Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

“Aball, you say?” Genevieve echoed, her voice laced with surprise and apprehension.

Anna nodded. “Indeed, Your Grace. Lord Harrington’s annual ball. I have been told that it will be quite the event.”

Genevieve’s mind raced.

A ball. So soon?

She had barely had time to get used to her new life as a duchess, and the Duke was already expecting her to put herself under the abrasive scrutiny of the Ton. And alongside him, no less—a man whose return had stirred its own share of rumors.

The thought made her shiver.

“His Grace has instructed me to inform you that you must arrange a visit to the local modiste and purchase a new gown for the occasion. He will, of course, cover the expenses.”

Genevieve nodded, considering her options, when a spark of an idea suddenly grew in her mind.

A ball could be more than just an obligation—it could be her chance to step out of the shadows and reclaim her place in Society. She could not help but wonder how the Ton would react when they saw her beside Wilhelm.

After all, Wilhelm was still very much alive. That indisputable fact might be enough to improve her reputation and dispel the rumors that she was cursed.

I will attend the ball and hold my head high. I will show the Ton that I am not the broken, cursed woman they whisper about. I am the Duchess of Ravenshire, and I will no longer permit the Ton to malign or devalue me.

“Very well, Anna,” she declared in a firm voice. “I shall visit the village tomorrow. I believe that a change of scenery will do me some good.”

The following morning, Genevieve and Anna ventured into the quaint village of Ravenshire. The cobblestone streets were filled with shopkeepers, patrons, and their children. Although grey clouds had eclipsed the sun, the air was filled with the sounds of chatter, laughter, and the clatter of horse-drawn carriages.

Genevieve’s spirits lifted as she strolled through the village. She marveled at the charming cottages, the quaint shops, and the vibrant flower boxes that adorned the windowsills. It was a stark contrast to the grandeur and formality of the manor and a welcome respite from the oppressive mood that had clung to her since her arrival.

As she wandered through the bustling marketplace, she could not help but notice the curious glances and hushed whispers that followed her. But unlike the judgmental stares she had endured in London, the townspeople looked at her with curiosity and admiration.

“That is the Duchess,” she overheard one woman whisper to her companion. “The Duke’s new wife.”

“She is quite lovely, is she not?” The woman’s companion smiled and nodded approvingly.

Genevieve’s lips curled into a subtle smile. The rumors about her ‘curse’ had clearly not reached this quiet corner of the countryside. Or, she mused, the villagers were simply more accepting and not influenced by the whispers of the Ton.

As she continued her stroll, a group of young children approached her, their faces bright with excitement.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” they chorused, their voices filled with awe.

Genevieve’s heart swelled at their innocent greeting, and she kneeled down to smile at them.

“Good morning,” she replied, her voice gentle and kind.

“We are so glad that you have come to Ravenshire,” one of the children declared, his eyes shining with admiration.

“Yes,” another child chimed in. “The Duke has been so lonely since his father passed. He has not come to visit us in quite some time.”

Genevieve’s heart ached for Wilhelm, a pang of sympathy replacing her earlier apprehension. He was a powerful and enigmatic duke, but he was also a man who had known loss and loneliness, just as she had.

“His Grace is wonderful,” a third child proclaimed with unwavering conviction. “He is always fair and kind to us.”

Genevieve’s curiosity was piqued. “Is he?” she inquired, her voice laced with a hint of skepticism.

The children nodded in unison. “Oh, yes,” they chorused. “He the best Duke we have ever had.”

Genevieve relaxed as she listened to the children sung Wilhelm’s praises. First-hand accounts replaced the unfounded judgments in her heart. She had been ignorant of the love his townspeople held for him.

There was obviously more to him than she had first perceived. If she could think of a way to pull back the layers of his aloofness, she had a feeling that she would find a kind man with a genuine, compassionate heart.

“The modiste’s shop is here, Your Grace.” Anna’s voice interrupted Genevieve’s train of thought.

The maid pointed at a quaint, little shop nestled amidst a row of charming cottages.

The doorbell chimed as they entered, greeting Genevieve as a cheerful display of rows upon rows of colorful fabrics and varieties of delicate lace beckoned her inside. The scent of lavender and freshly pressed linen tickled her nose.

The seamstress appeared from the back room, her eyes widening as she caught sight of her new customer. She bowed her head respectfully.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” she greeted, her voice a warm melody in the cozy space. “I am Mrs. Willowbrook. How may I assist you today?”

Genevieve’s gaze swept over the vibrant array of fabrics, and she offered a tentative smile. “I need a gown for an upcoming ball,” she hesitantly explained. “Something… elegant yet understated.”

Mrs. Willowbrook’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied warmly. “I believe I have just the thing you are looking for.”

She led Genevieve to a display of exquisite silks and satins, their colors ranging from the palest blue to the deepest green. Genevieve’s fingers brushed the delicate fabrics, her mind conjuring images of herself adorned in their splendor.

“How are you finding Ravenshire, Your Grace?” Mrs. Willowbrook respectfully inquired. “It must be quite a change from a bustling city like London.”

Genevieve’s lips curled into a small smile. “It is, indeed,” she admitted, with a touch of amusement. “The pace of life here is different. But I am finding it quite agreeable.”

Mrs. Willowbrook nodded knowingly. “The Duke is a good man, Your Grace,” she remarked with quiet pride. “He cares deeply about his people.”

Genevieve tilted her head slightly as she studied the seamstress, waiting for her to continue.

Mrs. Willowbrook’s smile widened. “Oh, indeed, Your Grace,” she confirmed warmly. “He is a fair and just ruler and is always willing to lend a helping hand to those in need.” She paused as her expression became wistful. “He has been through a great deal, His Grace,” she added with some sadness.

Genevieve’s chest tightened, and she took a deep breath. She had witnessed Wilhelm’s aloofness and his guarded demeanor, but she had only briefly glimpsed the vulnerability that lay beneath the surface. Whatever losses he had endured, they must have been profound.

“But you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Willowbrook continued, her voice regaining its cheerful lilt, “you seem to have brought a spark of joy back into his life. The whole village has noticed the change in him.”

Genevieve’s cheeks flushed, and she turned her attention back to the fabrics, her fingers lingering on a swathe of burgundy satin. “He is a good man, Mrs. Willowbrook,” she admitted softly, her voice steady. “And I am grateful for his kindness.”

She pulled out the soft fabric. “Shall we see how this suits me?”

“Now, on to more pressing matters.” Wilhelm’s voice, though calm, carried an edge of steel as he turned back to Kenneth. “I trust you have made progress with what we had previously discussed?”

Kenneth leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“Indeed, I have,” he confirmed, steepling his fingers. “Remember that little venture you mentioned? The one designed to rival Shelton’s shipping interests?”

A shadow crossed Wilhelm’s face, his jaw clenching as the name echoed in his mind. That man’s name was a disease—a phantom from the past that he could not escape.

Lord Shelton. Alfred.

The magnitude of his betrayal came rushing back as though it had occurred only the day before.

“What was that?” Kenneth asked, leaning forward, his probing gaze fixed on Wilhelm.

Wilhelm shook his head, momentarily disoriented by the question, the weight of his thoughts dragging him under. “What was what?”

Kenneth arched an eyebrow, his voice becoming sharper. “What is the matter?”

A surge of cold, sharp hatred washed over Wilhelm at the thought of Shelton. He clenched his fists beneath the table, trying to keep his composure.

He’s a lying, scheming, despicable bastard.

“Nothing,” he replied with unnerving calm, though the bitterness that laced his words betrayed the anger roiling inside him.

The coolness of his voice only served to mask the frost of hatred that had long since settled deep within him.

Kenneth’s gaze hardened, sensing the tension in Wilhelm’s response.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he retorted, leaning in slightly as if trying to uncover more, his voice laced with curiosity and suspicion.

Wilhelm glanced at him, ready to wave him off, but the Marquess caught him first.

“Ah, I see. I remember Shelton, you know. From Cambridge. You two were close, weren’t you?”

Wilhelm’s jaw tightened.

“Until…” Kenneth trailed off.

“Until he chose his ambitions,” Wilhelm finished for him, his voice hardening with a finality that brooked no further questioning, the warmth of the brandy doing little to quell the icy rage that now gripped his heart

His gaze turned distant as the memory of their broken friendship flashed through his mind. The anger he felt was buried deep, but it still smoldered within, the memory of betrayal a constant companion.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, willing the anger back into its cage.

“Now, enough about that,” he added. “Do you have any news?” he asked, his gaze piercing as he steered the conversation to safer ground.

“I do,” Kenneth replied, his voice a low growl.

Kenneth, ever perceptive, noted the shift in Wilhelm’s demeanor. He pressed his lips together as a hint of concern flickered in his eyes, but he did not comment on it.

“Consider it done,” he announced triumphantly. “I have secured the necessary contracts, forged the alliances, and set the wheels in motion. Shelton will not know what hit him.”

A shadow crossed Wilhelm’s face, and his expression hardened. “Good,” he said curtly, his voice devoid of emotion. “I expect to see results within the month. No mistakes, Gaverton.”

Kenneth nodded, his grin widening. “You shall have them, Ravenshire. You know that I am a careful man.” He raised his glass in a mock toast. “To the downfall of our enemies.”

Wilhelm snorted in agreement. “Indeed,” he growled, clinking his glass against Kenneth’s. “To our inevitable victory.”

Upon the conclusion of their meeting, Wilhelm’s posture straightened, and a fire ignited in his eyes. The strength of the resolve that was rooted deep within his soul provided him with the reassurance he needed. He rose from the desk and gestured for Kenneth to follow him.

As Wilhelm escorted Kenneth to the front door, the sharp click of their boots echoed in the stillness, and the silence of Ravenshire pressed down on them like a waiting storm.

As they rounded the corner, Wilhelm came to an abrupt halt. They found themselves standing before Genevieve, her cheeks still rosy from her trip to the village.

“Genevieve,” Wilhelm greeted, his tone carefully neutral.

“Your Grace.” Genevieve mimicked his tone and stared into his eyes.

Wilhelm pressed his lips together before speaking. “I trust your trip to the modiste was enjoyable?”

Genevieve offered him a genuine smile as her unease faded. “It was, indeed,” she replied happily. “The village was quite charming, to say the least.”

Wilhelm clenched his jaw and glanced at Kenneth. “Allow me to introduce you,” he said, his tone formal. “Genevieve, this is Kenneth, the Marquess of Gaverton. He is a business associate of mine.”

His gaze shifted back to Kenneth. “Gaverton, this is my wife, the Duchess of Ravenshire.”

Kenneth’s face broke into a charming smile.

“Duchess,” he greeted, bowing slightly. “It is an honor to finally meet you. Ravenshire has spoken about you with admiration.” He grinned, raising an eyebrow at Wilhelm.

Wilhelm’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He forced a smile, though it did little to mask his growing annoyance.

“He speaks the truth,” he said, his voice cool and measured as he shot Kenneth a sidelong glance.

Genevieve ignored his comment as she turned to the Marquess and offered him a wide smile.

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Gaverton,” she responded, clearly flattered by his words.

A possessive glare darkened his eyes. Clearing his throat, he interjected.

“Indeed. Now, if you will excuse us, Gaverton and I have matters to discuss.”

Genevieve’s smile faltered. “Of course,” she replied in a subdued tone. “Perhaps Lord Gaverton would care to join us for dinner?”

Kenneth’s grin widened, and he opened his mouth to accept, but Wilhelm’s sharp glare silenced him. Kenneth turned to look at Genevieve and offered her a slight smile.

“That is very kind of you, Duchess,” he said warmly. “But I must decline. I have a long journey ahead of me, and I do not wish to intrude on your evening.”

Genevieve nodded politely. “Another time, then.”

Kenneth bowed. “Indeed. It was a pleasure meeting you, Duchess.” Turning to Wilhelm, his demeanor shifted. “Ravenshire,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I shall await your invitation.”

“You shall receive it soon,” Wilhelm replied briskly, his gaze lingering on Genevieve.

Kenneth bid them good evening, leaving them standing together in the dimly lit entrance.

“I trust you found the village to your liking?” Wilhelm inquired, his tone neutral.

Genevieve nodded. “It was quite charming,” she said cautiously.

Wilhelm continued to look at her. “And the seamstress?”

Genevieve offered him a faint smile. “She was quite helpful. I believe I found the perfect gown for the ball.”

Wilhelm’s smile widened slightly, a trace of warmth softening his features. “Excellent,” he murmured. “I look forward to seeing you in it.”

He hesitated, his gaze holding hers. “Genevieve,” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant. “I…” he trailed off.

She waited, hoping for a glimpse of the man behind the aloof facade.

Wilhelm knew she was waiting for a hint or a sign of what he was feeling, but instead, he merely cleared his throat and looked away.

“It is time for dinner,” he announced, his tone once again stiff and formal. “I shall meet you in the dining hall.”