Chapter 11 - The Duke's Morning Arrival

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of my prison. I'd spent the night hungry, but focused on tending to Mittens. Her injured leg had been carefully splinted with thin pieces of wood from my hairbrush and strips of fabric. She slept now, nestled in a makeshift bed I'd created from a pillow.

My stomach growled painfully. Lady Beatrix had made good on her promise—no food since yesterday afternoon. It wasn't the first time I'd gone hungry in this house, though. I stroked Mittens gently, drawing comfort from her soft purrs.

"Just a little longer," I whispered. "He'll come today."

Outside my locked door, I could hear the household stirring. Footsteps passed by without pausing. No one would check on me until Lady Beatrix decided my punishment was sufficient.

I moved to the window and looked out at the grounds below, wondering when—if—Duke Alaric would arrive. Had I been foolish to trust him? To believe that a powerful man like him would honor an agreement with someone like me?

---

Downstairs in the dining room, Baron Reginald cleared his throat as he set down his teacup. "Beatrix, don't you think your punishment for Isabella is a bit excessive? Locked in her room without food since yesterday..."

Lady Beatrix's lips thinned. "She was completely disrespectful, Reginald. The girl laughed in my face! After all we've done for her."

"What did you do for her exactly, Mother?" Clara asked absently, spreading jam on her second pastry. "Besides keeping her hidden away like our family's shameful secret?"

"Clara!" Lady Beatrix's sharp tone made her daughter flinch. "Mind your portions. You're getting plump around the middle, and no husband wants a fat wife."

Clara immediately dropped the pastry, her face flushing.

Baron Reginald sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Perhaps we could at least send her some—"

"No," Lady Beatrix cut him off. "She needs to learn respect. Besides, it's not as if she's doing anything important. It's just one day."

Clara brightened suddenly. "Father, since Isabella's cat will probably die anyway, can I have a dog? A small one that I can dress up?"

Baron Reginald looked uncomfortably at his younger daughter. "We'll see, Clara."

"Don't encourage her, Reginald," Lady Beatrix said. "Clara has more important things to focus on than pets. Like finding a suitable husband." She turned to her daughter. "The Countess of Pembroke's ball is next week. Duke Alaric Thorne will be there."

Clara's eyes lit up. "Really? I've heard he's handsome despite being so... intimidating."

"And wealthy," Lady Beatrix added meaningfully. "One of the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom. If you could catch his eye—"

A knock at the dining room door interrupted her. Mary, one of the younger maids, entered with a curtsy.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, my lady, but..." she hesitated, her eyes wide. "Duke Alaric Thorne has arrived with his butler. They're waiting in the foyer."

The breakfast table froze in stunned silence.

"The Duke? Here?" Baron Reginald stood abruptly, knocking over his teacup. "Are you certain, girl?"

"Yes, my lord. His carriage bears the Thorne crest."

Clara shrieked and jumped to her feet. "I must change! This morning dress won't do! Mother, help me—"

"Sit down!" Lady Beatrix hissed, though her own face had paled. "We mustn't appear too eager."

Clara sank back into her chair, her fingers frantically smoothing her hair. Lady Beatrix dabbed her lips carefully with a napkin and straightened her posture.

"Show them in, Mary," Baron Reginald commanded, hastily brushing crumbs from his waistcoat. "And have the good tea brought immediately."

The Baron moved to the drawing room door, preparing to greet his unexpected guest. His hands shook slightly. A Duke's visit to their modest estate was unprecedented—especially one as powerful and feared as Alaric Thorne.

Moments later, the imposing figure of Duke Alaric Thorne filled the doorway. Even on this casual morning call, he cut a striking figure in his immaculate dark clothing. His butler, a dignified older gentleman, stood a respectful step behind.

"Y-Your Grace," Baron Reginald stammered, bowing deeply. "This is an unexpected honor."

Alaric's cool gaze swept the room, taking in Clara's flushed face and Lady Beatrix's rigid posture. "Baron Beaumont," he replied, his deep voice betraying no emotion.

"Do come in, Your Grace," Baron Reginald gestured hastily. "We were just finishing breakfast, but if you'd prefer to speak in my study—"

The butler leaned forward slightly, whispering something in Alaric's ear. I could only imagine what he said, but Alaric's expression softened marginally.

"Remember why we're here, Your Grace," the butler murmured. "To marry the Baron's daughter."

Alaric nodded almost imperceptibly, then extended his hand to the Baron. "I appreciate your welcome, but I have something to discuss with your entire family. It won't require privacy."

Baron Reginald shook the Duke's hand, clearly bewildered. "Of course, Your Grace. Whatever you prefer."

Alaric strode into the room, his presence immediately dominating the space. His eyes flicked to Clara, who attempted a coquettish smile, then to Lady Beatrix, who had risen and executed a perfect curtsy.

"Your Grace," she said smoothly, "what an unexpected pleasure. May I present my daughter, Clara?"

Clara stood and curtseyed deeply, making sure to display her décolletage to its best advantage. "Your Grace, I'm honored to make your acquaintance."

Alaric barely acknowledged her, choosing instead to take the seat Baron Reginald hurriedly offered him.

"I won't waste time with pleasantries," he said directly. "I came here with a specific purpose."

Lady Beatrix's smile widened. "Of course, Your Grace. We're all eager to know what brings you to our humble home."

The Duke leaned back in his chair, his piercing gaze moving from one family member to another. The butler—Alistair, I recalled—stood behind his master, his face carefully neutral.

"Baron," Alaric said, his voice filling the room, "you must be aware of the rumors that I am looking for a wife. After some time to think, I have made up my mind to marry your daughter, Isabella."

The silence that followed was absolute. Clara's face drained of color. Lady Beatrix's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Baron Reginald stood frozen, his tea cup halfway to his lips.

And somewhere above them, locked in her room with an injured kitten and an empty stomach, I waited, unaware that my fate was being decided.