Page 3 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
Genevieve stared into the small hand mirror, the silver frame cool against her fingertips. Her reflection felt foreign to her—her blue eyes red-rimmed, her lips pressed tightly together.
She tilted the mirror slightly, hoping a different angle might soften the anguish written all over her face.
It didn’t.
“Pardon me, My Lady, but you seem rather sad for your happiest day,” her maid noted, breaking the silence.
“Are you married, Lily?” Genevieve asked, her voice flat as she focused on her weary gaze.
The maid, a petite woman with a gentle demeanor, paused while she was adjusting the folds of Genevieve’s nightgown.
“No, My Lady,” she replied politely, smoothing the fabric over Genevieve’s shoulders.
“I see,” Genevieve muttered, her voice brittle.
Lily furrowed her brow as she picked up a silver brush from the vanity. “What is the matter, My Lady? You are newly married to a lord—a fine match, by all accounts. Many would envy your position.”
Genevieve met the maid’s reflection in the mirror. “I suppose so. Yet, I cannot help but feel trapped.”
She set the mirror down on the vanity with a soft clink, her gaze fixed on the polished wooden surface.
Lily hesitated. “Trapped? But, My Lady, surely you must feel some joy on this day. You have a husband now, and tonight, you will consummate your marriage. That is a blessing.”
Genevieve gulped.
“My Lady?” the maid said after a long pause.
Genevieve turned around in her stool and faced Lily. “I… I do not wish to consummate this marriage,” she murmured, her voice breaking slightly, though her gaze remained steady.
“My Lady… you cannot mean that,” the maid whispered in shock and disbelief.
“Is it so horrifying?” Genevieve replied, her voice quieter. “Not to wish to share a bed with a man I do not love?”
Lily opened her mouth as if to argue, but no words came.
After a moment, she managed to ask, “Then why marry him, My Lady?”
Genevieve’s expression hardened, her gaze flickering to the floor. “I was given no choice. My uncle made certain of that. He… he wanted me off his hands, out of his life. I was… My reputation… It was a burden to him.”
Lily frowned, her features softening. “My Lady, I?—”
A piercing scream shattered the tense quiet, echoing from the room next door.
Genevieve shot to her feet, the color draining from her face. “That’s… his room,” she whispered, her hand clutching the edge of the vanity as her heart slammed against her ribs.
Without another word, she rushed into the hallway, Lily trailing close behind.
She pushed open the door to her husband’s chambers and froze.
Lord Mirfield’s lifeless body was sprawled on the floor.
A hoarse whisper tore out of Genevieve’s throat. “Oh God.”
His face was ghostly pale, his lips slightly parted as though caught mid-breath in a final plea.
The air was thick with the sickly-sweet scent of laudanum, the glass bottles lying carelessly around him.
Genevieve was petrified, her breath trapped in her chest. The room spun around her as her eyes fixed on the lifeless form of her husband.
