The sunlight streamed in through the maroon curtains, gently making its way toward the bed, casting a warm reddish orange glow onto Philippe's face. It roused him from his deep slumber, his mind still groggy from the all-nighter he had pulled the day before, putting the final touches on the new trade proposal.
Today seemed like any other busy day in the life of the Duke Philippe Lemieux. At 10 a.m., he found himself in a heated debate with King Claudius and parliament members. They argued for hours, one side pushing for increased disaster relief spending in the north or was it the west? He struggled to focus on the matter at hand, his mind preoccupied with the paperwork in front of him. By 4 p.m., he was immersed in trade negotiations with foreign diplomats from the southern island federation, discussing a new deal on spices. The long day stretched into the late evening as he toiled away in his home office, reviewing the new spending proposal left on his desk.
As he rubbed his tired eyes, the morning's haze still clung to his thoughts, now compounded by a throbbing headache. When he opened his eyes, a steaming cup of chamomile tea stood before him.
"Your tea, sir," Charles, the head butler said. He was a tall lanky man. His face framed with wispy white hair.
"Thank you, Charles," he replied, taking a sip of the tea. The towering stack of paperwork on his desk caught Charles's eye.
"You've received numerous dinner invitations, sir... perhaps you should consider taking a break," Charles suggested, his voice tinged with concern. "And Lady Camille has sent you another letter."
Philippe sighed in exasperation. "Just throw it into the fireplace and say it must have gotten lost during travel" Lady Camille had pursued him for years, claiming love at first sight, but he saw through the ploy. She, along with the king, had their sights set on his newly acquired diamond mines, like so many others.
"I understand, sir, but you must start thinking about an heir."
"What are you talking about?" Philippe exclaimed, a hint of confusion creeping into his voice. "I already resolved that by marrying that foolish woman..." His head began to throb once more, and he found himself struggling to comprehend the sudden turn of events.
"Shall I call the doctor?" inching closer to him.
"No, I'm perfectly fine," he asserted, a touch of irritation in his voice. "I'm already a married man as you know."
"What do you mean, sir? I have no knowledge of you being married," Charles replied, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "I would certainly remember if there were a new duchess, as it is my responsibility to help her adjust to the manor."
"What do I mean? You've already met her... Ophelia," he groaned, his head throbbing and his patience unraveling by the moment. It had only been a year since the wedding, but it seemed Charles had already forgotten her. He teetered on the edge of shouting, "Perhaps it's time to find a new head butler!"
"If you're already married, sir, you should bring her to the Capital. She might be helpful with keeping Lady Camille at bay" Charles suggested in a soothing tone, as if calming a restless child.
"Enough!" Philippe's voice boomed. With a swift motion, he surged up from his seat, his knuckles white from gripping the armrests. "I'm married to Ophelia DuPont," he declared, his words a searing demand. "WHERE IS SHE?!"
"No one by that name lives here, sir," Charles said in a weary yet soothing tone, recognizing the growing distress in Philippe.
It is late, Ophelia was must in bed by now. He thought. Philippe rushed to the door and headed toward her bedroom on the east side of the manor. He intended to confront her and put an end to this charade. Its gone on for far too long. However, its seems she had coerce the entire staff into her little play. How was this even possible? Every person he asked for directions to the Duchess's room gave him strange looks and gave him a different version of these two phrases: 'No such person by that name resides here,' or 'The Duchess's position is vacant.' Philippe began to question his sanity.
Upon opening Ophelia's door, he was met with deafening silence. Cobwebs and dust coated the entire room. The furniture concealed under dirty white cloths.
"What is going on?" He stumbled backward from the room, his head spinning. He turned to see the horrified expressions on Charles and his staff's faces. The room appeared to blur and swirl around him, and the last thing he heard was someone urgently shouting for a doctor.