straightened slightly before he turned to face me. “Ah,” he said, rising to his feet, “you must be Isabel. Do you mind if I call you Isabel?”
“Please do,” I said. I held out my hand to shake, but instead the man raised my hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. I felt a blush heat my cheeks, remembering the fantasies I’d just been entertaining about this man’s hands.
“Enchanted,” he said. “My name is Vincent Moreau. I’m the housekeeper here.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. The back of my hand tingled slightly where he’d kissed it. While Vincent lacked the boyish good looks of Raphael, he was incredibly handsome in his own right, with a wide, square jaw covered in dark stubble.“You play beautifully.”
“That’s kind of you to say,” he said. “I like to dabble in what little down time I have.”
“I’m no expert, but it sounded like more than dabbling to me,” I offered, and Vincent nodded his thanks. He had a way of gazing with his dark, serious eyes that made me feel as if he could read my innermost thoughts. Though they shared an accent, Vincent offered a stark contrast from Raphael’s cheerful, exuberant personality, and I found myself drawn to him.
“Have you received a tour of the grounds yet?” Vincent asked.
“Raphael showed me around some, but—” I halted, embarrassed.
“You’ve forgotten your way?” I nodded, and Vincent gave my arm a comforting squeeze. “This is a large estate, and it can take some time to find your bearings. Let me give you a more complete tour.”
Vincent’s tour was more in-depth than Raphael’s. Instead of gesturing to doors as we passed and explaining what lay behind, Vincent led me into each room and offered a brief history of interesting sights and items.
“Jacques picked up that ottoman in the U.K.,” he said, gesturing towards a faded purple footstool. “Mid 18th century, quite valuable.”
“It’s lovely,” I said politely, though I knew nothing about antiques. I was more interested in the man leading the tour. “How did you come to work for Mr. Martin?” I asked.
“I have known Jacques quite a long time, since we were little more than boys,” Vincent said. “My parents, they died when I was quite young.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I murmured, and Vincent nodded.
“I was a young man, and—how would you say—aimless. I took to travelling, looking for my place in the world, you understand?” I nodded, entranced, and Vincent continued. “I met Jacques and Bernard at that time, and we became quite close, though I was still a wanderer. Some years ago, Bernard called me and informed me that Jacques was in need of a complete household staff, and asked if I felt up to the job. Of course, I accepted, and now here I am.”
“Here you are,” I agreed. We continued on in silence for a few moments. “I lost my mother,” I said finally. “When I was 25. It was … very hard.”
“It is a difficult thing,” Vincent said. “But best not to be angry. All that has happened, all that I’ve experienced, it has brought me here, to my friends, and for that I am grateful.”
I was quiet for a moment, considering this. Losing my mother had been a devastating blow, and it had very nearly taken my father along with it. I couldn’t imagine facing a loss of that magnitude with the grace that Vincent demonstrated. He seemed a much stronger person than I, but I sensed that to tell him so would only make him uncomfortable. “It seems everyone here is very close,” I said instead.
Vincent nodded. “We are like brothers,” he said simply.
“You and Raphael have both known Jacques for much longer than you’ve worked for him, it seems,” I said. I was here to write an article, after all. I might as well start my research right away.
“We all have,” Vincent said. “With the exception of Alexandre, whom I met during my travels. The six of us are Jacques’ closest friends and confidantes.” He stopped walking and turned to me, his expression solemn. “If I may be candid, Isabel?”
“Please do,” I said.
“There is no use pretending you don’t know about the troubles Jacques went through five years ago. That is, after all, why you are here. Jacques called us to him when he was at his lowest point, and we have worked hard to support him and help him to heal, though there is only so much we can do. It is my hope that you—that speaking to you of what haunts him will help Jacques to leave his past behind him.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had known The Beast was troubled, but I wasn’t sure how my article was supposed to help him “heal,” as Vincent put it. I swallowed hard, suddenly anxious. “I hope that I can be of some help,” I said, “but I don’t want you to pin your hopes on me. I’m just a journalist.”
“Of course,” Vincent said smoothly. “But you have to understand, you are the first person from outside the castle Jacques has agreed to speak with in five years. That alone is a powerful step.”
“Well, I haven’t spoken with him yet,” I pointed out.
“Soon,” Vincent assured me. “He just needs a bit more time. Believe me, mademoiselle, it is good that you are here. For all of us.”
His eyes locked on mine, and my breath caught as I was nearly overcome by a powerful urge to step into his arms. Was it my imagination, or did his gaze flick down to my breasts, just for a moment?
Vincent took a step back, and the spell was broken. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “there are some matters I must attend to before dinner. Will you be all right here on your own?”
“Of course,” I said, “I think I’ve gotten the lay of the land now. Thank you for the tour.”
“It was my pleasure, Isabel,” Vincent said, and I felt a low flame of desire at the intensity of his dark gaze. “I look forward to seeing you at dinner.” With that, he was gone, leaving me dazed and slightly turned on.
