Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

“The Duke and Duchess of Ravenshire,” the master of ceremonies’ voice boomed through the hall, announcing their arrival to the Ton.

The grand ballroom buzzed with polite conversation as the candlelight flickered and cast dancing shadows over the faces of London’s elite, who had gathered for Lord Harrington’s annual ball.

Genevieve’s gloved hand, which had been resting lightly on Wilhelm’s arm, twitched as a tremor of apprehension coursed through her.

The whispers, the stares, and the weight of the Ton’s judgment threatened to smother the newfound confidence she had just begun to embrace.

Sensing her unease, Wilhelm squeezed her hand in response.

“Do not let the bastards affect you,” he whispered in her ear.

Genevieve turned her head towards him in evident gratitude.

A hush fell over the assembled guests, their conversations momentarily silenced as all eyes turned towards the entrance. Genevieve heard a ripple of excited whispers spread through the crowd like a swarm of bees.

Together, she and Wilhelm held their heads high and walked side by side towards the gathering.

They stepped into the ballroom, the polished marble floor reflecting the glittering chandeliers that hung like celestial orbs from the high ceiling. The walls were adorned with tapestries and gilded mirrors that reflected the vibrant hues of the guests’ attire.

As they made their way through the swarm of guests, Genevieve felt their stares and heard the whispers that followed her like shadows.

Tonight, I will not cower.

“Your Grace,” a woman with a haughty expression greeted Wilhelm, her gaze flicking over Genevieve with barely concealed disdain. “How… unexpected to see you here.”

Wilhelm’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Indeed, Lady Harrington,” he replied, his tone colored with mockery. “I believe it is customary to extend an invitation to the Duke and Duchess of Ravenshire, even if their presence is undesirable.”

Lady Harrington’s cheeks flushed. “Of course, Your Grace! I did not mean to suggest that your presence is undesirable,” she spluttered, her eyes darting nervously to Genevieve. “I simply meant⁠—”

“I believe the Duchess is eager to have a tour of the ballroom,” Wilhelm interrupted, his voice firm. “If you will excuse us.”

He steered Genevieve away, leaving Lady Harrington stammering in their wake. Genevieve smiled at the woman’s obvious discomfort.

As they moved through the crowd, Genevieve could hear the whispers grow louder, the words ‘curse’ and ‘cursed’ echoing around her like a haunting incantation. But Wilhelm’s presence beside her was a steady anchor, his strength a shield against the malice of the Ton.

“Your Grace,” a man with a supercilious expression greeted Wilhelm.

“Lord Ashworth.” Wilhelm nodded slightly.

“I must admit, I am quite surprised to see you here,” Ashworth said, glancing at Genevieve.

Wilhelm cleared his throat and, in his sternest voice, announced, “This is my wife, the Duchess of Ravenshire.”

Genevieve felt exposed under Ashworth’s lingering stare and took a small step backward. Trying to remain polite, she offered, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lord.”

Ashworth leaned back slightly, his gaze still fixed on her, but he said nothing. As she took a step closer to curtsy, he recoiled from her and narrowed his eyes.

“Is there something wrong, Lord Ashworth?” Wilhelm spat out the man’s name with obvious distaste.

Ashworth’s eyes flicked back to Wilhelm. “I have to admit I was surprised by the announcement of your union.”

Wilhelm’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. “Do you find something amiss with my wife, Lord Ashworth?” His voice was dangerously calm.

Lord Ashworth chuckled nervously. “Not at all, Your Grace,” he replied. “It was merely an observation.”

“Indeed,” Wilhelm drawled, his voice laced with a subtle threat. “And I trust, from now on, you shall treat my wife with the respect she deserves.”

Lord Ashworth paled, his composure faltering. “Of course, Your Grace,” he stammered, bowing his head in deference.

Wilhelm steered Genevieve away from the vile man. “Do not let them intimidate you, my dear,” he murmured in her ear. “They are but shadows, and their words echo hollow. They are all beneath you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice filled with sincerity.

The music began, the lilting melody filling the ballroom and inviting the guests to take to the dance floor.

Wilhelm released her hand, stepped in front of her, and bowed deeply, extending his hand with a subtle smile.

“May I have this dance, Duchess?” he asked huskily as he straightened.

Genevieve’s heart fluttered, her gaze locking with his as she blushed. “You may,” she replied shyly.

They stepped onto the dance floor, their bodies moving in perfect sync with the music, their steps a graceful ballet. Wilhelm’s hand rested on her waist, his touch sending waves of warmth through her. His gaze never wavered from hers, his emerald-green eyes brimming with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.

“You look breathtaking, Genevieve,” he murmured in her ear, his breath caressing her neck.

Genevieve’s cheeks flushed at his compliment, and her heart pounded in her chest.

A low hum escaped Wilhelm’s lips as his eyes swept over her from head to toe. “You look positively exquisite in this dress.”

He lifted her hand and twirled her gracefully. When his hand returned to rest on her waist, he added, “But your eyes… they betray a spark that yearns to become a roaring fire. I am eager to stoke that fire, Duchess.” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

The hunger in his words and his touch broke the dam of unrequited longing that had built up inside her, and her desire poured forth with a fury that left her stunned by its force. The ballroom faded into the background as she lost herself in his scent and the tenderness of his embrace.

As the final notes of the waltz faded, Genevieve and Wilhelm slowed, their bodies still swaying in unison, their gazes locked in silent conversation. Wilhelm’s hand lingered on her waist, sending pulses of desire to her core.

“You are an excellent dancer, Genevieve.”

Her cheeks flushed as she smiled softly. “My mother insisted that I learn from an early age,” she replied wistfully. “She had a dancing master come to the house, but when our financial situation, uh, changed, I had to stop.”

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow, his hand tightening slightly on her waist as he absorbed her words. “And what became of that? Did you miss it?”

Her gaze flicked to the floor for a brief moment. “I did, at first. But there were other things that required my attention.”

Wilhelm’s tone became protective. “I promise you, Genevieve, you will never want for anything again, as long as you are by my side. I will ensure that you have everything you desire.”

Genevieve looked up at him, her heart suddenly light. “I no longer require very much to be content,” she admitted, her voice steady but laced with vulnerability. “I have found ways to manage.”

“Perhaps. But know this, my Duchess,” he said, his voice lowering slightly, “if there is anything you wish for, it shall be yours. I shall make sure of it.”

“Your Graces,” a cheerful voice greeted, interrupting them.

Genevieve turned to see Kenneth approaching them, his face alight with a charming smile.

“My, my, Your Grace. You look radiant,” he remarked.

Genevieve gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lord Gaverton,” she replied, her voice radiating warmth.

Kenneth looked at Wilhelm, and his expression turned apologetic. “Ravenshire,” he began. “I must apologize for the intrusion, but an urgent matter has arisen.”

Wilhelm furrowed his brow, and his face became stony. “Can the matter not wait, Gaverton?” he asked with thinly veiled annoyance.

Kenneth shook his head. “I am afraid not,” he replied, his voice firm. “It concerns the, uh, shipment affair.”

Wilhelm glanced at Genevieve and opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, another voice interrupted them.

“Genevieve!” Marianne exclaimed, her voice filled with delight as she and Owen approached the trio.

Genevieve’s face lit up with a genuine smile. “Marianne! Owen!” she greeted, her heart brimming with happiness at the sight of her dear friends.

After exchanging greetings with Wilhelm and Kenneth, Marianne turned to Genevieve. “You look absolutely radiant, my dear,” she gushed.

Genevieve’s cheeks flushed, and she glanced at Wilhelm. “Thank you,” she murmured shyly.

“Duchess,” he began, his tone becoming formal again. “If you will excuse me, I must address this urgent matter. I will leave you to catch up with your friends.”

Genevieve nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice steady. “I shall be quite all right.”

Wilhelm hesitated for a moment. Genevieve offered him a reassuring smile, her eyes silently conveying that she would not falter in his absence.

With a curt nod, he turned around and followed Kenneth, their figures disappearing into the throngs.

Genevieve watched them go, apprehension and a newfound sense of freedom swirling in her heart. She was alone, surrounded by the watchful eyes of the Ton, but she was no longer the timid, uncertain girl they had once known. She was the Duchess of Ravenshire, and she would continue to face their barbs and challenges with her head held high.

“Goodness, Genevieve!” Marianne exclaimed, her eyes wide as they walked towards the refreshments table. “The Ton is in quite a frenzy over your arrival.”

Genevieve giggled. “I had not really noticed,” she replied. “And what, pray tell, has caused such a stir?”

Owen chuckled, his gaze sweeping over the ballroom. “It seems that everyone assumed you came without being formally invited to the ball,” he explained, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “The whispers were quite entertaining, I must admit.”

Marianne nodded in agreement. “They were all convinced that you showed up uninvited—a bold move, considering… Well, you know.”

“Well, they are wrong. The Duke and I received an invitation like everyone else here,” Genevieve responded.

“Of course. We believe you, my friend,” Owen said. “But fear not, Duchess. The whispers soon turned into murmurs of admiration.”

As Genevieve laughed, a hand suddenly landed on her shoulder and caused her to jump.

“Well, well, well… look who decided to grace us with her presence.” A sly voice sliced through the pleasantries, sending icy chills down her neck.

She turned to find Lord Shelton, his lips curled into a sneer, his eyes filled with malicious amusement.

“Alfred,” she acknowledged.

“May I have this dance, Genevieve?” Alfred requested, extending his hand with a flourish.

Surprised by his sudden appearance and even more so by his request, she hesitated.

“Of course, Lord Shelton,” she replied after a brief pause, her voice carefully neutral as she placed her hand in his.

He led her onto the dance floor, his grip firm. As they moved with the music, Genevieve became acutely aware of the heavy scent of his cologne, which barely masked his noticeable body odor. She gagged and delicately dabbed a perfumed handkerchief near her mouth to mask the smell.

“You look beautiful, Your Grace,” Alfred remarked, his voice a smooth baritone that showed a hint of the boy she once knew. “Ravenshire clearly agrees.”

Genevieve managed a small smile. “Thank you, Alfred,” she replied as she scanned the room in search of Wilhelm’s imposing figure.

“It has been a long time,” Alfred continued, his eyes searching hers.

Genevieve’s smile faltered, the memories of that fateful night—the last time she had seen him—flashing before her eyes. “It has.”

“Remember,” he said, the corners of his lips quirking up, “when I taught you how to whistle?”

Genevieve closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she nodded. “I do,” she said dismissively, turning her face away from him.

“You simply could not get it right. You had to try over and over.” Alfred chuckled as he raised his hand, gesturing for her to twirl. “You were so feisty back then. Well, I suppose you still are.”

Genevieve scoffed. “I suppose you would not know,” she retorted, her shoulders stiffening despite their dancing. “Since you have not seen me since the accident.”

There were a few minutes of silence during which neither of them looked directly at the other.

“And your first husband…” Alfred continued, completely ignoring her comment. “Lord Mirfield, was it?”

Genevieve nodded curtly, still scanning the room for Wilhelm.

Where has he gone?

“I trust your new husband is treating you well?” Alfred inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.

“Perfectly,” she snapped. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, do not mind me,” he drawled, staring at her with a degree of invasiveness that made her uneasy. “I am simply curious. You know how the gossips of the Ton can be.”

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed on him. “And what have they been gossiping about?”

Alfred chuckled, a humorless sound that grated on her nerves. “The usual, I am afraid,” he replied. “Your… ahem… They whisper of a curse that led to the untimely demise of your first husband.”

“I am well aware of the rumors that follow me, Alfred,” she retorted coolly. “But I hardly need you to remind me of them, especially when a fair share of their gossip is regularly directed at you.”

Alfred’s smile widened, and a cruel glint flashed in his eyes. “I merely wished to express my sympathy,” he purred, his voice dripping with insincerity. “It must be difficult to bear the weight of such a burden.”

Genevieve scoffed, her eyes blazing with contempt. “Your sympathy?” she hissed, her voice filled with scorn. “If I remember correctly, you abandoned me in my hour of need, did you not?”

“Genevieve, I…” he stammered, his voice losing its arrogant cadence.

“I will not tolerate your hypocrisy, Alfred. And now, this late in the day, you dare to feign concern?” she scoffed.

Alfred’s face flushed. “I was merely trying to protect my reputation, Genevieve,” he argued, his voice laced with indignation.

“Your reputation?” Genevieve spat, her voice dripping with scorn. “You value your social standing more than the bonds of friendship, then?”

Alfred’s gaze hardened. “Do not lecture me on loyalty, Genevieve,” he hissed.

Genevieve’s gaze hardened as the music ended, and she stepped off the dance floor, the sound of footsteps trailing behind her.

It was then that she finally spotted Wilhelm, who immediately strode over to her.

Alfred stopped in his tracks. “Thank you for the dance, Genevieve. We can continue our conversation,” he gazed at Wilhelm, “another time.”

He quickly turned and walked away.

Wilhelm’s fiery gaze burned holes into Alfred’s retreating figure.

“Dance?” he echoed, his voice a low growl. “Did he touch you?”

Genevieve’s heart skipped a beat, and a warmth spread through her at his protectiveness.

“He…” Her breath caught in her throat. “I… merely wished to be polite.”

Wilhelm’s eyes locked onto hers with a force that took her breath away.

“You need not be polite to people like him,” he said, his voice rising as his ire grew.

Genevieve’s heart pounded, and her eyes widened. “I am sorry. I simply⁠—”

“We are done for tonight,” he interrupted, his eyes scanning the room. “Say goodbye to Lord and Lady Clowefield. I will be waiting for you in the carriage.”

With that, he stormed off.