Free Beauty's Beast by Tara Brown Page A

my reflection. “Merde! What are you wearing?” she asked in an incredibly thick provincial accent. Her generous red lips and ample bosom had me wondering what her purpose was in the castle. I could have guessed, had I given the master less credit, but I didn't want to tarnish her without her first implying what she was.
    Staring at her crossing the floor to me, it was easy to assume.
    She wore a black dress, a black slip dress to be exact. Her thin body was completely visible in shape and contour under the trifle of material she wore. Her long, pale legs were completely observable with every step she took, and made longer by the ridiculous shoes she wore.
    She wrinkled her long slim nose at my dress and plucked it with two slender fingers. “What is zis?” She scowled, narrowing her dark-blue gaze. She might have been the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, even with her scowl. “Why are you wearing zis terrible dress? I had many dresses put in zee room for you. My dresses are much prettier!”
    My jaw dropped. The clothing had been hers?
    “You seem shocked at zis? You thought zey had appeared from nowhere?”
    I shook my head slowly, not certain what to say. I had thought the master put them in my room intentionally. No wonder he had assumed I was there to service him when he saw my dress.
    “Are you mute?”
    “No, miss.” Was she a miss? She didn't look much older than me.
    She stared at me, perplexed or angry, but then laughed and threw a hand into the air. “My name is Babette. You must follow me and allow me to dress you in zee fashion more suited to your body. It is what is best for everyone.” She offered me one of her pale hands.
    I pulled back, almost a little afraid of her offer. “I was actually hoping to go outside and your beautiful dresses might be ruined by my walking outside and I might be cold.” The words were lacking confidence and rambling.
    Her look didn't improve. “I see. Well, perhaps you will remember to change before dinner so zee master doesn't disapprove of your attire.” She turned up her nose and left the room, sashaying away.
    I looked down at the baggy brown dress and wondered what it mattered to the master how I looked when a goddess like Babette was in the house. Her dark-red lips and silky brown hair had even me convinced she was too beautiful to be real.
    Mrs. Potts’ dress seemed to suit me more so than anything Babette might have owned.
    I hurried outside, hoping to savor some of the sunlight that I had been basking in while eating in the sunroom, but when I got out to the courtyard it was as if dusk had come early. Shadows danced about the stones and discomfort settled in my stomach.
    “You should not have run.”
    I spun, seeing the cloaked man I had come to know only as master. He was standing in the shadows, blending in as an obscure figure, but I knew it was him by the voice and tone.
    “You should not have run,” he repeated himself, something he did often and usually in anger.
    He intimidated me but I couldn't hold my tongue, “You humiliated me and then frightened me.”
    “You provoke me intentionally I think,” he muttered and sighed, exasperated perhaps.
    “No! I never meant to mislead you by wearing the dress. It was what I was given. I would have worn a cloak or a sack if I had been given it. And I just don't understand how you could have treated my father so poorly.”
    “HE HAD NO RIGHT!” Again he snapped and again I jumped, ready to flee. But there was something that came directly after the fright. It was a weakness. I could see it in his stance and the way he breathed. Half a decade had been spent watching my mother die—I knew sickness when I saw it, and it was hard to fear him that way.
    I stepped toward him, unable to control my feet. “He was trying to make Mrs. Potts a venison stew to thank her for nursing him back to health.” I stepped closer again. “And you treated him like a criminal. He would have died up there. He might have