Chapter 18: A wanton [2]

Chapter 18

Duchess Genevieve swept through the corridors of Beaufort Estate like a gathering storm, the sharp click of her heels echoing across polished marble floors. Servants immediately lowered their heads and stepped aside as she passed, none daring to catch her eye. Her chest rose and fell with lingering indignation. Despite her efforts to compose herself, the humiliation she had suffered in Sigrid’s chambers still burned beneath her skin.

Never. Never in all these years had Sigrid challenged her so openly.

The girl had always been cold, distant, and difficult, but she had rarely spoken with such direct insolence. Yet today she had mocked Maria, insulted Genevieve herself, and then stood there after being struck as though the Duchess’s anger was entirely beneath her notice. The memory alone made Genevieve’s jaw tighten.

Without slowing, she reached the eastern wing of the estate and pushed open the doors to Duke Vesper’s private office with considerably more force than was necessary. The heavy doors swung inward.

Seated behind an enormous mahogany desk, Duke Vesper looked up sharply from the documents spread before him. The interruption clearly displeased him, though the coldness in his eyes faded the moment he recognized his wife.

"What is it, Genevieve?" he asked.

The Duchess did not answer immediately. Instead, she paced across the room, her silk skirts swaying with every frustrated step. The office itself was vast and elegant, lined with towering bookshelves and decorated with expensive furnishings collected over decades, yet Genevieve scarcely noticed the luxury around her. Her thoughts remained fixed on Sigrid. On that infuriating expression. On those cold red eyes. On the way the girl had smiled.

Finally, Genevieve turned toward the Duke. "Your Grace, what is it with that insolent daughter of yours?" she demanded. "Why must she constantly be a source of misery? Why does she insist on diminishing Maria at every opportunity?"

Duke Vesper’s expression darkened slightly. "What did she do?"

Genevieve immediately seized the opportunity. "She called Maria a wanton," she said, outrage filling her voice. "She refused to explain herself, refused to apologize, and when I demanded an answer she only became more disrespectful." As she spoke, Genevieve allowed her eyes to glisten, a practiced tremble entering her voice. "And..." She sniffed softly. "She called me one as well."

The Duke’s face hardened further. Genevieve lowered her head, allowing several tears to gather at the corners of her eyes. "How could she do such a thing?" she whispered. "I have done nothing but treat her kindly since her mother, that nuisance, died—"

"Enough." The word struck the room like a blade.

Genevieve froze. Duke Vesper’s gaze had sharpened considerably. "Do not speak of her that way."

For a moment, genuine surprise crossed the Duchess’s face. "But... isn’t she?" she asked quietly.

The Duke set down the document in his hands. "I may speak of my first wife however I choose," he said evenly. "You may not. Do not disrespect the First Duchess in my presence."

Genevieve stared, unable to look away from him. Thirty years. Thirty years had passed since that woman had died, and still he defended her. A fresh wave of irritation surged through Genevieve. Even now, after all this time, that woman remained lodged deep within his mind. Her fingers curled tightly against her skirts, the sudden realization making her want to scream. Instead, she lowered her gaze and allowed more tears to fall.

Duke Vesper’s posture immediately softened. "What is it, my dear?" he asked.

Genevieve sniffed quietly. "I come to you heartbroken because your daughter insults me and humiliates me, yet you scold me instead."

The Duke sighed. Rising from his chair, he crossed the room and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. "My dear, that is not what I intended."

"Then what am I meant to think?"

"I simply do not wish you speaking of my late wife in such a manner. I chose her as my Duchess. An insult toward her reflects poorly upon my own judgment."

Genevieve bit her lip. She disliked the explanation, but she knew arguing further would accomplish little. "Very well," she said quietly.

The Duke nodded in satisfaction, and for several moments neither spoke. Then Genevieve straightened slightly, shifting back to her target. "But Sigrid must still be punished."

Vesper’s expression became thoughtful. Genevieve quickly pressed her advantage. "I am the Matriarch of this household, yet she openly insulted both me and Maria. She spreads malicious rumors and behaves as though she answers to no one. Your Grace, she must learn her place." Her eyes brightened slightly with malice. "We should have her flogged."

The room fell silent. Genevieve watched carefully, but the Duke did not immediately answer. His silence gave her a surge of confidence. Perhaps he agreed. Perhaps he had finally grown tired of Sigrid’s insolence. Perhaps—

"I’m afraid that will not be possible."

Genevieve blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Vesper bypassed her to return to his desk. "That cannot happen."

The Duchess stared. "Why not? She deserves a lesson."

The Duke leaned back in his chair, his voice remaining perfectly calm. "Genevieve, Sigrid is still young. She is beautiful, well-born, educated, and highly desirable."

Genevieve frowned immediately, the sudden praise irritating her. Before she could speak, Vesper continued. "More importantly, she remains useful."

The Duchess’s confusion deepened. "I do not understand."

The Duke folded his hands together. "I cannot permit visible marks upon her."

"After what she did?"

"After what she did."

Genevieve’s frustration mounted. "But she disrespected me."

"I know."

"And Maria."

"I know."

"Then why—"

"Because we need her flawless," the Duke interrupted quietly. "The royal ball is only days away. Once it concludes, arrangements will be finalized." A faint, calculating smile appeared upon his face. "Soon she will belong to another household entirely."

Genevieve paused, understanding slowly dawning on her. "And then?"

"And then we will never need to concern ourselves with her again." The smile widened. "Our difficulties disappear. Our household returns to peace."

A pleased expression spread across Genevieve’s face at first, then a sudden doubt crossed her mind. Her smile faded. "You believed Sigrid was competition for Maria?"

The Duke sighed. "Of course not." Relief immediately washed over Genevieve’s face. "Maria is beautiful," Vesper continued. "Kind, elegant, and charming. Any sensible man would choose her."

The Duchess nodded eagerly. Naturally—everyone knew that. However, Vesper’s next words caused her expression to shift once more.

"Nevertheless, Sigrid resembles her mother." Genevieve frowned. The Duke stared thoughtfully toward the windows. "There was always something... troublesome about that woman." His lips curved faintly. "Men found her difficult to ignore A jester of sorts."

The Duchess looked at him strangely, but the Duke continued speaking as though lost in a memory. "Sigrid inherited much of that. I simply wish to remove every obstacle from Maria’s path," he finished, pulling himself from the memory. "Once the ball concludes, Sigrid can leave our lives forever."

The Duchess studied him carefully. Something about his tone unsettled her, but the outcome suited her interests perfectly. If Sigrid vanished from the estate, Maria would finally stand alone. No comparisons, no rivalry, and no unwanted attention. Just Maria.

The Duchess smiled. "Very well."

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her husband. The Duke returned the embrace automatically, yet as he did, his gaze drifted beyond her shoulder toward the far wall. Hanging above the fireplace was a massive portrait.

The painting depicted a woman of extraordinary beauty, featuring silver hair, red eyes, and graceful features. She looked astonishingly similar to Sigrid—only older, more refined, and far more enchanting.

For several moments Vesper stared at the portrait in silence while Genevieve remained completely unaware. The Duke’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. Then, so quietly that only the empty room could hear him, he whispered toward the painted woman watching from the wall.

"Just a little more time."

The portrait offered no reply, yet those crimson eyes seemed to stare back at him all the same.