Page 4 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

And yes, with that comes the knowledge I may sacrifice things like children, a home to tend to, and a potential mate with the accompanying bond. But deep inside, I just know the right man is out there for me, and it won’t be some posturing Alpha who is more show than substance. If not, then I’ll happily take on the role of a spinster.

Shoring up my plans for the future, however, does not make their jabs any more palatable. Unable to take their cruel words any further, I storm past, keeping my tread loud so they know I’m coming. The words cut off as the sounds of movement greet my ears.

Like mice scattering before the ravenous feline. I can’t help the twitch of a smile that lifts the corners of my lips. Head held high, I pass my father’s old room, not giving them a second glance as I continue down the hall to mine.

Once the door is locked firmly in place, I race over to my bed and shove it over, coughing as to conceal the sound of metal against wood. With a few hard thrusts, I move it a good foot or two, revealing a piece of wood not quite firmly in place. I peel the floorboard back and look down at my myriad of treasures, most of them useless trinkets from when I was a child.

Reaching into my gown, I pull out the pipe and run the chamber under my nose, drinking in the familiar scent that makes my gut clench in sorrow. How long will the smell even last? Eventually, it will fade into nothing, and all I’ll have is the pipe itself to hold on to.

Kissing the polished wood, I place it inside my hiding spot, resting it next to a portraiture of my parents. It’s fitting here. Wiping away the errant tears, I put the wood back and pull the bed so it hides the spot from view.

Again, the strident tones of the maids seep into the room, and I shake my head, unable to do anything about it. I’m not even considered a lady of the house. At best, I’m a guest here until my cousin can figure out how to get rid of me. If only I had any sort of power, but as it is, I’m impotent, a mere pawn in whatever endgame is brewing in that black heart of his.

Plucking a few strips of cotton from a nearby dresser, I slam the door open, startling the gaggle as they jump back, feigning actions of cleaning. It’s as if they think I’m some sort of cork-brained loon who can’t even fathom the idea they’re all standing around, hoping to capture some morsel of gossip. No doubt it’s their intention to report back to Asher, keeping him apprised of everything I do.

Picking up the hem of my dress, I make a grand show of stepping over the glistening wood, playing the part of a fool as I tiptoe about, not wanting to ‘sully’ their ‘hard work.’ It seems as if they believe my charade and continue to put on their farce of work. Once I’m clear of their mopping, I flounce down the stairs, my heart racing as I head toward my haven.

However, the moment they think I’m out of earshot, all pretense of cleaning ceases as they start their prattling once more. This time, they criticize the amount of time I spend in the library, as if I have nothing better to do than to fill my head with useless knowledge. But it’s not. Every word in these books is precious to me, expanding my mind so I may somehow rise above my station without the help of a male.

I have no other recourse. The very idea of holding balls and appearing at court makes my stomach churn. Such needless, senseless frivolity, which does what? Nothing. Everyone prances about, putting on airs of grandeur when deep inside, they are just as hollow as all the others. It doesn’t matter how finely dressed; a pig is still a pig. Putting on a dress and fussing with your hair does nothing for the person within.

Thankfully, my cousin seems to have all but forgotten me in this coup for him to take over the house. He has not once mentioned my coming out, or any balls for that matter. Though the Little Season is soon upon us, he has made no move to get me fitted for new dresses or even have me see the modiste.

Hopefully, that means my freedom is nigh. Once I am of age, I might be able to slip out into the world unnoticed. All I have to do is endure my cousin.

As soon as the doors close, the voices fade, but I know it won’t last long. They always seem to find some way to torment me. Any complaints I bring up to my cousin only result in them being harsher in their tones and words, pecking me apart like geese with a bit of bread.

They don’t respect me, and never will. That much is clear, but what’s not clear is the question of why. I’ve done nothing to them to warrant such actions, and yet, I’m treated as even lower than they are instead of someone who was once the lady of this house.

It’s why Mary’s departure is even more painful. She was the one last ally left, the last fortress I could run to. She kept me sane when everything else threatened to unravel at the edges. She was the one last kindness to give me solace when all I wanted to do was cry my eyes out.

The first ally to be dismissed was the housekeeper, since she was far too expensive to keep on. According to Asher’s male, mathematically inclined mind, his current housekeeper would do just as well. And yet, everywhere I turn, the house is in disarray. There is a layer of dust collected on everything since she took over.

Though apparently my feminine mind may not handle the mental taxing money seems to create, I still have enough acumen to know we are receiving the level of service corresponding with what he must be paying. True, our former housekeeper probably demanded more, but then, her level of work far surpassed whatever this menial level is… if it’s even a level at all.

What’s worse, however, was when he dismissed the footmen and grooms. Though truth be told, losing the grooms didn’t bother me as much—I’m adept enough to care for a horse on my own. But now that his own footmen have infiltrated my home, it’s as if nothing gets done.

The maids already have their minds turned to other pursuits, namely tormenting me and waggling their tongues to my cousin, but when the footmen are about, there’s nothing but simpering and hiding behind their hands as they gossip about things I have no business knowing about. It’s just as well I don’t understand the words they say. I can only judge by the pallor on their faces that it’s scandalous indeed.

One-by-one, everyone I knew in my life disappeared. It’s as if Asher wanted to scrub the house clean of everything relating to my father save me. I’m the only person he can’t be rid of. Not yet, at least.

Instead, he forced me into a living hell, filling my house with strangers, men and women who don’t know me, didn’t grow up with me, and, more importantly, didn’t like me. Though the maids are the most vocal, it’s hard to miss the animosity practically rolling off the footmen as they serve me food. It’s as if it’s a game amongst all of them—who can make me crack under the pressure first?

On more than one occasion, the night’s meal ended up in my lap as opposed to the plate. Asher fussed at them, but there was no proof it was anything more than just an accident. Still… When the footmen who once graced this house were employed, such a thing never happened.

More than that, as if my father’s will alone held this house together, the moment he died, nearly six months ago, it was as if the very spirit went out of these halls as well. Dirt, grime, and decay seem to set in at a rapid pace. But the logical part of my mind knows it was a long time coming.

Most of the servants were far too concerned with my father’s health, as they should have been. Yes, the regular cleaning was done, but no one paid as much attention to the actual structure of the house. I sure didn’t.

And when he died… When Asher took over with his minions, who seemed far more interested in their own pleasurable pursuits as opposed to working, everything just fell apart. I can’t say they hurried things along, but they certainly didn’t help them either.

With a heavy sigh laden on my lips, I turn my attention to the mess that is now my library. I say mine, but I know in my heart Asher will take it from me without even a moment’s notice. Blinking back the tears that threaten to spring up again, I maneuver my stack over to a nearby desk and pause to look at the scattered books as a plan formulates in my mind.

Unfortunately, with Father being sick for as long as he was and the constant upheaval Asher brought upon this house, I’ve been unable to tend to this room like I’ve wanted. Yes, I may spend every waking hour here, but my heart has never been whole enough to actually work. This time will be different, however. I will not allow myself to get caught up in a good story when there’s work to be done.

Walking over to the nearest shelf, I frown as I look at the titles and authors all intermingled without even a hint of decorum. Someone else has been in here, mucking everything up. There’s no chance I would have been so deep in my grief I wouldn’t have noticed this much disarray.

I shove up my sleeves, baring my forearms as I take a few here and there, making smaller piles as I separate everything by genre. There is no reason philosophy books should be on the same shelves as fiction. Lips twisted up into a studious frown, I continue to pluck and pull until a book catches my eye. Pausing for a moment, my fingers graze the spine as I murmur the title just below my breath.