Page 16 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

“I see. Thank you, Mrs. Calloway.”

The older woman gave a knowing smile, then turned as a knock at the door interrupted their conversation. A young woman entered, her dark curls tied back neatly beneath her maid’s cap. She curtsied low.

“This is Daisy,” Mrs. Calloway said. “She will serve as your personal maid. She’s dependable and will ensure you have everything you need.”

“Thank you,” Yvette said, offering the girl a polite smile. Daisy’s wide eyes sparkled with eagerness, and Yvette couldn’t help but take an instant liking to her.

Mrs. Calloway excused herself, leaving Yvette and Daisy alone.

“I’ll help you change, Your Grace,” Daisy said, already moving to untie the laces of Yvette’s dress.

As Daisy prepared a warm bath, the two engaged in light conversation. “Are you from Braemore?” Yvette asked, curiously.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Daisy replied. “Born and raised here. My mother worked in the kitchens for years. I started as a scullery maid when I was thirteen, and now…” She trailed off with a shy smile, gesturing to her current station.

“You must be very capable,” Yvette said kindly.

Daisy beamed as she adjusted the water in the tub.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

After soaking in the warm bath, Yvette found herself relaxed for the first time since the journey began. Daisy helped her into a nightgown before quietly exiting the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She drifted off into a light nap, only to be startled awake by a sharp knock at the door.

Rubbing her eyes, she moved to the window. The sun had completely disappeared, replaced by a navy sky dotted with stars. The knock came again, prompting her to cross the room and answer it.

A footman stood in the doorway, pushing a small trolley laden with covered dishes.

“Your Grace, dinner has been brought up for you,” he said with a bow.

Yvette frowned. “Is no one dining together?”

“His Grace and Lady Maisie have already eaten separately, Your Grace,” the footman explained, his tone professional.

She thanked him and wheeled the trolley inside, but an unexpected pang of disappointment settled in her chest.

Even at St. Catherine’s nunnery, communal meals were encouraged. It wasn’t about rules; it was about fostering a sense of belonging, a semblance of family, even though all the girls did was gossip at the table. She found herself missing that closeness now.

As she uncovered the dishes, the aroma of roasted chicken and fresh bread filled the room, but her appetite had dimmed. Sitting alone at the small table by the window, Yvette stared out into the darkness, wondering if this new life of hers would always feel so solitary.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the new Duke of Domesticity,” Lachlan quipped as Killian approached.

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he gestured for Killian to join him at a table near the hearth.

The tavern Killian rolled into was dimly lit, with the smell of aged wood, pipe smoke, and spilled ale mingling in the air.

The lively hum of conversation came from clusters of patrons seated at uneven tables, their voices rising and falling with bursts of laughter or heated debates. In the far corner, a musician struggled to play a mediocre tune.

“How goes the blissful union, then? The duchy hasn’t stopped buzzing about it.”

Killian groaned, taking the seat opposite him.

“If ye came to mock me, I’ll be needing a stronger drink,” he said with a frown.

Lachlan barked out a laugh and signaled for the serving girl, who brought over a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“I’ve missed your humorless charm.” He poured the amber liquid into the glasses, sliding one toward Killian. “To the new Duchess of Braemore.”

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