Chapter 10
Ten
“ M iss Smith,” Audrey said, watching her reflection as the lady’s maid fussed over a stray curl, “have you heard anything… oh, I don’t know… curious about the west wing?”
The maid’s hands faltered for the briefest moment, but her expression remained composed. “Curious, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Audrey said with deliberate nonchalance, tilting her head just so. “I noticed that none of the servants ever mention it, yet they all seem to tiptoe around it as if it were the lair of some mythical beast.”
Miss Smith hesitated, glancing toward the door as though afraid someone might overhear.
“I did inquire once,” she admitted cautiously. “One of the chambermaids was returning from that part of the castle. When I asked, she grew quite nervous. Looked about as if the very walls might be listening.”
Audrey arched an eyebrow. “Did she say anything?”
“Only that Mr. and Mrs. Potts have explicit orders from His Grace,” Miss Smith whispered. “No one is to speak of the west wing. No one is to ask questions about it.”
Audrey’s frown deepened, her curiosity now well and truly piqued.
Explicit orders. Curious, indeed.
“And what do you think?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips.
“I think,” Miss Smith said carefully, pinning the last curl in place, “that it is not my place to think about such matters.”
Audrey smiled faintly, though her mind was already turning over the implications.
The best way to learn who I’ve married is to find what he keeps hidden. His rules say as much about him as his silence. And I’ve never been one to let a closed door deter me.
“Thank you, Miss Smith,” she said brightly, rising from the vanity. “That will be all for now.”
The moment the door closed behind her maid, Audrey’s resolve solidified. She descended the staircase, her thoughts whirring as she spotted Potts sitting near the grand fireplace, his nose buried in a ledger.
“Potts,” she called, startling the butler into an upright position. “Have the newspapers arrived from London?”
He bowed, then adjusted his glasses. “The weather has been most unkind, Your Grace. We do receive them on occasion, but deliveries have been sporadic.”
Audrey nodded thoughtfully, though she couldn’t care less about the news. But she was curious about what the gossip sheets had to say about Lilianna.
“How disappointing. Well, do let me know if they arrive. Oh, and I believe I’m ready for breakfast now.”
Potts hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying, “Breakfast has been served in the morning room, Your Grace.”
Audrey cursed inwardly.
Of course, breakfast is an informal affair. Why didn’t I think of that?
Still, she smiled graciously. “Very good. I shall go there.”
How do I get him to leave the foyer?
Potts returned his attention to his ledger, and Audrey retreated to the morning room, berating herself for the misstep. She forced herself to eat slowly, even as her mind raced. Then, just as she wiped her mouth with her napkin, a voice rang out in the hallway.
“Mr. Potts! Come quick!” Mrs. Potts called, her tone uncharacteristically urgent. “You must see this—Cook’s marmalade jars are glowing like fireflies under the morning sun! I’ve never seen anything so peculiar!”
Audrey’s ears perked up, and she stilled, listening for the butler’s hurried footsteps. When she heard him leave, she rose calmly, smoothing her skirts as she exited the morning room. Her pace quickened as she ascended the staircase, and by the time she reached the first landing, she glanced over her shoulder to ensure the coast was clear. Satisfied, she gathered her skirts and made for the west wing at a near run.
The hallway stretched before her, eerily silent. At first, it looked unremarkable—identical to the east wing in every way. The same polished floors, the same ornate sconces. But the air was different. Heavier. Colder.
Audrey began testing the doors, her heart pounding in her chest. Linen closets, storage rooms, nothing of note. Her excitement began to wane until she opened a door at the end of the hall and froze.
It was a bedroom. Feminine. Delicate. And utterly untouched.
The air in the room felt as though it had not been disturbed in years. A book lay open on the nightstand, its pages yellowed with time. A hairbrush rested on the vanity, golden strands still caught in its bristles. Clothes were neatly folded on a chair, ready to be worn.
Audrey stepped inside, her slippered feet barely making a sound on the carpeted floor.
Cecilia. The name echoed in her mind like a ghost.
She lingered, taking in every detail, her heart aching for the sister-in-law she’d never met. After a long moment, she forced herself to leave, quietly shutting the door behind her.
“Why would he want to hide his sister’s room?”
She moved further down the hall and came to another door, this one larger, more ornate.
Inside, the room was grand, befitting a duke and duchess. But it, too, felt frozen in time. The bed, with its heavy curtains, was perfectly made, though dust lingered in the air. On the desk near the window, scattered papers lay untouched. The faint scent of lavender hung in the air, clinging stubbornly to the space.
“This makes no sense.”
Audrey stepped cautiously into the room. Her foot brushed against something near the nightstand, and she looked down. An empty glass bottle rolled lazily across the wood. She crouched down to retrieve it, noticing several more tucked beneath the bed.
Her chest tightened as she rose, holding the bottle in her hands.
What happened here?
The question echoed in her mind, heavy and unrelenting.
She set the bottle down and turned toward the desk. Perhaps it held answers. But just as she took a step forward, a voice rang out behind her.
“Audrey.”
Her breath caught, and she whirled around to find the Duke standing in the doorway. His dark eyes burned with fury, his jaw taut with barely restrained anger.
“D-Duke…” she stammered, her composure faltering.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Audrey’s heart pounded, her hands gripping the folds of her dress. “I was… curious,” she admitted, her voice trembling despite her efforts to sound calm.
“Curious,” he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “Did I not make myself clear?”
“You did,” she said quickly, lifting her chin slightly in defiance. “But?—”
“But you chose to ignore my orders,” he snapped, stepping further into the room. “You had no right to enter this part of the castle.”
Anger radiated from him, tangible and suffocating.
Audrey’s mind raced, her instincts telling her to retreat, but she held her ground.
I won’t cower. Not now.
“I meant no harm,” she said softly. “I only wanted to understand.”
“Understand?” he barked, his voice rising. “You think you can understand what this place holds? What it means? You know nothing, Audrey. Nothing.”
His words struck her like a blow, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. His fury was palpable, and it sent a ripple of fear through her—fear that reminded her all too vividly of her father’s scorn.
“I see your pain,” she said quietly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “It’s everywhere in this castle. You carry it with you.”
He flinched as though she’d struck him, his hands clenching into fists. For a moment, she thought he would lash out—not at her, but at the air itself, at whatever memories haunted him. Instead, he stepped back, his voice cutting like ice.
“Leave,” he said, his voice low and menacing.
Audrey’s breath hitched. “Do you mean the west wing or?—”
“Leave!” he repeated, his eyes narrowing.
His words stung, and for a fleeting moment, she considered arguing. But the intensity of his gaze discouraged her.
Lifting her chin, she nodded stiffly. “Very well.”
Without another word, she swept past him. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she descended the stairs, her thoughts a chaotic tangle of anger, fear, and pity.
“I cannot stay here for another moment,” Audrey said sharply, pacing back and forth in her chamber. Her dress swished with every turn, the sound sharp against the oppressive silence.
Miss Smith stood nervously by the trunk, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as though afraid to interrupt. “Your Grace, perhaps?—”
“No,” Audrey cut her off, her voice brittle as she turned toward the wardrobe. She yanked a dress off its hanger and draped it over the trunk. “I will not remain in this castle for another minute, Miss Smith. Do you understand? Not when he speaks to me as though I were a disobedient child.”
Her chest tightened as the words left her mouth, her heart rate quickening. She pressed her fingers to her temples as memories of her father flooded her mind. She could hear his sharp, clipped voice whenever she failed to meet his impossible standards. His cutting remarks. The way his voice would grow louder and colder until she felt so small that she might disappear entirely.
Her breath hitched as the familiar sensation of helplessness crept in.
No, she would not allow her husband to do the same. Whatever her father had taken from her—her confidence, her sense of worth—she would not allow the Duke to strip her of it, too.
She clenched her fists, her spine straightening with determination. “I will not be treated as though I am obscure and little. Not again.”
Miss Smith took a tentative step forward, her voice hesitant. “Shall I begin packing, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Audrey replied, her voice clipped as she turned away. “Pack quickly. I will not remain here a moment longer than I must.”
A knock at the door interrupted them, and Mrs. Potts entered, her expression conveying both concern and deference.
“Your Grace,” she began, dipping into a slight curtsy. “I could not help but overhear. Are you preparing to leave?”
“That is correct,” Audrey said firmly. “I wish for the carriage to be readied at once.”
Mrs. Potts hesitated, folding her hands in front of her apron. “Your Grace, forgive my boldness, but the snow has begun to fall heavily. The roads will be most treacherous.”
Audrey stilled, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Potts, but I must leave. I do not—” Her voice faltered, and she took a deep, steadying breath. “I cannot stay.”
The housekeeper furrowed her brow, and she cast a glance at the window, beyond which the snow was already gathering in thick piles.
“The weather is worsening by the moment, Your Grace. The horses may struggle to pull the carriage, and visibility is rapidly declining. I implore you to reconsider, for your safety.”
Audrey’s fingers curled into the folds of her dress. She glanced out the window, the sight of the storm making her stomach churn. A carriage ride in such weather would indeed be dangerous. And yet staying felt like an even greater peril—one that gnawed at her pride and her resolve.
She swallowed hard, her voice quieter but no less firm.
“Mrs. Potts,” she said, “I must leave this castle. I will not argue the point. Please ensure the carriage is prepared.”
The housekeeper inclined her head, though her expression remained tense. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall have the driver assess the conditions.”
When Mrs. Potts left the room, Miss Smith stepped forward, worry etched on her face. “Your Grace, might I suggest?—”
“No, Miss Smith,” Audrey said, shaking her head. “There is nothing to suggest. My decision is final.”
Miss Smith bowed her head, retreating silently as Audrey resumed her pacing. Her mind was a tempest of emotions—anger, frustration, and no small measure of fear. The storm outside seemed to mock her, the howling wind echoing her turmoil.
When Mrs. Potts returned, her face was grave. “The driver will not risk the journey, Your Grace,” she said softly. “The snow is falling too quickly, and the wind is making it impossible to see. It would be far too dangerous.”
Audrey felt her stomach drop, the words sinking in. “Are you certain?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
Mrs. Potts nodded. “It is for your safety, Your Grace. The roads may be impassable by morning if it keeps snowing.”
Audrey turned away, her fists clenching at her sides as she struggled to keep her composure. The storm had defeated her, trapped her in this place, when every fiber of her being screamed at her to leave.
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to remain calm. “Very well,” she said at last, her tone frosty. “Please have dinner sent to my room.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Potts replied, dipping into a curtsy before leaving.
Audrey stood in silence for a long moment, her hands trembling as she drew in a slow, steadying breath. The glass windowpane was cold against her palm as she stared out into the swirling white abyss.
I cannot stay here . But I cannot leave, either. Not yet.
She turned away from the window and crossed the room, her movements brisk but controlled. “Unpack, Miss Smith,” she instructed softly. “It seems the storm has conspired against me.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Miss Smith said, her voice barely above a whisper as she bent to undo the trunk’s latches.
Audrey sank into the chair by the fireplace, staring into the flames as the reality of her circumstances settled over her. She had been so close to escaping, to reclaiming her dignity. And now she was left with nothing but the walls of this cold castle and the echoes of her husband’s anger.
How am I going to endure this?