Page 38 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
Wilhelm glanced at Genevieve and opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, another voice interrupted them.
“Genevieve!” Marianne exclaimed, her voice filled with delight as she and Owen approached the trio.
Genevieve’s face lit up with a genuine smile. “Marianne! Owen!” she greeted, her heart brimming with happiness at the sight of her dear friends.
After exchanging greetings with Wilhelm and Kenneth, Marianne turned to Genevieve. “You look absolutely radiant, my dear,” she gushed.
Genevieve’s cheeks flushed, and she glanced at Wilhelm. “Thank you,” she murmured shyly.
“Duchess,” he began, his tone becoming formal again. “If you will excuse me, I must address this urgent matter. I will leave you to catch up with your friends.”
Genevieve nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice steady. “I shall be quite all right.”
Wilhelm hesitated for a moment. Genevieve offered him a reassuring smile, her eyes silently conveying that she would not falter in his absence.
With a curt nod, he turned around and followed Kenneth, their figures disappearing into the throngs.
Genevieve watched them go, apprehension and a newfound sense of freedom swirling in her heart. She was alone, surrounded by the watchful eyes of the Ton, but she was no longer the timid, uncertain girl they had once known. She was the Duchess of Ravenshire, and she would continue to face their barbs and challenges with her head held high.
“Goodness, Genevieve!” Marianne exclaimed, her eyes wide as they walked towards the refreshments table. “The Ton is in quite a frenzy over your arrival.”
Genevieve giggled. “I had not really noticed,” she replied. “And what, pray tell, has caused such a stir?”
Owen chuckled, his gaze sweeping over the ballroom. “It seems that everyone assumed you came without being formally invitedto the ball,” he explained, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “The whispers were quite entertaining, I must admit.”
Marianne nodded in agreement. “They were all convinced that you showed up uninvited—a bold move, considering… Well, you know.”
“Well, they are wrong. The Duke and I received an invitation like everyone else here,” Genevieve responded.
“Of course. We believe you, my friend,” Owen said. “But fear not, Duchess. The whispers soon turned into murmurs of admiration.”
As Genevieve laughed, a hand suddenly landed on her shoulder and caused her to jump.
“Well, well, well… look who decided to grace us with her presence.” A sly voice sliced through the pleasantries, sending icy chills down her neck.
She turned to find Lord Shelton, his lips curled into a sneer, his eyes filled with malicious amusement.
“Alfred,” she acknowledged.
“May I have this dance, Genevieve?” Alfred requested, extending his hand with a flourish.
Surprised by his sudden appearance and even more so by his request, she hesitated.
“Of course, Lord Shelton,” she replied after a brief pause, her voice carefully neutral as she placed her hand in his.
He led her onto the dance floor, his grip firm. As they moved with the music, Genevieve became acutely aware of the heavy scent of his cologne, which barely masked his noticeable body odor. She gagged and delicately dabbed a perfumed handkerchief near her mouth to mask the smell.
“You look beautiful, Your Grace,” Alfred remarked, his voice a smooth baritone that showed a hint of the boy she once knew. “Ravenshire clearly agrees.”
Genevieve managed a small smile. “Thank you, Alfred,” she replied as she scanned the room in search of Wilhelm’s imposing figure.
“It has been a long time,” Alfred continued, his eyes searching hers.
Genevieve’s smile faltered, the memories of that fateful night—the last time she had seen him—flashing before her eyes. “It has.”
“Remember,” he said, the corners of his lips quirking up, “when I taught you how to whistle?”
Genevieve closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she nodded. “I do,” she said dismissively, turning her face away from him.
