Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

“Well, if my eyes do not deceive me, it is the Duchess of Ravenshire,” a blonde woman in a golden gown remarked haughtily, her voice filled with disdain.

“How unexpected to see you here alone.”

Genevieve forced a polite smile and looked at the stranger before her.

“Indeed. Lady Granville, is it not?” she replied, her voice firm. “If it is any of your business, the Duke is currently occupied with business matters and could not attend. But I am positive he would be here if he could.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the group of women surrounding her, their eyes widening with curiosity and barely concealed amusement.

One woman opened her fan, whispering to her friend and looking at her as they spoke.

“Business matters?” another woman scoffed, her gaze lingering on Genevieve with barely veiled contempt. “Or perhaps the Duke is currently indisposed?”

Genevieve’s jaw tightened, her gloved fingers curling into fists. “The Duke is perfectly well, Madam,” she retorted.

“Oh, but of course,” a third woman chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How foolish of us to forget. It is the curse, of course.”

Genevieve’s heart pounded in her chest, the whispers echoing around her like a haunting refrain.

She had hoped that her marriage to Wilhelm, that his presence by her side, would dispel the rumors that had plagued her for years. But it appeared that the curse followed her like a shadow—a stain on her reputation that she simply could not wash off.

“I do wonder,” a fourth woman remarked, her eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity, “when the curse will claim its next victim.”

Genevieve’s gaze hardened, her patience wearing thin. “I believe it is impolite to speculate on such matters,” she snapped.

The women exchanged amused glances and smirked at her discomfort.

“Oh, but Duchess,” the first woman chimed in, “we are merely concerned about the Duke’s well-being. After all, your… reputation precedes you. You cannot blame us.”

They all burst into laughter.

Genevieve longed to defend her honor, but the words caught in her throat.

Just as the tension reached its peak, a cheerful voice cut through the air.

“Genevieve!” Marianne exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with warmth as she approached, her presence a welcome beacon amidst the sea of hateful faces.

“Marianne,” Genevieve greeted, relief flooding her voice as she reached for her friend’s hand.

Marianne’s gaze swept over the group of women, her brow furrowing in disapproval.

“Ladies,” she acknowledged darkly. “I do believe that the Duchess needs some refreshments. If you will excuse us.”

With a gentle tug, Marianne steered Genevieve away from the vile gaggle of ladies, their figures disappearing into the throng of guests.

“Thank you,” Genevieve murmured, her voice filled with gratitude. “I was beginning to feel quite overwhelmed.”

Marianne’s gaze softened, her hand resting reassuringly on Genevieve’s arm.

“I noticed,” she replied softly. “Those women are nothing but vultures who delight in preying on the vulnerable.”

Genevieve nodded in agreement. “They seem determined to remind me of my former reputation,” she said bitterly.

Marianne furrowed her brow.

“Reputation?” she echoed disbelievingly. “But you are the Duchess of Ravenshire. Your marriage to the Duke should have silenced those whispers, by now.”

Genevieve hesitated, her gaze darting away. “It should have,” she agreed. “But… it has not.”

Marianne’s curiosity was piqued. “What has happened?” she inquired, her face etched with worry.

Genevieve took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. “When Wilhelm returned from his business trip,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “I went to greet him, but he… he pushed me away.”

Marianne’s eyes widened in surprise. “Pushed you away? But why, my dear friend?”

Genevieve’s gaze dropped to her gloved hands, her fingers nervously tracing the delicate embroidery.

“He said he needed some time,” she explained, her voice barely audible. “He said he was overwhelmed.”

Marianne furrowed her brow. “What do you mean by overwhelmed?”

Genevieve hesitated, her mind replaying the events of that night. “I asked him what was bothering him,” she confessed, “but he… he just repeated that he was feeling overwhelmed and then left.”

Marianne’s concern deepened. “He left?” she stammered in disbelief. “Where did he go?”

Genevieve’s gaze drifted towards the dance floor, her eyes searching for Wilhelm’s familiar figure, even though she knew he was not there.

“He has been… strangely distant,” she said sadly. “He had been immersing himself in his work and has rarely left his study since his return.”

Marianne’s expression softened, reaching out to gently squeeze her friend’s hand.

“I am so sorry, Genevieve,” she murmured, her voice filled with sympathy. “I do not understand what could have caused such a drastic change in him.”

Genevieve shook her head, her gaze fixed on the dancing couples as they twirled around the dance floor.

“Nor do I,” she admitted. “But I fear… I fear I have lost him.”

Marianne paused for a moment, looking at her with worried eyes.

“Come, Genevieve,” she said, her voice regaining its cheerful lilt, “let us not dwell on such gloomy thoughts. Let us enjoy the music, the company, and the festivities. The Duke shall eventually come to his senses.”

She led Genevieve towards the dance floor, her gaze sweeping across the room and landing on a familiar figure.

“Ah, there is Kenneth!” she exclaimed. “Perhaps he can shed some light on the Duke’s behavior.”

Genevieve’s heart fluttered slightly, a flicker of hope rekindling within her. Perhaps Kenneth could offer some insight into the Duke’s sudden withdrawal.

As they approached Kenneth, his face lit up with a warm smile. “Your Grace,” he greeted, bowing slightly, “it is a pleasure to see you in this gathering.”

Genevieve’s lips curled into a grateful smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Lord Gaverton,” she replied.

Kenneth’s gaze flicked to the empty space beside her, his brow furrowing slightly. “I trust the Duke is… well?” he inquired cautiously.

Genevieve hesitated, her gaze dropping to her gloved hands. “He is… well,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But he was unable to attend this evening.”

Kenneth’s expression filled with understanding.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice laced with sympathy. “I do apologize, Your Grace. I know how much you were looking forward to this ball.”

Genevieve’s heart ached at his words. “It is quite all right,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I am enjoying myself, nonetheless.”

Kenneth’s lips curled into a reassuring smile. “I am glad to hear it, Your Grace,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “Despite his recent mood, the Duke is quite fond of you.”

“Is he?” she inquired.

Kenneth nodded, his eyes filled with conviction. “He is,” he confirmed. “He may not always show it, but he cares for you deeply.”

Genevieve’s heart fluttered again.

I need to keep telling myself that I have not lost him yet. Is there still a chance for us to recapture the happiness we have created?

Genevieve looked up at Kenneth, her heart a little lighter at his words. His easy smile and warm demeanor were a balm against the sharp barbs of the other women.

“I thank you for saying so, Lord Gaverton,” she replied softly. “It… it means more to me than you know.”

Kenneth’s brow lifted playfully. “Well, we can’t have you looking so downcast, Your Grace, not when there is a perfectly good orchestra playing.”

Before she could respond, Kenneth extended his hand, his voice light and teasing.

“Come now, Duchess. If His Grace is not here to dance with you, then it falls upon me to step in. Let us scandalize the ton, shall we?”