Page 5 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
A group of three women dressed in vibrant colors lowered their eyes as they passed, subtly taking another path to avoid being too close to her.
This occurred each time she neared someone she recognized. Members of the Ton would give her a wide berth and look elsewhere as they moved past, as though she carried some incurable disease.
“It is her curse that killed the late Lord Mirfield, may God rest his poor, departed soul,” a voice hissed loudly behind them.
Genevieve stiffened and turned around to see an older woman speaking to a girl who appeared to be no more than fourteen—anage that echoed painfully in Genevieve’s memory, reminding her of her twin sisters.
Her hand instinctively reached for the locket around her neck. It contained miniature portraits of her parents and was a constant reminder of the tragedy that had befallen her family four years ago. The vivid memories of that gruesome evening permeated every facet of her life, including her marriage bed.
“They say she is a witch,” another voice added with a barely concealed giggle.
“Well, I heard that she poisoned him,” offered a third malicious voice.
“Perhaps she used her dark magic to curse him,” a fourth voice suggested, the lady gasping as though she had made a shocking revelation.
“Ignore them, Genevieve,” Marianne urged, her voice firm. “Their ignorance will become their downfall. Just you wait and see.”
Despite Marianne’s reassuring words, the weight of their stares and whispers pressed heavily on Genevieve, and she could not shake the feeling that perhaps they had every right to judge her.
Could she truly be cursed? Was it really her fault—her curse—that her husband had died so suddenly, mere hours after their wedding?
Despite putting on a brave face, she could not completely ignore the sting of their accusations. Each sidelong glance and hushed conversation not only chipped away at her confidence but also reminded her of her loss every single day.
As they strolled through Hyde Park, Genevieve’s heart sank further with each curious glance and hushed whisper, her cheeks burning as she lowered her head and wished she could simply disappear.
She felt like an outcast, and it struck her as foolish to have agreed to go on this walk. Although Marianne and Owen meant well, she had known this would happen as soon as she ventured outside.
A pair of brightly polished black shoes suddenly stopped in front of the trio, effectively blocking their path. She looked up to see the new Lord Mirfield, her late husband’s cousin. Even before she had wed, his presence had always unnerved her.
“Lady Mirfield,” he drawled, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “I trust you are enjoying your stay as the mistress of my late cousin’s home?”
Genevieve’s breath hitched. “It is also my home, Lord Mirfield.”
“Mmm.” A sly smile spread across his face, his thin black mustache curling over his lips. “You are no doubt relishing your newfound circumstances. I dare say that my cousin’s sudden demise was quite convenient for you, was it not? You’d hope the next heir would let you some handsome part of his fortune anda comfortable estate for yourself. Perhaps that is why you killed him.”
Outrage surged through Genevieve’s veins, and she felt her blood boil at his blatant and unfounded accusation. He was the one who had benefited from his cousin’s death—acquiring her late husband’s title and his position as the head of the family.
“Howdareyou? To accuse me of killing him is as foolish as believing in fairytales,” she replied icily as her eyes narrowed on him.
He chuckled coldly. “You cannot pretend that you are unaware of the rumors about your… unfortunate situation.”
“I am not to blame for the idle gossip of the Ton,” Genevieve retorted, her voice trembling slightly. “I cannot claim responsibility for the fantastic tales that have been spun to entertain others at my expense.”
“No, but youareresponsible for the deaths that seem to follow you like a plague,” he hissed. “First your family, then my cousin. Who will be next, I wonder?”
His gaze lingered on Marianne and Owen.
Marianne stepped forward, her eyes blazing with anger. “How dare you accuse Genevieve of such a thing? She is a victim of her unfortunate circumstances, not a perpetrator. In fact, she is the one who has suffered the most in the wake of losing everyone shehas ever loved, coupled with the added insult of having to endure all this nonsense.”
Lord Mirfield raised an eyebrow and smirked at her cagily. “Careful, My Lady—you might well be next.”
Owen placed a protective arm around his wife. “You are out of line, Lord Mirfield. I suggest you apologize to Lady Mirfield at once.”
Lord Mirfield laughed derisively, his eyes glinting with malice. “Apologize? I think not. I am simply grateful that she will soon become someone else’s problem. The house in which she is staying belongs to me. I want her and her belongings removed from the premises within a few days.”
Genevieve’s heart pounded in her chest. “What do you mean?”
He smirked. “I mean that you will be vacating Mirfield House by the end of this week. I have already made arrangements for it to be sold.”
