Page 65 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
Genevieve nodded in agreement. “They seem determined to remind me of my former reputation,” she said bitterly.
Marianne furrowed her brow.
“Reputation?” she echoed disbelievingly. “But you are the Duchess of Ravenshire. Your marriage to the Duke should have silenced those whispers, by now.”
Genevieve hesitated, her gaze darting away. “It should have,” she agreed. “But… it has not.”
Marianne’s curiosity was piqued. “What has happened?” she inquired, her face etched with worry.
Genevieve took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. “When Wilhelm returned from his business trip,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “I went to greet him, but he… he pushed me away.”
Marianne’s eyes widened in surprise. “Pushed you away? But why, my dear friend?”
Genevieve’s gaze dropped to her gloved hands, her fingers nervously tracing the delicate embroidery.
“He said he needed some time,” she explained, her voice barely audible. “He said he was overwhelmed.”
Marianne furrowed her brow. “What do you mean by overwhelmed?”
Genevieve hesitated, her mind replaying the events of that night. “I asked him what was bothering him,” she confessed, “but he… he just repeated that he was feeling overwhelmed and then left.”
Marianne’s concern deepened. “Heleft?” she stammered in disbelief. “Where did he go?”
Genevieve’s gaze drifted towards the dance floor, her eyes searching for Wilhelm’s familiar figure, even though she knew he was not there.
“He has been… strangely distant,” she said sadly. “He had been immersing himself in his work and has rarely left his study since his return.”
Marianne’s expression softened, reaching out to gently squeeze her friend’s hand.
“I am so sorry, Genevieve,” she murmured, her voice filled with sympathy. “I do not understand what could have caused such a drastic change in him.”
Genevieve shook her head, her gaze fixed on the dancing couples as they twirled around the dance floor.
“Nor do I,” she admitted. “But I fear… I fear I have lost him.”
Marianne paused for a moment, looking at her with worried eyes.
“Come, Genevieve,” she said, her voice regaining its cheerful lilt, “let us not dwell on such gloomy thoughts. Let us enjoy the music, the company, and the festivities. The Duke shall eventually come to his senses.”
She led Genevieve towards the dance floor, her gaze sweeping across the room and landing on a familiar figure.
“Ah, there is Kenneth!” she exclaimed. “Perhaps he can shed some light on the Duke’s behavior.”
Genevieve’s heart fluttered slightly, a flicker of hope rekindling within her. Perhaps Kenneth could offer some insight into the Duke’s sudden withdrawal.
As they approached Kenneth, his face lit up with a warm smile. “Your Grace,” he greeted, bowing slightly, “it is a pleasure to see you in this gathering.”
Genevieve’s lips curled into a grateful smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Lord Gaverton,” she replied.
Kenneth’s gaze flicked to the empty space beside her, his brow furrowing slightly. “I trust the Duke is… well?” he inquired cautiously.
Genevieve hesitated, her gaze dropping to her gloved hands. “He is… well,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But he was unable to attend this evening.”
Kenneth’s expression filled with understanding.
“I see,” he murmured, his voice laced with sympathy. “I do apologize, Your Grace. I know how much you were looking forward to this ball.”
Genevieve’s heart ached at his words. “It is quite all right,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I am enjoying myself, nonetheless.”
