Chapter 6

Chapter Six

“Welcome to Ravenshire, Duchess,” Wilhelm said, his voice cutting through the tension that had settled over them as Genevieve peered out the window, unable to look away.

Before her loomed Ravenshire, a mansion that seemed to stretch endlessly across the landscape, its vast facade bathed in the deep, golden light of the setting sun.

The carriage swept through imposing wrought iron gates, each bar etched with the sharp silhouette of a raven, their dark eyes seeming to watch them as they passed.

As they drew closer, Genevieve could make out the darkened windows that punctuated the towering walls. Ancient growths of English ivy twisted up the stone and clung to it with a possessive grip, as though it had been woven into the very bones of the house.

The air around her was permeated with a stillness that seemed to rise from the stones themselves, which breathed of secrets long buried in the walls.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the grand entrance, the dark ebony doors adorned with intricate carvings.

“It is…” Genevieve began, but she broke off as Wilhelm immediately stepped out of the carriage without saying a word and ran a hand through his hair.

He extended a hand to allow her to descend safely from the carriage as she took in the view that surrounded her.

Her gaze swept over the freshly trimmed lawns and the estate’s towering, sculpted hedges. The path to the front door was lined with statues. There were horses with human faces, winged angels casting judgmental stares, and an enormous raven, nearly as tall as she was, its wings spread—whether in welcome or warning, she could not tell. All were carved from gleaming white marble.

“This is where we will live?” Genevieve’s eyes widened, and she shivered as she took in the magnificence of the sprawling estate and a windy chill seeped through her coat.

Wilhelm gave a sharp nod without looking at her, his gaze fixed firmly on the front door.

He had let go of her hand but was walking beside her, leading her along the trail to the grand entrance.

As they ascended the steps, the doors swung open, revealing a spacious, circular hall.

A sweeping staircase with a polished banister gleamed in the soft light and dominated the entryway, while a crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, its intricate facets casting a kaleidoscope of colors over the walls. The manor radiated a hushed stillness, as though it had long been untouched and unoccupied.

It felt colder inside than in the hands of the blustery winds that had assaulted her on arrival.

A small group of servants waited in the foyer, all dressed in black. The young maid at the head of the line held her breath as Wilhelm’s gaze swept over them, glancing at his face before she quickly looked down.

A footman squared his shoulders, but his hands trembled slightly as he clasped them behind his back.

Wilhelm moved past them without a word, his gaze fixed ahead, his presence commanding a silence that none of them dared to break.

“This is Lady Genevieve, the Duchess of Ravenshire,” he announced, his stern voice echoing through the vast space. “She will be your new mistress.”

Gasps rippled through the servants, their wide eyes darting to Genevieve. Some of them pressed their lips together as though they were holding back questions.

In the dim light, Genevieve caught the thinly veiled alarm on their pale faces. Although her pulse raced at the sight, she straightened her posture and lifted her chin.

I will show them no sign of weakness.

Wilhelm’s lips curled into a humorless smile as he looked them over. “I trust that you will all treat her with the respect and regard befitting her station,” he continued, his voice sharp and threatening. “Her well-being is of utmost importance. See to her every need, anticipate her every desire. Do I make myself clear?”

The servants nodded in unison, their voices a chorus of affirmation. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Wilhelm’s gaze landed on Genevieve, and a gentle look flitted across his otherwise steely features.

“I shall leave you in their hands,” he murmured with a brief nod towards the servants. His face once again adopted a mask of indifference as he turned and strode away.

Genevieve listened as his retreating footsteps resounded through the hall. Her heart sank as he melted into the shadows and the tomb-like silence descended upon her.

A tall, thin woman with grey hair and a stern expression stepped forward, her hands clasped neatly in front of her starched apron.

“Welcome to Ravenshire, Your Grace,” she greeted, her voice low and rough as she briefly glanced at Genevieve. “I am Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper. If it pleases Your Grace, I will show you to your chambers.”

Genevieve nodded gratefully as she scanned her opulent surroundings. “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” she replied hesitantly.

Mrs. Hughes led her up the grand staircase.

As the stairs stretched up before Genevieve, each riser became more unpleasant than the last. Portraits of stern, intimidating faces lined the walls on either side, each bordered by intricate, gilded frames. The subjects stared down at them with hollow, disapproving eyes.

Genevieve’s skin prickled as she passed them, and a shiver crept down her rigid spine. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood at uneasy attention until she’d finally reached the top of the stairs.

They reached a set of imposing double doors, their polished mahogany surfaces gleaming in the soft light. Mrs. Hughes opened them with a flourish, revealing a breathtakingly lavish bedchamber.

“These are your chambers, Your Grace,” she announced, her voice steady. “I trust you will find them to your liking.”

Genevieve’s eyes widened as she took in the magnificent quarters.

The vast room sported high ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork. A plush four-poster bed draped in luxurious red velvet curtains dominated the space. A silk brocade chaise lounge nestled invitingly beside the fireplace. A dressing table stood against the far wall, its surface covered in an array of silver-topped jars and crystal perfume bottles, while a wardrobe, its doors ajar, revealed a collection of exquisite, colorful gowns.

“It is… quite elegant,” Genevieve managed to say as she lost herself in the welcoming scent of cinnamon that permeated the room.

Mrs. Hughes offered her a crisp, cold smile. “I shall leave you to settle in, Your Grace,” she muttered tersely. “If you require anything, please do not hesitate to ring for a maid.”

With a final curtsy, Mrs. Hughes withdrew, leaving Genevieve alone in the lavish chamber.

She wandered about the room in a daze, her fingers tracing the delicate patterns on the wallpaper, her gaze lingering on the exquisite furnishings. She sat in front of the dressing table and stared at herself in the large, gilded mirror.

She looked as weary and pale as the staff.

It must be the light.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered to her reflection, her ocean-blue eyes appearing brownish black in the dim light of the room, matching her deep brown hair.

She lingered before the mirror, her eyes wandering to the room’s backdrop. Her gaze shifted to the vibrant dresses highlighted in its reflection.

Genevieve stood and made her way to the open wardrobe. At least fifty dresses lined its expanse, each one oozing luxury and designed with exquisite details. She ran her fingers over the delicate fabrics, pausing to lift several of the dresses from the rack to inspect their intricate details more closely.

As she draped a dark blue lace and silk dress, studded with tiny gold jewels along its sleeves and fitted bodice, over her arm, a soft knock sounded at her door.

Startled, she quickly returned the dress to its rightful place in the wardrobe, then moved swiftly to the center of the room before answering.

“Come in,” she called, her voice catching slightly as she glanced at the door, her hands instinctively dropping to her sides.

A young maid, her face framed by a neat white cap, stepped into the room. “Your Grace,” she greeted as she curtsied and bowed her head, careful to avoid Genevieve’s gaze.

Genevieve looked at the maid and waited for her to speak.

“My name is A-Anna.” The maid stuttered. “I am your lady’s maid, Your Grace.”

Genevieve gave her a soft smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Anna.”

The girl glanced briefly at Genevieve and said, “A bath has been drawn for you.”

Genevieve nodded gratefully. “Thank you,” she replied.

The maid gestured for her to follow and then led her into a room that was almost as large as her bedroom.

Genevieve’s eyes were immediately drawn to the gleaming copper tub and the steaming, fragranced water within, positioned perfectly before a crackling fireplace.

The maid assisted her in undressing, her hands surprisingly agile and gentle as she helped Genevieve step into the warm, aromatic water dotted with lavender flowers that floated on its surface.

Genevieve sank gratefully into the soothing depths, her muscles relaxing as the stress from the long, eventful day gradually faded away.

“So, do tell me,” she began, a playful lilt in her voice, “what is the Duke like?”

The maid stiffened and fixed her gaze on the floor. “I… I do not know, Your Grace,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing.

Genevieve chuckled, and a mischievous glint twinkled in her eyes. “Oh, do not be coy,” she teased. “Surely you must have an opinion of your master.”

The maid remained silent, wringing her hands nervously as Genevieve luxuriated in the tub’s steamy water. She watched Anna patiently and waited for her response.

“Is he a tyrant?” Genevieve pressed, her voice laced with mock horror. “Does he lock his servants in the dungeons when they disappoint him?”

The maid’s eyes widened in alarm. “No, Your Grace!” she exclaimed as she shook her head. “The Duke is a fair and just master.”

Genevieve smiled as her amusement grew. “I see,” she drawled lazily, her eyes sparkling. “Then why are you so afraid of him?”

The maid’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson. “I… I am not afraid of him, Your Grace,” she stammered, her gaze still fixed on the bathing room floor.

Genevieve chuckled at Anna’s reluctance to engage in her playful banter.

“Very well,” she sighed, releasing Anna from the conversation as her voice adopted a more solemn tone. “I suppose I have no choice but to see for myself.”

Following her bath, Genevieve was escorted to a small sitting area within her chambers, where warm, inviting candlelight shone invitingly on an intimate dining table that had been polished to a high sheen. It had been laden with an array of dishes so lavish that they could have rivaled a royal banquet.

The intoxicatingly rich aroma of roast meats and spiced vegetables hung in the air and mingled with the delicate scent of fresh herbs.

“This is truly exquisite,” she stated as her fingers hovered over the steaming dishes.

She glanced at Mrs. Hughes, who stood silently beside the door, her back perfectly straight and her hands folded in front of her like a sentinel.

Genevieve smiled at the woman gratefully. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice filled with unspoken appreciation.

Mrs. Hughes gave a stiff nod but did not avert her gaze. “It is my duty, Your Grace. Should you require anything further, simply ring for me.”

Genevieve’s stomach made a soft rumble at the sight and aroma of the delectable dishes before her. Her gaze swept over the table, lingering on the rich array of food, the shimmering silverware, and the delicate plates and serving platters.

She could not help but admire the riches before her, but the beauty of it felt distant, like something that belonged to another world.

With careful movements, she approached the table and sank into the chair, the cushion absorbing her weight. Her hands hovered briefly over the fine linen napkin, her fingers hesitating before they smoothed it over her lap.

As her eyes darted around the room, she took in its silent corners and the empty chair across from her. Her gaze lingered there a moment longer, silently willing someone to appear.

Where was the Duke?

The unsettling question lingered in her mind.

She glanced again at the empty chair across from her as her fingers absently traced the rim of her glass.

Is this how the first night of marriage is meant to go?

A flicker of doubt gnawed at her as she surveyed the lavish table.

I am a bride, dining alone on her wedding night.

The thought rang uncomfortably in her mind.

She barely knew him. They had officially met, for the first time, this morning.

Why did he marry me?

The question churned inside her, and a knot tightened in her chest. He had not even offered an answer when she had finally dared to ask.

She debated asking the housekeeper whether he would join her, but then quickly decided against it. The question churned relentlessly in her mind until she could no longer keep it contained.

“Mrs. Hughes?” Genevieve turned to the housekeeper, who still stood quietly next to the door.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Mrs. Hughes turned her blank eyes towards Genevieve.

“Does the Duke intend to join me for dinner tonight?” Genevieve bit her lip, instantly regretting the question.

Mrs. Hughes’ eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Genevieve, though her dour expression remained unchanged.

“I am afraid that the Duke will not be able to join you tonight, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hughes said, her voice softening several degrees. “He truly hopes that you will enjoy your dinner.”

Genevieve’s breath caught for a moment. With a soft sigh, she replied, “I see,” and reached for the first dish, her fingers lightly brushing the gleaming porcelain plate.

Will I ever belong here?