Chapter 3

Chapter Three

“It appears as though your husband-to-be has a taste for theatrics.” Marianne giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Genevieve glared at her. “He is not my husband-to-be,” she hissed.

“Oh, pish posh, darling. I was merely making a joke. Do you not wish to hear what happened at the Beaumont ball?”

After a quiet exhale, Genevieve raised a curious eyebrow, her gaze moving from her delicate embroidery to give Marianne her full attention. “Very well. Go ahead.”

Marianne leaned towards Genevieve, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The Duke of Ravenshire made quite a sensational entrance.” She raised her hands skyward, her fingers splayed dramatically. “He stormed into the ballroom like a vengeful spirit. They say he has been meddling with strange powers in foreign lands. Witchery, even.”

“Witchery?” Genevieve toyed with the needle she had been using moments before as a faint chuckle escaped her lips. “Is that not a touch melodramatic?”

Marianne nodded, her mischievous grin widening. “It appears that Lord Beaumont has some unresolved matters with the Duke,” she continued, her voice tinged with delight. “The exact details of what transpired between them remain a mystery, but Lord Beaumont was utterly devastated.”

Genevieve pushed the needle through the fabric with a bit too much force and winced at the sharp sting on her finger.

Marianne continued, her hand gestures synchronizing with her words. “But the Duke of Ravenshire… oh, he was not to be trifled with. He revealed some sort of document—a contract, I am told—which he presented to Lord Beaumont.” At that point, she was speaking so quickly that she was running out of breath “It seems that the Duke declared before everyone that he had become the rightful owner of all of Beaumont’s debts and estates.”

Genevieve’s mind was reeling. The Duke of Ravenshire had done this to Lord Beaumont? A figure held in such high regard by the Ton? And with such disdain for his position?

She could hardly wrap her head around it, even if she believed it to be true. What sort of man would make such an audacious declaration in front of everyone? The story seemed too outrageous to be true.

Yet, echoes of the Duke’s note to her from two days ago still hung heavily in the air. But was he not simply playing with her?

“The entire room was aghast,” Marianne continued, her eyes wide. “Lord Beaumont was rendered speechless.” She almost screamed the last word. “The Duke only laughed at him.”

Genevieve set aside her needle and embroidery, rested her chin on the palm of her hand, and brushed her index finger across her lips.

“It seems that the Duke is on a mission of vengeance,” Marianne chirped. “The Ton is frantic with speculation. They are spinning all sorts of stories about him. That he has dabbled in the dark arts, that he found a secret treasure in Europe and now intends to purchase all of London, that he deals with the Devil—you know how they can be.”

“Yes, I know exactly how they can be,” Genevieve said dryly.

Marianne’s eyes went wide as she gasped, instinctively covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, forgive me. I did not mean⁠—”

“Do not fret over it.” Genevieve forced a smile, attempting to mask her growing unease. “It all seems rather sudden and dramatic, does it not? It makes me quite suspicious of his true intentions.”

Marianne nodded, her expression solemn. “Indeed. Yet, all those who were present that night share the impression that his behavior was nearly demonic. Now, everyone is wary of his next move, whatever that might be.”

As Genevieve’s thoughts wandered back to the wedding dress and the note, a sense of surrealism enveloped her. He could not be serious about wanting to marry her.

And yet, a nagging feeling lingered in the back of her mind, filling her with a sense of unease that she could not quite shake off.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning illuminated a long-forgotten and deeply buried memory.

“Goodness,” Genevieve gasped, placing a finger on her lips. “His father, the late Duke, was the one who swindled my father out of his fortune! I just remembered.”

Marianne’s jaw dropped. “Indeed! Oh, Genevieve, do you think he might be coming for you too? Seeking his revenge like he did with Beaumont?”

Genevieve waved a dismissive hand. “That is hardly a concern anymore. It has been years. Also, the Duke and I have never met.” She shrugged. “It is merely a strange coincidence.”

Marianne began to twirl a loose strand of her hair. “But, Genevieve, the rumors surrounding him, his behavior at the ball… it all seems rather ominous, would you not agree?”

Genevieve chuckled lightly. “Oh, Marianne, you must not believe everything you hear. Gossip is fickle, prone to exaggeration and positively littered with embellishment. I am certain that the Duke is harmless. If I were you, I would be more concerned for his well-being than mine. His nerves sound strained.”

“But—”

Genevieve reached her arm across the table and gently patted her friend’s hand. “Truly, Marianne, there is no need for concern. I am sure the Duke is merely seeking attention, nothing more.”

Marianne bit her lip, her gaze filled with apprehension. “If you say so, dear…” she trailed off.

“I am not worried about it,” Genevieve replied, casting a sidelong glance at the window, where rays of sunlight broke through the red velvet curtains. “Pray tell, how is Owen faring?”

“Oh, he is—” Marianne began, but her words were abruptly cut short by a commotion just outside the parlor doors, which suddenly burst open.

Genevieve and Marianne both bolted upright and turned their heads towards the unexpected noise.

Marianne gasped as she saw a tall, broad-shouldered, imposing figure looming in the doorway. The light from the hallway haloed his silhouette and accentuated the sharp angles of his face.

Genevieve’s heart pounded against her ribs, and she took a sharp breath. Who was this man? But she did not dare to finish the thought.

“The Duke of Ravenshire.” Marianne stood up, dropping her hands to her sides.

The Duke stood before them, his jaw clenched as his gaze swept over the two women and landed on Genevieve with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

“My Lady,” he began, his voice a low murmur. “I believe you have an appointment.”

Genevieve blinked, struggling to grasp the vision that had appeared before her. The Duke of Ravenshire stood tall in her parlor, exuding an air of authority that far surpassed Marianne’s description.

He is here to insist on carrying out his ridiculous proposal.

“I don’t,” she retorted, her voice laced with a defiance she did not quite feel. “And do try knocking before entering a lady’s parlor, Your Grace.”

Wilhelm’s lips curled into a humorless smirk. “Formalities seem rather trivial at this moment, would you not agree?” He stepped forward, his presence filling the room. “It is time for our wedding. Why are you not dressed?”

“Our wedding?” Genevieve scoffed, arching an eyebrow. “I assure you, Your Grace, I have no intention of marrying you or anyone else.”

“I am afraid that you have little choice in the matter, My Lady,” Wilhelm said wryly. “I have already obtained the license. The church is ready. Everything is ready. All that is missing is the bride, who,” he raised his index finger and traced her silhouette from where he stood, “does not seem quite ready for the event.”

Genevieve’s breath hitched.

This cannot be happening. Surely, he is not serious…

“You cannot force me into marriage,” she protested, her voice trembling just enough to betray her. “This is my house, and I refuse to be⁠—”

“Your house?” Wilhelm interrupted, one eyebrow arched as he stroked his beard and shook his head. “I am afraid you have not heard the news yet. Your house,” he gestured around the room, “along with the rest of your late husband’s assets, now belongs to his heir. And I assure you, he is not inclined to be lenient with you. Quite the opposite, in fact. He insisted that you be removed from here with haste.”

Marianne gasped. “He is right, Genevieve. That must be what Lord Mirfield meant when we met him in Hyde Park.”

Genevieve’s heart sank. She had been so focused on the absurdity of the Duke’s proposal that she had overlooked the precariousness of her situation. She was about to be penniless, without prospects, and at the mercy of a man who clearly despised her.

Wilhelm watched her intently, his expression unreadable. “I am offering you the solution to your dilemma.” His voice softened slightly. “You will marry me. Today. I will provide you with a home, security, and an allowance that will ensure your comfort. I assure you that I intend to keep you… satisfied,” he promised as his twinkling eyes roamed over her lithe frame.

Genevieve’s cheeks flushed a deep red at his suggestive words, and she suddenly found it challenging to breathe.

“And what of you?” she snapped. “What do you gain from this arrangement?”

“An heir,” Wilhelm replied without hesitation.

Genevieve’s heart beat so fast that she could almost hear its frantic thump.

An heir? Does he genuinely believe I will agree to carry his children?

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “There are countless other women who would jump at the opportunity.”

Wilhelm’s eyes locked onto hers.

“You are not afraid of me, are you?” he asked.

Genevieve blinked hard, grappling with the inexplicable pull she felt towards this stranger. Though she hardly knew him, there was something remarkable about him that she could not quite put her finger on.

“Perhaps I should be afraid of you,” she countered.

Wilhelm’s lips curled into a subtle smile.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But I doubt you are one to cower before a simple, tortured man.” He rolled his eyes playfully before looking back at her, his expression once again serious.

Genevieve’s thoughts raced. He was right. She had faced far worse than a brooding duke with an odd reputation. She had survived the loss of her family, the whispers of the Ton, the cruelty of her uncle and her late husband’s cousin.

“Very well then,” she said, her voice firm. “I accept your proposal.”

“Good.” Wilhelm’s smile widened, a hint of triumph evident in his eyes. “I assure you that you will not regret your decision.” He turned to Marianne, his expression softening. “Lady Clowefield, I trust you will join us for the wedding ceremony?”

Marianne, still recovering from the whirlwind of events, managed a shaky nod. “Um, yes. I suppose I will, Your Grace.”

Wilhelm nodded curtly. “Excellent. Then I shall leave you ladies to prepare. The carriage will be here soon.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the parlor, leaving Genevieve and Marianne to stare after him in stunned silence.