Page 18 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
Wilhelm’s lips curled into a humorless smile as he looked them over. “I trust that you will all treat her with the respect and regard befitting her station,” he continued, his voice sharp and threatening. “Her well-being is of utmost importance. See to her every need, anticipate her every desire. Do I make myself clear?”
The servants nodded in unison, their voices a chorus of affirmation. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Wilhelm’s gaze landed on Genevieve, and a gentle look flitted across his otherwise steely features.
“I shall leave you in their hands,” he murmured with a brief nod towards the servants. His face once again adopted a mask of indifference as he turned and strode away.
Genevieve listened as his retreating footsteps resounded through the hall. Her heart sank as he melted into the shadows and the tomb-like silence descended upon her.
A tall, thin woman with grey hair and a stern expression stepped forward, her hands clasped neatly in front of her starched apron.
“Welcome to Ravenshire, Your Grace,” she greeted, her voice low and rough as she briefly glanced at Genevieve. “I am Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper. If it pleases Your Grace, I will show you to your chambers.”
Genevieve nodded gratefully as she scanned her opulent surroundings. “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” she replied hesitantly.
Mrs. Hughes led her up the grand staircase.
As the stairs stretched up before Genevieve, each riser became more unpleasant than the last. Portraits of stern, intimidating faces lined the walls on either side, each bordered by intricate, gilded frames. The subjects stared down at them with hollow, disapproving eyes.
Genevieve’s skin prickled as she passed them, and a shiver crept down her rigid spine. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood at uneasy attention until she’d finally reached the top of the stairs.
They reached a set of imposing double doors, their polished mahogany surfaces gleaming in the soft light. Mrs. Hughesopened them with a flourish, revealing a breathtakingly lavish bedchamber.
“These are your chambers, Your Grace,” she announced, her voice steady. “I trust you will find them to your liking.”
Genevieve’s eyes widened as she took in the magnificent quarters.
The vast room sported high ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork. A plush four-poster bed draped in luxurious red velvet curtains dominated the space. A silk brocade chaise lounge nestled invitingly beside the fireplace. A dressing table stood against the far wall, its surface covered in an array of silver-topped jars and crystal perfume bottles, while a wardrobe, its doors ajar, revealed a collection of exquisite, colorful gowns.
“It is… quite elegant,” Genevieve managed to say as she lost herself in the welcoming scent of cinnamon that permeated the room.
Mrs. Hughes offered her a crisp, cold smile. “I shall leave you to settle in, Your Grace,” she muttered tersely. “If you require anything, please do not hesitate to ring for a maid.”
With a final curtsy, Mrs. Hughes withdrew, leaving Genevieve alone in the lavish chamber.
She wandered about the room in a daze, her fingers tracing the delicate patterns on the wallpaper, her gaze lingering on theexquisite furnishings. She sat in front of the dressing table and stared at herself in the large, gilded mirror.
She looked as weary and pale as the staff.
It must be the light.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered to her reflection, her ocean-blue eyes appearing brownish black in the dim light of the room, matching her deep brown hair.
She lingered before the mirror, her eyes wandering to the room’s backdrop. Her gaze shifted to the vibrant dresses highlighted in its reflection.
Genevieve stood and made her way to the open wardrobe. At least fifty dresses lined its expanse, each one oozing luxury and designed with exquisite details. She ran her fingers over the delicate fabrics, pausing to lift several of the dresses from the rack to inspect their intricate details more closely.
As she draped a dark blue lace and silk dress, studded with tiny gold jewels along its sleeves and fitted bodice, over her arm, a soft knock sounded at her door.
Startled, she quickly returned the dress to its rightful place in the wardrobe, then moved swiftly to the center of the room before answering.
“Come in,” she called, her voice catching slightly as she glanced at the door, her hands instinctively dropping to her sides.
A young maid, her face framed by a neat white cap, stepped into the room. “Your Grace,” she greeted as she curtsied and bowed her head, careful to avoid Genevieve’s gaze.
Genevieve looked at the maid and waited for her to speak.
“My name is A-Anna.” The maid stuttered. “I am your lady’s maid, Your Grace.”
