The carriage rolled to a stop, its ornately carved wheels crunching on the gravel driveway. Cecilia, still fuming from her humiliating encounter with the King, remained rigidly upright, her face a mask of thunderous silence.
Beside her, Gabrielle, ever the pragmatist, hopped out with a light grace. "Well, Cecilia," she chirped, offering a strained smile, "safe journey back to your father's manor."
Cecilia remained motionless, her gloved hand clutching the plush carriage seat with surprising strength. Whether it was anger or wounded pride, Gabrielle couldn't tell, and frankly, she didn't care. With a sigh, Gabrielle turned and began to walk towards the imposing manor house.
Its imposing facade, adorned with intricate stonework and towering windows, held a familiar sense of comfort, despite the suffocating expectations that often accompanied it. Just as she was about to ascend the stairs that led to her private quarters, a familiar voice called out from within.
"Gabrielle?"
The voice belonged to her mother, the Duchess. Unlike Gabrielle, who was as spirited and fiery as a wild stallion, the Duchess was a woman of quiet grace and docile demeanor. She spent her days presiding over the household with a gentle hand, more suited to the role of a housewife than the consort of a Duke.
Gabrielle pushed open the heavy oak doors to find her mother seated in the large parlor, a tapestry frame resting on her lap, half-finished embroidery drooping limply in her hands. Her face, usually serene, held a hint of curiosity.
"Gabrielle," her mother greeted, her voice soft and laced with concern. "How was your visit to the castle? Did you enjoy yourself?"
Gabrielle forced a smile, the memory of Aurelia's defiance. "It was… interesting, Mother," she replied vaguely.
"And did you see the King?" Her mother inquired, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.
Gabrielle nodded, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Yes, I did."
Her mother's smile widened. "Excellent! Having Cecilia as your companion seems to be having a positive effect. Perhaps you'll finally start gracing the court with your presence more often, darling."
Gabrielle couldn't help but roll her eyes. While she enjoyed Cecilia's company in small doses, the constant pressure to conform to societal expectations was stifling. The life of a lady at court, filled with gossip and endless social functions, held little appeal for her adventurous spirit.
The tranquility of their conversation was shattered by the booming voice of Gabrielle's father, the Duke of the East, as he strode into the parlor. His presence filled the room, a stark contrast to his wife's gentle demeanor. He cast a brief glance at his wife, the unfinished embroidery a silent testament to her interrupted task, before turning his steely gaze towards Gabrielle.
"Gabrielle," he boomed, his voice laced with a gruff authority. "You've returned from your visit. How did it fare?"
Gabrielle, ever cautious around her imposing father, offered a tight smile. "It was… fine, Father," she replied, her voice lacking its usual enthusiasm.
Her father grunted. "Good, good. And how is your new friend, Lady Cecilia? I trust you are becoming well acquainted."
Gabrielle couldn't help but scoff internally. Her father, with his old-fashioned views on nobility, likely believed Cecilia's friendship stemmed from genuine affection. The truth, of course, was far more cynical. Cecilia, being another Duke's daughter, knew Gabrielle held no romantic interest in the King, unlike the many other noblewomen vying for his attention. It was a pragmatic alliance, a way to navigate the treacherous waters of the court without unnecessary competition.
"We tolerate each other, Father," Gabrielle replied diplomatically, choosing her words carefully.
Her father boomed with laughter, a sound that echoed through the room. "Excellent! That's all that matters. Now, did you happen to cross paths with Lord Leviathan during your visit?"
Gabrielle nodded, a flicker of something akin to annoyance crossing her features.
"Ah, Lord Leviathan!" her father boomed, a hint of respect tinging his voice. "A fine man, that one. Strong leadership, vast lands… perfect marriage material, wouldn't you agree, Gabrielle?"
Before Gabrielle could voice her dissent, her mother, who had been unusually quiet throughout the conversation, interjected with a sharp tone. "A fine young man, yes," she said, her voice laced with a surprising amount of venom. "But also a notorious philanderer, if rumors are to be believed."
Her father scoffed, his gaze landing on his wife with a hint of amusement. "True, true," he conceded, his voice booming with a hint of condescension. "But a powerful Lord wouldn't want a wife with another Duke's title muddying the waters, now would he?"
Gabrielle groaned inwardly. As the only daughter and heir, the weight of expectation sat heavy on her shoulders. She was destined to become the next Duchess of the East, and with that title came the unwelcome pressure to find a suitable husband, preferably one who was willing to take on the mantle of Duke alongside her. The very notion of a parade of suitors filled her with dread.
Her father, oblivious to her internal turmoil, clapped his hands together with a hearty laugh. "Ah, speaking of suitable suitors," he boomed, his voice echoing in the opulent parlor. "Sir Robert awaits in my study. A fine young man, strong and capable. He'd make a most excellent Duke by your side, Gabrielle."
He gestured towards the grand double doors on the far side of the room, a glint of expectation twinkling in his steely gaze. "Come, come, let's not keep him waiting."
As Gabrielle and her father ascended the grand staircase, his voice boomed once more. "Speaking of the King," he rumbled, "did you happen to see his new… slave girl during your visit?"
Gabrielle's steps faltered for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. She quickly recovered, forcing a nonchalant nod. "Yes, Father," she replied. "I did see her."
Her father hummed thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "Hmm, an unusual choice for the King," he mused. "Slaves are for menial tasks, not for companionship. I doubt the King has much interest in such… acquisitions."
They reached the heavy oak door leading to her father's study. Her father pushed it open with a flourish, revealing a richly furnished room lined with books and adorned with hunting trophies. Seated in a plush armchair was a young man, his face flushed with nervous anticipation.
"Ah, Gabrielle," her father boomed, ushering her into the room with a hand on her back. "This is Sir Robert. He's been waiting eagerly for your arrival."
Gabrielle couldn't help but feel a wave of pity for the young man. He seemed pleasant enough, with kind eyes and a nervous smile. But the forced merriment in the air was thick and suffocating.
Her father nudged her forward, a not-so-subtle reminder of her expected behavior. With a sigh, Gabrielle curtsied gracefully. "Sir Robert," she greeted, her voice polite but lacking warmth.
The young man practically leaped out of his chair, his face lighting up with a hopeful smile. "Lady Gabrielle," he stammered, bowing low. "It is an absolute pleasure to see you again." He lunged forward, his hand outstretched towards hers.
Before he could make contact, Gabrielle instinctively recoiled, withdrawing her hand with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Forgive me, Sir Robert," she said quickly, "but I haven't washed my hands after my journey."
Her father cleared his throat, a low growl emanating from his chest. Beside her, Sir Robert let out a nervous chuckle, his hopeful smile faltering slightly. This was not how he envisioned their reunion going.
Her father, oblivious to the awkward tension, boomed, "Well then," he declared, clapping his hands together. "I shall leave you two lovebirds to get acquainted. I trust you'll have plenty to discuss." With a wink that did little to reassure Gabrielle, he lumbered out of the room, the heavy oak door shutting with a resounding thud.
Alone with Sir Robert, Gabrielle forced a polite smile onto her face. Her father's booming voice and the slam of the door only served to highlight the stifling atmosphere of the room. She knew, with a certainty that sent shivers down her spine, that he would be hovering just outside the door, his oversized ear pressed against the cool wood, eavesdropping on their conversation. The thought was both comical and infuriating.
Sir Robert, oblivious to her internal turmoil, launched into a long-winded monologue about his life's accomplishments. "You see, Lady Gabrielle," he began, puffing out his chest with pride, "it all started with a pickaxe and a dream! I, Sir Robert, single-handedly built my fortune from the ground up. Yes, a coal mine, wouldn't you believe it? Hard work and perseverance, that's the key to success, I always say!"
He spoke of his rise from humble beginnings, boasting about how he had single-handedly carved out a name for himself in the coal mining industry. His voice droned on and on, detailing the intricacies of mine shafts and ore production, a topic that held as much interest for Gabrielle as watching paint dry.
This, she thought with a sigh, was the life that awaited her. Suitor after suitor, each a variation on the same theme – self-absorbed, entitled men with little to offer beyond tedious stories of their supposed brilliance. Her mind wandered, picturing the quiet strength and hidden defiance in the eyes of a particular brown-skinned maid.