Chapter 17: A wanton.

Chapter 17

Duchess Genevieve stood at the threshold, her chest rising and falling with controlled anger. Behind her, the heavy oak door still quivered from the force of its opening. The composed image she usually maintained at Beaufort Estate had slipped. What remained was a mother whose pride had been wounded, her patience clearly strained.

Sigrid regarded her with quiet indifference. The contrast between them was clear—Genevieve brimming with anger, while Sigrid remained detached, almost bored.

"What is the meaning of this slander?" Genevieve demanded, her voice sharp and tense in the quiet room. "By what right do you whisper that my Maria is a deceitful social climber?"

Sigrid blinked once, lazily redirecting her gaze from the window back to the velvet-lined chair she had occupied moments before. "I was unaware," she murmured, her tone smooth as silk, "that it was the custom of a Duchess to spend her afternoons pressed against her stepdaughter’s bedchamber door eavesdropping. "

Genevieve’s expression faltered for a moment, a brief flicker of discomfort crossing her features. The remark had clearly struck a nerve. Still, the Duchess quickly composed herself, straightening her posture as her expression hardened once more.

"Spare me your excuses," she snapped, her knuckles whitening against the fabric of her skirts. "How dare you utter such falsehoods against my blood? Maria is a lady of impeccable character and unwavering integrity. To paint her as manipulative and untrustworthy is an insult I will not overlook."

The righteous disgust dripping from the woman’s voice might have been amusing had Sigrid possessed an ounce of investment in the theatrics. Instead, she merely let out a soft, rhythmic sigh.

"Then I must confess myself mistaken," Sigrid replied, the flow of her voice entirely devoid of friction. "Naturally, the darling Lady Maria is a paragon of piety. A saint walking among mortals."

The sarcasm was not hidden; it was polished to a mirror sheen. Genevieve’s face darkened instantly. "Do not mock me, Sigrid."

"Then do not offer me a stage upon which to do so, Your Grace."

The Duchess drew a sharp, whistling breath through her nose. "How can you stand there, so utterly unbothered by the gravity of your malice? Is this your ultimate plan? To drip poison into the ears of the court, rotting Maria’s reputation from the roots? I suppose I should not be surprised. You have spent years attempting to destroy her, yet despite your cruelties, she has been nothing but kind to you."

Sigrid remained silent, her red eyes mapping the lines of fury on Genevieve’s face. The longer she listened, the more exhausting the delusion became. The woman spoke with the absolute certainty of the profoundly blind.

Maria, kind?

The idea itself seemed difficult to take seriously.

While the Duchess spoke, Sigrid found her mind wandering to what happened at the boutique this afternoon. Lady Alice’s uneasy expression resurfaced in her memory, along with her trembling hands and the anxious confession she had so reluctantly shared.

"You were right about her."

A faint smile touched Sigrid’s lips. At last, the pieces were beginning to fit together. Reputations rarely changed without reason, and rumors seldom appeared without a source. Someone had started the whispers, and someone had ensured they continued.

Lady Alice’s careless remark suddenly carried far more weight than it had before. If her suspicions were correct, Maria had played no small role in shaping the narrative surrounding Sigrid over the years.

The irony of the situation was almost amusing. It certainly held more of her attention than the Duchess’s outrage. Unfortunately, Genevieve noticed the change at once.

"Why do you smile?" the woman hissed, her facade cracking completely. "Why do you look upon me with such utter contempt?"

Her voice rose to an edge, causing Lilith to flinch in the corner. "Regardless of whatever grand delusions you harbor, I am the matriarch of this house. You will account for yourself. Why have you branded my daughter a wanton?"

Sigrid finally leveled her gaze, her eyes locking onto the Duchess with absolute stillness. "You truly possess no instinct for self-preservation, do you?"

Genevieve’s eyes widened at the audacity.

Slowly getting up from her seat, Sigrid paused to smooth a non-existent crease from her lace cuff, her movements agonizingly deliberate. "If I implied Maria lacks true nobility, Your Grace, it was merely an assumption born of inheritance."

The room plunged into a suffocating silence. Genevieve stared, frozen. Even Lilith seemed to stop breathing. The smile on Sigrid’s face bloomed completely—cold, sharp, and brilliant.

"A wanton."

The word fell between them like a heavy iron coin.

"You are well-versed in the old proverbs of the nobility, I presume?"

Sigrid tilted her head, her gaze piercing.

"As is the mother, so is her daughter."

Genevieve moved before the air could clear. ℴ

The slap cracked through the chamber like a breaking branch. Lilith gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. The sheer momentum of the blow forced Sigrid’s head to the side, her silver hair spilling across her shoulder.

For several seconds, the world stood still. Genevieve stood trembling, her chest heaving, her palm still flushed red from the impact. "Who do you think you are?" she whispered hoarsely, the question thick with a desperate need to dominate.

Slowly, without a hint of haste, Sigrid turned her face back to meet her stepmother’s gaze. There was no hot flush of humiliation, no welling of tears, no spark of retaliatory rage. There was only a vast, glacial void of interest. The absolute lack of feeling unsettled the Duchess far more than a screamed insult or a returned strike ever could have. It was as though she had wasted her fury on a monument of marble.

The Duchess paused, her composure slipping for the briefest moment. A soft sound of frustration escaped her before she turned on her heel and walked away.

"You are a blight upon this family."

The final rebuke came over her shoulder as she strode toward the corridor. A moment later, she was gone, and the door shut behind her with enough force to leave the room in silence.

The quiet returned, settling over the room like dust.

Lilith scrambled forward instantly, her face pale. "My lady!" Her eyes swept anxiously over the faint red mark blooming on Sigrid’s porcelain cheek. "Does it... does it pain you?"

Sigrid raised two fingers, lightly brushing the skin. It stung with a dull, superficial heat. Nothing permanent. "Calm your mind, Lilith. I am entirely unharmed."

"But the Duchess struck you! It is outrageous!"

"Indeed."

"And you are not angry?"

Sigrid lowered her hand, her expression calm. "It is difficult to feel anger toward someone so insignificant."

Lilith stared at her, unsettled. Only Sigrid would dismiss the fury of a Duchess so easily. The maid nervously wrung her apron. "My lady, I fear you have pushed Her Grace too far. What if she speaks to the Duke? She could make life here very difficult for you."

The concern in the maid’s eyes was sincere, and Sigrid found it quite uncomfortable.

"Peace, Lilith."

The maid silenced herself at once.

Sigrid crossed the rug and returned to her chair, settling into the velvet with composed ease. "My father may indulge Genevieve’s pride for the sake of peace, but he is a practical man. He would not jeopardize something valuable over wounded feelings."

Lilith frowned slightly, trying to follow the implication. Sigrid observed her uncertainty, aware of the conflict between curiosity and the restraint expected of her position. After a moment, curiosity won out.

"An asset, my lady? Useful?"

A knowing, razor-thin smile touched Sigrid’s lips. "Precisely."

Lilith looked more confused than before.

Sigrid rested her chin upon her knuckles, turning her eyes toward the tall casement windows. Outside, the final light of the day colored the gardens in fading gold and violet. "The Duchess appears to believe this household operates on affection alone."

A low, melodic laugh escaped her throat.

"She could not be more profoundly mistaken."

​Her gaze steadied, the fading light catching in her eyes.

"My father’s ledger accounts for only a few things: power, alliances, prestige, and leverage. Love has never been part of it."

Unlike the Duchess, Sigrid understood that well enough. And she had no intention of letting her position be diminished.

Not now.