Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

“Good morning, Duchess,” Wilhelm greeted from behind, his voice unusually cheerful.

The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the breakfast room, casting a warm glow on the polished mahogany table laden with an array of delectable dishes.

Genevieve sat stiffly in her chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her gaze fixed on the untouched plate before her.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice stiff and formal.

The events of the previous night kept replaying in her mind, accompanied by a whirlwind of emotions that she could not explain. The library, the kiss, the Duke’s touch—it had all been so unexpected and overwhelming.

She had fled his presence, seeking refuge in her chambers, forcing herself to get some rest, but sleep had eluded her. She had been consumed by the memory of his lips on hers, the warmth of his hands on her skin as he pulled her towards him.

As he pulled out his chair and sat down, her gaze remained fixed on her plate.

Genevieve felt his eyes burning holes into her forehead. She kept her eyes downcast, unwilling to acknowledge his presence.

The deafening silence grew in the dining room like a dense fog. She knew he was waiting for her to say something, but she could not find the right words.

After what felt like an eternity, Wilhelm turned his attention to his food, picked up his fork, and began to eat.

Their silence was only interrupted by the soft clinking of silverware against porcelain and the occasional discreet cough from a servant hovering nearby.

“I trust you slept well?” Wilhelm inquired, his voice carefully neutral.

Genevieve’s lips tightened. “Well enough,” she replied curtly as she picked through her meal.

The events of the previous night still burned brightly in her mind, resurfacing from the depths where she had tried to bury them. She needed to regain her emotional footing.

All she could think about was the way his hands had felt as he caressed her skin and the rush of need she had experienced when he pressed his lips against hers. His deep, sultry voice echoed in her mind and made her weak with desire.

Listening to Wilhelm casually making small talk over the breakfast table as though nothing had happened only served to accelerate her thoughts until she believed her head would explode.

Genevieve gathered the shreds of her tattered composure and lifted her head to look at him, softly cleared her throat, and began to speak.

“I am going to visit the Clowefields today,” she announced in a firm voice.

Wilhelm slowly raised his head, looked at her with surprise, and raised his eyebrows. “The Clowefields?”

Genevieve nodded curtly. “Indeed. I trust you have no objections to my plans?”

Wilhelm shrugged. “When will you return?”

“I shall return by nightfall.”

Wilhelm nodded. “Very well,” he agreed. “Enjoy your visit, Duchess.”

Was that a challenge?

As Genevieve stared at him, he remained focused on his breakfast, his knife and fork slicing through the food with meticulous care, and he did not spare a glance in her direction.

A flicker of frustration stirred within her. Was he waiting for her to speak? For her to break the silence so that he could tell her she was not allowed to leave?

There was no way she would back down, not after everything she had been through since arriving at Ravenshire.

When their eyes finally met, she noticed that his expression had softened. He appeared gentler and a bit crestfallen by her announcement.

Genevieve rose from her chair, her movements stiff and deliberate. She could no longer bear to linger in his presence as long as the memory of their kiss still burned in her mind.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she stepped back from the table.

With a curtsy, she turned on her heels and fled the breakfast room.

The carriage ride to Clowefield passed in a haze of swirling emotions.

Genevieve’s mind would not stop replaying the events of the previous night in relentless loops, dissecting and analyzing every word, each touch, and all of their lingering glances. The confusion had settled deep within her, knotting her thoughts together. She needed Marianne more than ever.

“Genevieve!” Marianne squealed joyfully as she ran to hug her, pulling her into a warm embrace while bombarding her with questions.

Genevieve was unable to contain her emotions any longer. “I have so much to tell you.”

Marianne’s eyes glinted with excitement. “Come, I will have the servants prepare tea.” She tugged her towards the sofa. “Now, tell me everything.”

Genevieve, unable to keep the flood of thoughts inside any longer, poured her heart out to her friend. She recounted every detail, from the fateful night in the library to the kiss, the lingering confusion, and the unsettling shifts in the Duke’s mood since their wedding.

Marianne listened with unwavering attention, furrowing her brow in concern at her every word, her silence offering Genevieve the space to unravel the tangled mess of emotions inside of her.

“My darling friend,” she began, her voice laced with worry, “I do not understand the Duke’s behavior either. It seems rather erratic.”

Genevieve nodded in agreement. “I cannot read him. And every time I ask him about his intentions, he says it is not yet the right time for such a discussion.”

Marianne’s gaze softened. “Be careful, Genevieve,” she cautioned, her voice gentle. “The Duke is a cunning man. Do not let him take advantage of you.”

“I will not let him break me,” Genevieve murmured, more to reassure herself than anything else.

Marianne gently put her hand over Genevieve’s. “I know, my dear friend. You are much stronger than you think. You have already survived so much. You are no longer the woman that you once were, and you must not let him make you feel like you are.”

The words were simple but grounded in truth.

Genevieve nodded, the tightness in her chest easing ever so slightly. She had always thought of herself as fragile, easily swayed by the people around her. But that was before her parents died, before her uncle’s deception, and before her first marriage. Her growth after each tragedy had helped her to understand what real strength was.

Now, she was learning to stand her ground.

Marianne smiled softly. “I know you will make the right decisions.” She squeezed Genevieve’s hand before standing up. “Come, let us enjoy our tea, shall we? You need a moment to breathe.”

Genevieve allowed Marianne to guide her gently towards the small sitting room, grateful for the care and comfort that her friend so freely provided.

As the steam from the tea rose in delicate tendrils, Genevieve’s thoughts drifted back to her husband’s lips, and a giddy feeling coursed through her body and made her tingle all the way down to her toes.

She knew she should feel embarrassed and ashamed for allowing herself to linger on such thoughts, but the memory filled her with yearning. She wanted to feel herself soar once again from the heat of his touch and the intensity of the kiss that had left her breathless.

Her heart ached at her friend’s concern, but she could not deny the truth in her words. She had a history of being betrayed and treated shoddily by family members and friends that she had trusted. She could not afford to let down her guard around a powerful man like Wilhelm.

Marianne offered her a warm smile. “Remember, my dear, Owen and I will always be here for you.”

In a world where everything felt uncertain, Marianne had always been Genevieve’s safe harbor. No matter how many trials life threw her way, Genevieve knew that she could rely on her friend. Marianne’s loyalty had never wavered.

At that moment, Genevieve found comfort in the knowledge that, no matter how complicated her world became, at least one person completely understood her and genuinely cared about her welfare.

The carriage ride back to Ravenshire passed in a blur, the rhythmic motion of the wheels providing a calming counterpoint to the maelstrom in her mind. She found herself gazing out the carriage window and appreciating the soft, golden hues of the sunset as it spilled over the trees.

There was something oddly comforting in the way the fading light kissed the landscape, and despite the looming, melancholy atmosphere, she found herself becoming fond of Ravenshire.

Upon her return to the manor, she found Anna eagerly waiting to greet her.

“Your Grace.” The maid bowed her head. “I have a message for you, Your Grace. From… the Duke.”

Genevieve blinked. “Go on.”

“His Grace instructed me to tell you that you shall be attending a ball next week.”