Claiming his Cursed Duchess (Cursed Brides #2)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

“ Y ou should have warned me that I’d need a map to navigate this place,” Rosaline said, glancing around the labyrinth of hallways.

After finding her in the garden that evening, Adam had led Rosaline on a tour of the manor, introducing her to the staff.

A stern-faced housekeeper, Mrs. Thornhill, and a young, timid lady’s maid named Alice were assigned to Rosaline’s service. Their demeanor mirrored the cold, imposing atmosphere of the manor.

Rosaline couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for the servants. Their fear and disdain were palpable. She knew that their fear stemmed from the rumors that surrounded her, the whispers of a curse that had supposedly marred her beauty and her life.

As they walked through the labyrinthine corridors, Rosaline couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle of fabric, every creak of the floorboards seemed to carry a hidden meaning. The servants, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and disdain, offered only curt nods and averted gazes.

Rosaline straightened her shoulders, her chin tilting upwards. She would not allow their fear to intimidate her. She had faced far worse.

She glanced at Adam, whose gaze was fixed on her with a curious intensity. His eyes, a deep shade of blue, seemed to pierce through her, as if he could see the insecurities that lurked beneath her confident exterior.

She quickly averted her gaze, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Adam smirked at her remark, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolled beside her.

“I am a staunch believer in the joy of discovery,” he said.

“Ah, how thoughtful of you,” she quipped. “Is that why your staff practically flee in terror the moment I look at them? To heighten my sense of adventure?”

His sharp blue gaze slid to hers, a flicker of amusement sparking there. “Perhaps they’re unused to someone so spirited.”

Rosaline’s lips curved in a small, defiant smile. “I doubt that. Spirited women are hardly a rarity among the ton.”

“I disagree,” Adam inclined his head, his expression shifting to something more enigmatic. “I have not encountered any lady with your particular…bite.”

She raised a brow, ignoring the warmth blooming in her chest at his words.

“Careful, Your Grace. You might make me think you’re flirting.”

“Would that be so terrible?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

She ignored the flutter in her stomach, determined to hold her ground. “Only if you mean it.”

Before he responded, they reached the entrance to a grand library, and Adam pushed open the heavy oak door.

“The library,” he announced. “I imagine you will find this room more to your taste.”

Rosaline stepped inside, her breath catching at the sight of the towering shelves crammed with books. The scent of old leather and parchment was intoxicating, a balm to her frayed nerves. She ran her fingers along the spines of a few titles, her fingers brushing against one of the polished shelves.

Adam leaned against the doorway, watching her. “I thought you might appreciate it.”

“You were right,” she admitted, turning to face him. “It’s beautiful.”

His gaze darkened, and for a moment, she felt as though he were studying her instead of the room.

“Beautiful things belong in beautiful places,” he murmured.

Her cheeks flushed, but she refused to let him see how his words affected her. “Spoken like a man who keeps his treasures locked away.”

Adam straightened, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer. “Is that what you think I do?”

“Do you deny it?” she countered, her chin tilting up in challenge.

He was standing close now, too close, the faint scent of cedarwood and something distinctly masculine surrounding her. Rosaline’s heart thundered as his intense gaze bore into hers, and she found herself pressed against the edge of a bookshelf.

“Be careful, Duchess,” Adam said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper as he braced one hand against the shelf beside her, effectively trapping her. “There’s only so far you can push a man before he pushes back.”

Her breath hitched, her pulse racing as his gaze dropped to her lips. She could feel the heat of him, his proximity making her dizzy with sensations she couldn’t quite name. Her stubbornness flared, and she refused to look away.

“Maybe you should be careful, Your Grace,” she shot back, her voice trembling only slightly. “Not all of us are content to be caged.”

For a moment, she thought he might close the distance between them. His free hand brushed the side of her face, his thumb grazing her jawline as he tilted her chin upward. Her lips parted slightly, and she couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her when his breath ghosted against her skin.

Then, just as suddenly as the moment had ignited, it shattered. Adam stepped back, his expression shuttered, the fire in his eyes smothered as though it had never been there.

“You should return to your room,” he said, his voice cool and distant now. “It has been a long day.”

Rosaline blinked, her heart still pounding as she tried to process the abrupt shift. She wanted to argue, to demand an explanation, but something in his tone warned her against it. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and smoothed her skirts, masking her turmoil with a practiced air of indifference.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” she said, her voice calm despite the storm raging inside her.

She swept past him without another word, her head held high, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of his gaze lingering on her as she walked away.

Rosaline’s chambers were a stark contrast to the grand hall. Though elegant, they felt cold and impersonal. A large, imposing four-poster bed dominated the room, its heavy drapes casting long shadows. A small, ornate desk sat in the corner, its surface bare except for a quill and inkpot.

“Are the rooms to your liking, Your Grace?” Mrs. Thornhill inquired, her voice a careful balance of respect and deference.

Her eyes, however, darted nervously around the room, as if searching for any sign of the “curse” that supposedly clung to Rosaline. Alice, standing stiffly beside her, mirrored the housekeeper’s apprehension, her knuckles white as she clasped her hands together.

Rosaline, noticing their unease, smiled gently. “They are quite…impressive, Mrs. Thornhill. Thank you.” She moved closer to them, her posture open and welcoming. “The views are magnificent.”

Mrs. Thornhill, taken aback by Rosaline’s directness, forced a smile. “Yes, indeed. The gardens are quite lovely in the spring.” She glanced at Alice, who seemed to be shrinking into herself. “Alice, why don’t you show Her Grace the wardrobe? I took the liberty of stocking a few gowns in preparation for your arrival, uncertain of what would arrive with you, Your Grace.”

Alice, startled, stammered, “Y–yes, of course, Your Grace. This way.” She hurried towards the wardrobe, her gaze fixed on the floor.

Rosaline watched them go, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Poor things,” she murmured to herself. “They seem quite terrified of me.”

She wandered towards the window, the velvet of the curtains brushing against her arm.

Alice, meanwhile, was struggling to open the wardrobe doors. Her hands trembled nervously.

Rosaline, sensing her distress, approached gently. “Here, let me.”

With a push, the doors swung open, revealing a dazzling array of silks and satins. Alice gasped, her eyes widening in astonishment.

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?” Rosaline marveled softly beside the maid. Rosaline smiled. “Mrs. Thornhill,” she turned to the older woman, who had been watching the exchange with surprise and relief, “I believe I owe you an apology. My arrival seems to have caused quite a stir.”

Mrs. Thornhill, taken aback by Rosaline’s directness, stammered, “N–no, Your Grace. It’s…it’s just that…”

Rosaline cut her off with a gentle smile. “I understand. The rumors…they can be quite frightening.” She paused, her gaze meeting Mrs. Thornhill’s. “But I assure you, there is no need to fear me. I am not the monster they say I am.”

“I…I believe you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Thornhill said softly.

Rosaline smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Thornhill. I hope that one day you will believe in me as well, Alice.”

As Mrs. Thornhill and Alice left the room, Rosaline turned back towards the window, a newfound sense of hope stirring within her.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this new life, this unexpected elevation, would not be the gilded cage she had initially feared. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to finally break free from the shadows of the past and embrace the future, not as a cursed duchess, but as simply Rosaline, a woman finally finding her voice.

As she slipped into a silk nightgown, she couldn’t help but wonder about Adam. What was he like? Was he as cold and distant as he seemed? Or was there something more beneath that imposing exterior?

She thought of his piercing blue eyes and the way he had looked at her, with curiosity and something else, something deeper.

A thrill of anticipation coursed through her as she imagined what the future held.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this arranged marriage would not be so dreadful after all.

The days that followed were a monotonous blur of formal dinners in which Rosaline tried to crack the mysterious, stoic duke’s hard exterior.

She would study his every move, his every word, searching for a glimpse of the man beneath the facade. He was so guarded, so distant, but there was something there, a spark.

She would flash him a wry smile, a knowing look, hoping to ignite a response.

Stilted conversations and endless hours of solitude followed.

Adam, ever the elusive figure, would disappear for hours at a time, leaving Rosaline to wander the halls of the manor alone, lost in her thoughts.

I want to know why he deigned to marry me, she thought with determination, her chin tilting up defiantly.

She paced the polished floor, her mind racing.

I need answers for how I came to be here.

The staff avoided her, often scattering when she walked into a room they were in, or feigning urgent business that prevented them from interacting too long.

Their fear was palpable, their eyes darting to the long gloves she wore, a constant reminder of the scars that marred her beauty.

They pitied her, or they thought of her as a monster. Even though she’d made some progress with Mrs. Thornhill and Alice, the rest of them were still reluctant around her.

As Rosaline wandered into the kitchen, usually a hub of lively chatter and the clatter of pots and pans, the room fell silent.

The maids, huddled around a table—their faces flushed with suppressed laughter—curtsied to her, and then quickly turned their attention to their tasks.

“You know how these things work. Curses spread, they don’t just stay in one place,” one whispered, her eyes darting towards Rosaline’s figure.

“Spread?” another chimed in, her voice hushed. “But how?”

“They say it’s in the very air she breathes,” the first maid hissed. “Anyone who comes near her risks being touched by the blight.”

Rosaline paused, her gaze sweeping across the room.

“The bread, it’s burning!” one maid exclaimed, scrambling to the oven, her voice a little too loud, a little too panicked.

“See?” the first maid whispered to the other, “she’s only been a moment in here and something’s already gone wrong.”

Rosaline, her lips pressed into a thin line, continued towards the pantry. The silence that followed her was deafening. The maids exchanged nervous glances, their eyes wide with a mixture of pity and fear.

“Poor creature,” one whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Imagine living with such a curse.”

“A monster,” another muttered under her breath. “A blight upon this household.”

Rosaline, her back to them, felt a chill crawl down her spine. The whispers, the averted gazes, the feigned busyness—it was a constant reminder of the isolation that had become her reality.

“Excuse me,” Rosaline said, her voice calm but firm, interrupting their hushed conversation.

The maids froze, their eyes widening in surprise. They quickly averted their gaze, pretending to be engrossed in their tasks.

“I believe I requested some chamomile tea,” Rosaline continued, her voice unwavering. “Is it ready yet?”

One of the maids, her face flushed, stammered, “Y–yes, Your Grace. It will be ready shortly.”

“Good,” Rosaline replied, her voice a touch colder. “I would appreciate it if you could hasten the process.”

She turned and walked towards the pantry, her steps deliberate and measured. The silence that followed her was even more pronounced now, thick with the tension of their guilt and her suppressed anger.

“Perhaps we should be more mindful of our words,” the maid said, her voice echoing through the kitchen, startling the maids. “After all, curses can be contagious, wouldn’t you agree?”

A hush fell over the kitchen. The maids exchanged terrified glances.

As Rosaline left the pantry, her heart pounded in her chest. She had played into their fears, inadvertently confirming their suspicions. She had pushed them further away by being this cold.

A wave of regret washed over her. She had forgotten that they were just simple servants, afraid and vulnerable.

She stopped in the middle of the kitchen, her gaze sweeping across the room. The maids, their faces pale and drawn, were huddled together, their eyes wide with fear.

“My apologies,” she said, her voice soft and sincere. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

But the maids had scattered, leaving Rosaline alone in the kitchen.

Walking out the kitchen, she clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

Rosaline had hoped to one day do away with wearing the gloves her aunt required, but seeing the discomfort she already caused the staff, she couldn’t bring herself to inflict her scars upon them.

Perhaps one day, she thought wistfully, when I have proven myself worthy.

One afternoon, while exploring the manor’s extensive library, Rosaline stumbled upon a hidden room.

It was a small, cozy space, filled with bookshelves and a comfortable armchair. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, casting a soft glow over the room.

It was a sanctuary, a place where she could escape the cold, sterile world of Oldstone.

As she wandered the shelves, her fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes, a sense of peace washed over her.

This life is still lonely, but it certainly is better than life with my aunt and uncle, she thought, a smile playing on her lips.

Returning to her chambers, Rosaline found a small, wrapped package on her desk. A note, in an elegant script, was attached.

A wedding gift from your new brother-in-law.

Curiosity piqued, Rosaline carefully unwrapped the package, her heart pounding with anticipation.

Inside, she found a beautifully bound book of poetry. As she flipped through the pages, a soft blush crept across her cheeks.

A thoughtful gesture, she thought, her eyes lingering on the inscription. Perhaps he ’ s not so bad after all, despite his superstitious first impression.