"Is there anything else you require before the engagement, Your Grace?" Alistair asked, his posture impeccable as always.
I watched my butler's face carefully. Behind his professional mask, I could see the questions burning in his eyes.
"I've already told you about the ring, Alistair," I replied, shuffling through some papers on my desk. "It will be delivered this afternoon."
"And the gifts for the Beaumont family?"
"Being prepared as we speak." I set my quill down. "Make sure the paints for Isabella are included. The finest quality available."
Alistair nodded, but hesitated instead of leaving. "There's another matter, Your Grace. Where shall I arrange for Lady Isabella's chambers?"
I glanced up from my work. "She'll be staying in my chambers."
Alistair's eyes widened slightly—the most dramatic reaction I'd ever seen from my composed butler. "Your... chambers, sir?"
"Yes, Alistair. My chambers. She will be my wife." I raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"
"Not at all, Your Grace." Alistair cleared his throat. "I'll arrange to have the connecting room prepared for her personal items."
"Good." I returned to my documents.
"And regarding children, Your Grace..."
I looked up sharply. "What about them?"
"I merely wondered about nursery preparations. The east wing would be most suitable, with its morning light and proximity to the master chambers."
I leaned back in my chair. "Children are not imminent, Alistair. But yes, when the time comes, the east wing would be appropriate."
"Very well, sir." Alistair's face betrayed nothing, but I sensed his satisfaction. The old man had practically raised me and had been dropping hints about heirs for years.
"You may go now," I said, waving him off. "And do stop looking so dramatic. It's just a marriage."
"Of course, Your Grace." Alistair bowed and left, but not before I caught the small smile on his face.
Just a marriage. I stared at the contract in my drawer. A convenient arrangement with unexpected complications. I found myself wondering if Isabella slept well last night, and whether her family had harmed her again after her return.
The thought made my jaw clench.
---
The carriage jolted over a rough patch in the road, but I barely noticed. My mind was still reeling from yesterday's events, trying to process that by this time tomorrow, I would be Isabella Thorne, Duchess of Easthaven.
I pinched myself for the dozenth time. The sharp pain confirmed I wasn't dreaming.
"I'm marrying Duke Alaric Thorne," I whispered to myself, tasting the impossible words. Soon I would escape my family forever. No more cruel words from Lady Beatrix, no more "accidents" arranged by Clara, no more disappointment in my father's eyes when he looked at me.
I pictured Father's face when Duke Alaric arrived to formally ask for my hand. Would he even question it? Or would he be so eager to be rid of his cursed, masked daughter that he'd sign me away without a second thought?
He would probably try to push Clara forward, I realized. The thought brought a bitter smile to my lips behind my mask. Clara had dreamed of catching the Duke's eye for years. How furious she would be when she learned he had chosen me instead.
The carriage stopped outside our modest estate. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. Just one more day of enduring this place. Just one more day.
I had barely stepped inside when Lady Beatrix's shrill voice cut through the air.
"Where have you been?" she demanded, her face pinched with anger. She stood at the bottom of the staircase, hands on her hips. "Gone all day without a word!"
"I apologize, stepmother," I said quietly, lowering my gaze. "I had an important matter to attend to."
"Important?" She laughed cruelly. "What could possibly be important in your worthless life? You have responsibilities here, girl!"
I bit my tongue, forcing myself to remain calm. "I'm sorry for any inconvenience."
Lady Beatrix stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "You're becoming more like your mother every day. She ran away too, you know. Couldn't handle her responsibilities."
The mention of my mother stung, as it always did. I knew so little about her beyond what they told me—that she'd abandoned us when I was just a baby.
"I wasn't running away," I said softly.
"Then where were you?" She circled me like a predator. "It's not as if you have friends or suitors. No one wants a cursed girl hiding behind a mask."
Every word was designed to wound, but I'd grown thick skin over the years. And knowing I would soon escape gave me strength.
"Get back to your room," she snapped. "And stay there. I can't wait for the day you're gone from this house."
The irony almost made me laugh. If only she knew how soon her wish would be granted.
"Yes, stepmother," I murmured, keeping my head down as I moved toward the stairs.
"Everyone knows it's your own fault you wear that mask," she called after me. "Your own wicked nature showing on your face."
I climbed the stairs, letting her words wash over me without penetrating. She was wrong, of course. My scars came from Clara's jealousy, not any wickedness of my own. But I'd long ago stopped trying to defend myself.
It would all be over soon. By this time tomorrow, I would be leaving with Duke Alaric. The thought gave me the strength to endure one more day in this prison.
I moved quickly down the hallway toward my small room in the far corner of the house. Better to stay out of sight until Alaric arrived tomorrow. No sense risking any more "accidents" that might delay my escape.
As I approached my door, I noticed it was slightly ajar. I hadn't left it that way. My heart began to pound. Pushing it open slowly, I froze at the sight before me.
Clara stood by my window, her back to me. In her hands was Mittens, my small gray kitten—the only creature in this house that showed me affection. She was holding the struggling animal dangling over the open window.
"What are you doing?" I gasped, rushing forward.
Clara turned, a cruel smile spreading across her beautiful face. "Just thought I'd see if cats really do land on their feet. From three stories up."
"Clara, please," I begged, my voice shaking as I reached for my kitten. "Put her down."
"Oh, I intend to," she said, dangling Mittens further out the window. "Put her down indeed."