Chapter 14 - The Unveiling of a New Duchess

Baron Reginald paced in his study, wringing his hands as Lady Beatrix watched him with narrowed eyes.

"You agreed to marry Isabella to that... that monster?" Lady Beatrix hissed, her face twisted in fury. "Have you lost your mind, Reginald?"

"I had no choice!" he snapped, collapsing into his chair. "The Duke threatened me. Physically threatened me! Do you understand what that means? He knows things, Beatrix. Things that could destroy us."

Lady Beatrix's face paled slightly. "What things?"

"Everything." The Baron's voice dropped to a whisper. "My debts, my past dealings... He even mentioned Lord Ravenscroft."

At that name, Lady Beatrix gasped. "Impossible. No one knows about that connection."

"Well, he does." The Baron wiped sweat from his brow. "And he made it very clear what would happen if I refused the marriage."

"So you just handed Isabella over to him? Your own daughter?"

The Baron laughed bitterly. "As if you've ever cared about Isabella before. Besides, she wants this marriage. God knows why, but she does."

The door burst open, and Clara stormed in, her blonde curls bouncing with each angry step.

"Is it true?" she demanded. "Is Isabella really marrying Duke Thorne?"

"Yes, it's true," the Baron sighed. "And there's nothing to be done about it."

Clara's face turned scarlet. "This is absurd! He's being tricked somehow. I need to speak with him immediately."

"You will do no such thing!" Lady Beatrix snapped. "The last thing we need is you antagonizing the Duke further."

"But Mother—"

"Enough!" The Baron slammed his fist on the desk. "The Duke and Isabella will be joining us for dinner shortly. You will both behave appropriately, or so help me..."

His threat hung in the air as a knock sounded at the door. Alistair, the Duke's butler, stood in the doorway.

"His Grace, Duke Alaric Thorne, and Lady Isabella request your presence in the dining room," he announced formally.

I walked beside Alaric, my hand tucked into his arm. My heart hammered in my chest, but I kept my chin up, remembering his words from earlier. Tonight, I would no longer be the frightened girl hiding behind her mask.

"Ready?" Alaric murmured as we approached the dining room.

"Yes," I replied, surprising myself with my steady voice.

We entered the room together, and I felt a small thrill at the shock that registered on my family's faces. My father looked resigned, Lady Beatrix furious, and Clara—Clara looked ready to murder me with her bare hands.

"Good evening," Alaric said smoothly, leading me to a chair at the head of the table—my father's usual spot.

Behind us, Alistair entered carrying an ornate wooden box. "His Grace has brought gifts for the family, as promised."

"How... thoughtful," Lady Beatrix managed through clenched teeth.

Alistair opened the box, revealing several items: an expensive pocket watch for my father, a pearl necklace for Lady Beatrix, and a silver bracelet for Clara. Simple yet expensive tokens that would satisfy propriety without being overly generous.

"Please, Isabella. Sit," Alaric encouraged, pulling out my father's chair for me.

I hesitated only for a moment before taking the seat, acutely aware of everyone's stares. Clara's glare was particularly venomous as she clutched the silver bracelet in her hand.

"This is highly irregular," Lady Beatrix said stiffly. "Isabella, perhaps you should take your usual place—"

"My fiancée will sit where I deem appropriate," Alaric cut in, his tone pleasant but leaving no room for argument. He took the seat beside me, typically occupied by Lady Beatrix.

My stepmother's face reddened. "Isabella, have you truly considered this decision? Marriage is a serious commitment, and with your... condition..."

"I'm thrilled to be marrying Duke Thorne," I said, finding confidence I never knew I had. "And I have Clara to thank for it, really."

"Me?" Clara sputtered.

"Yes. If you hadn't spent so many dinners talking about Duke Thorne's wealth and power, I might never have realized what a suitable match he would be."

Clara's eyes narrowed dangerously. "He was meant for me. Everyone knows that."

"I'm afraid I don't recall ever giving you reason to believe that, Lady Clara," Alaric said coolly. "In fact, I don't recall ever having a single conversation with you."

"But we danced at the Winterford Ball!" Clara protested.

"Did we?" Alaric raised an eyebrow. "I danced with many women that night. Forgettable encounters, all of them."

Clara's face flushed crimson. "Father, are you just going to sit there while he insults me?"

The Baron cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Clara, please. His Grace has been generous—"

"Generous?" Clara scoffed. "He's being manipulated! Isabella has tricked him somehow. She probably knows some secret about him—"

"Speaking of secrets," Alaric interjected smoothly, "I find it interesting how well-informed your family is about certain matters, Baron. Particularly those involving substances that have recently caused trouble in the northern districts."

My father paled visibly. "I don't know what you're referring to, Your Grace."

"I believe you do." Alaric's smile was cold. "Just as I believe you know exactly what happened to Isabella's kitten when she was nine years old."

The silence that fell over the table was deafening. I stared at Alaric in shock. I had never told him that story.

"A kitten?" Lady Beatrix laughed nervously. "What an odd thing to bring up at dinner."

"Not odd at all," Alaric countered. "Isabella mentioned her pet was thrown against a wall. Curious how a child would do such a thing, isn't it?"

His gaze shifted deliberately to Clara, whose smug expression faltered.

"Children can be cruel," my father mumbled.

"Indeed. And adults crueler still when they allow such behavior." Alaric's hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently. "As Isabella's fiancé, her concerns are now mine. And I want to make something perfectly clear: I would kill anyone who upsets her."

His gaze lingered on Clara, who seemed to shrink in her chair.

"Now," he continued pleasantly, "shall we eat?"

Servants began bringing in the food—more elaborate than usual, no doubt on my father's orders to impress the Duke. I sat there, marveling at how different it felt to be on this side of the power dynamic.

As the main course was served, I turned to Lady Beatrix. "Would you pass the salt, please?"

She stared at me as if I'd grown a second head.

"The salt," I repeated, more firmly.

With visible reluctance, she passed the salt cellar.

"Thank you." I smiled behind my mask. "I'm quite hungry, you see. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, when I was locked in my room."

Lady Beatrix's smile grew strained. "Isabella, perhaps we shouldn't bore His Grace with family matters—"

"I'm not bored in the slightest," Alaric said mildly. "Do continue, Isabella."

Drawing strength from his support, I gestured to Lady Beatrix. "Since I'm so famished, perhaps you could serve me first... Mother."

I emphasized the last word, knowing how it would irritate her—she had never allowed me to call her that.

Lady Beatrix's face went through several emotions in quick succession: shock, anger, and finally, barely contained rage. Her hand trembled as she reached for the serving spoon.

"I—I find I'm suddenly not feeling well," she announced, her voice tight. "If you'll excuse me, I need some air."

She stood so abruptly her chair nearly toppled backward.

"Of course," I said sweetly. "But do hurry back before the food gets cold... Mother."

Lady Beatrix practically fled from the room. Through the closed door, we all heard the distinct sound of something breakable being smashed against a wall.