Chapter 31 - A Maid's Fear, A Duchess's Test

Clara Meadows stood outside the Duchess's chamber door, her hands trembling slightly as she smoothed down her freshly pressed apron. My throat felt dry as I gathered the courage to knock. Working for the new Duchess meant dealing with the woman everyone in town whispered about—the cursed lady who hid her face behind a mask. The rumors about what lay beneath that mask had kept me awake half the night.

I raised my hand and knocked timidly.

"Enter," called a clear voice from within.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside, keeping my eyes lowered respectfully. "Good morning, my lady. I'm Clara Meadows, assigned as your new lady's maid."

"Good morning, Clara Meadows," the Duchess replied, her voice pleasant but firm. "Is there a reason you've addressed me incorrectly?"

My head snapped up in alarm, meeting the gaze of the masked woman sitting by the window. Despite the mask covering half her face, I could see she was studying me intently.

"I—I'm sorry, I don't understand," I stammered, my mind racing to figure out what offense I'd committed.

"I am a Duchess now, not simply 'my lady,'" she explained. "The proper address would be 'Your Grace.'"

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I meant no disrespect."

The Duchess nodded, gesturing toward a nearby chair. "Please, come in properly. There's no need to hover by the door as if I might bite."

I approached cautiously, taking the offered seat but perching on its edge, ready to flee if necessary. The stories about the Duke's masked wife had spread through the servant quarters like wildfire, each tale more horrifying than the last.

"You're afraid of me," the Duchess stated simply, no question in her tone.

"No, Your Grace, I—"

"Please don't lie," she interrupted gently. "I can see your fear plainly on your face." She tilted her head, the light catching on the silver filigree of her half-mask. "Look up, Clara Meadows. It will be difficult for you to work if you can't bear to look at me."

I forced myself to meet her gaze. The visible half of her face was undeniably beautiful—smooth skin, expressive dark eyes, and a graceful curve to her lip. Nothing monstrous there.

"Did you know," she began casually, "that there's a rumor spreading about you in the household?"

"About me?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"Yes. They're saying that you were born during a blood moon, and that any child you touch will fall terribly ill." Her voice remained light, conversational. "They claim your mother was a witch who sold your soul before you were even born."

"That's not true!" I gasped, horrified. "I've never heard such a thing!"

"Of course it's not true," she replied firmly. "I just made it up, right here, right now. But see how quickly you believed someone might be spreading such lies? How immediately you felt the sting of being judged for something completely fabricated?"

Understanding dawned on me. "Like the rumors about you."

"Precisely." She nodded, a small smile visible on the uncovered portion of her face. "I am not cursed, Clara Meadows. I am simply a woman who wears a mask for her own reasons."

I swallowed hard, feeling ashamed of my fear. "I apologize for believing the gossip, Your Grace."

"People will always talk," she said, rising from her seat with an unexpected grace. "The question is whether you can see past the talk to make your own judgments."

She moved to stand by the window, sunlight filtering through the delicate lace curtains. For a moment, she looked almost ethereal, this mysterious Duchess who had captured the fearsome Duke's attention.

"I'll give you a choice," she said after a moment of silence. "If you truly cannot bear to serve a mistress who wears a mask and has been labeled 'cursed' by society, you may ask for another position. I won't hold it against you."

I hesitated, weighing my options. Working for the Duchess's sister, Lady Clara Beaumont, would undoubtedly be worse—her tantrums and cruelty were legendary among the staff. And despite my initial fear, there was something compelling about this masked woman.

"I would like to stay, Your Grace," I said finally. "If you'll have me."

A smile spread across the visible portion of her face. "Very well. But I should warn you that working as my lady's maid involves certain... challenges."

"Challenges, Your Grace?"

"Yes." She turned fully toward me now. "Your first test will be seeing what's beneath my mask."

My heart dropped to my stomach. The rumors of what lay beneath that mask flooded back—a devil's mark that would curse anyone who looked upon it, skin melted away to reveal bone, something so hideous it would drive a person mad.

"Your... your face?" I whispered, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.

"Does that frighten you?" she asked, her tone mildly curious rather than offended.

I couldn't lie. "Yes, Your Grace. The stories..."

"Are just stories," she finished for me. "But I need a lady's maid who can assist me with my mask, and that means seeing what lies beneath it."

My hands were trembling again, but I clasped them tightly in my lap to hide it. "I understand, Your Grace."

The Duchess approached me, standing close enough that I could smell the lavender scent of her perfume. My breath caught as her hands moved toward the mask.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

I nodded mutely, bracing myself for whatever horror I was about to witness.

To my surprise, she laughed—a genuine, warm sound that transformed her entire demeanor.

"I'm teasing you, Clara Meadows," she said, dropping her hands back to her sides. "I wouldn't subject you to such a test so soon. We'll build up to that."

Relief washed over me so powerfully that I nearly slumped in my chair. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"But I wasn't entirely joking about testing you," she continued. "I need to know I can trust the people around me."

"Of course, Your Grace. I understand."

The Duchess returned to her seat, studying me with those perceptive eyes. "Do you know why I selected you specifically as my lady's maid?"

"No, Your Grace," I admitted, genuinely curious now.

"I saw your face when Lady Clara Beaumont was... indisposed in the garden that day," she said carefully. "When she was covered in manure and utterly helpless."

My eyes widened. I remembered that day vividly—when Lady Clara had been humiliated in front of everyone, standing in a pile of stable waste after antagonizing the Duchess. I'd been part of the gathered staff, watching the spectacle unfold.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Your Grace," I said cautiously, aware that expressing any satisfaction at Lady Clara's misfortune could be dangerous if repeated.

"I saw the look in your eyes," the Duchess continued, a knowing gleam in her own. "The barely contained smile, the satisfaction. You dislike her, don't you? Lady Clara Beaumont?"

My heart pounded in my chest. This was dangerous territory, but something told me honesty would serve me better than lies with this woman.

"She was unkind to me," I admitted quietly. "She had me dismissed from my previous position when I spilled tea on her favorite gloves, even though it was her own hand that knocked into the tray."

The Duchess nodded slowly. "And that's precisely why I chose you, Clara Meadows. Because I believe we might have a common... understanding about certain people."

I stared at her, beginning to comprehend. The Duchess hadn't chosen me randomly—she'd selected me because she'd recognized a potential ally. Someone who might sympathize with her own treatment at Lady Clara's hands.

"I think," the Duchess said, leaning forward slightly, "that this arrangement might benefit us both more than you initially expected."