Page 35 of His Forsaken Duchess
“Yes,” Audrey replied, her voice clipped as she turned away. “Pack quickly. I will not remain here a moment longer than I must.”
A knock at the door interrupted them, and Mrs. Potts entered, her expression conveying both concern and deference.
“Your Grace,” she began, dipping into a slight curtsy. “I could not help but overhear. Are you preparing to leave?”
“That is correct,” Audrey said firmly. “I wish for the carriage to be readied at once.”
Mrs. Potts hesitated, folding her hands in front of her apron. “Your Grace, forgive my boldness, but the snow has begun to fall heavily. The roads will be most treacherous.”
Audrey stilled, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Potts, but I must leave. I do not—” Her voice faltered, and she took a deep, steadying breath. “I cannot stay.”
The housekeeper furrowed her brow, and she cast a glance at the window, beyond which the snow was already gathering in thick piles.
“The weather is worsening by the moment, Your Grace. The horses may struggle to pull the carriage, and visibility is rapidly declining. I implore you to reconsider, for your safety.”
Audrey’s fingers curled into the folds of her dress. She glanced out the window, the sight of the storm making her stomach churn. A carriage ride in such weather would indeed be dangerous. And yet staying felt like an even greater peril—one that gnawed at her pride and her resolve.
She swallowed hard, her voice quieter but no less firm.
“Mrs. Potts,” she said, “I must leave this castle. I will not argue the point. Please ensure the carriage is prepared.”
The housekeeper inclined her head, though her expression remained tense. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall have the driver assess the conditions.”
When Mrs. Potts left the room, Miss Smith stepped forward, worry etched on her face. “Your Grace, might I suggest?—”
“No, Miss Smith,” Audrey said, shaking her head. “There is nothing to suggest. My decision is final.”
Miss Smith bowed her head, retreating silently as Audrey resumed her pacing. Her mind was a tempest of emotions—anger, frustration, and no small measure of fear. The storm outside seemed to mock her, the howling wind echoing her turmoil.
When Mrs. Potts returned, her face was grave. “The driver will not risk the journey, Your Grace,” she said softly. “The snow is falling too quickly, and the wind is making it impossible to see. It would be far too dangerous.”
Audrey felt her stomach drop, the words sinking in. “Are you certain?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
Mrs. Potts nodded. “It is for your safety, Your Grace. The roads may be impassable by morning if it keeps snowing.”
Audrey turned away, her fists clenching at her sides as she struggled to keep her composure. The storm had defeated her, trapped her in this place, when every fiber of her being screamed at her to leave.
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to remain calm. “Very well,” she said at last, her tone frosty. “Please have dinner sent to my room.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Potts replied, dipping into a curtsy before leaving.
Audrey stood in silence for a long moment, her hands trembling as she drew in a slow, steadying breath. The glass windowpane was cold against her palm as she stared out into the swirling white abyss.
I cannot stay here.But I cannot leave, either. Not yet.
She turned away from the window and crossed the room, her movements brisk but controlled. “Unpack, Miss Smith,” she instructed softly. “It seems the storm has conspired against me.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Miss Smith said, her voice barely above a whisper as she bent to undo the trunk’s latches.
Audrey sank into the chair by the fireplace, staring into the flames as the reality of her circumstances settled over her. She had been so close to escaping, to reclaiming her dignity. And now she was left with nothing but the walls of this cold castle and the echoes of her husband’s anger.
How am I going to endure this?
Eleven
“Your Grace,” Stevenson began, his tone pointed yet somewhat cordial as he selected a deep blue coat from the wardrobe. “Have you heard that Her Grace attempted to leave the castle earlier today?”
Cedric, sitting in an armchair and tugging on his boots, froze mid-motion. His eyebrows rose in surprise, and a twinge of something uncomfortably close to guilt coiled in his stomach. “She did what?”
