The soft rustle of silk and the faint aroma of lavender followed Amelie as she entered the dining room again later that night, her cheeks still radiating warmth from the unexpected flush. In the grand corridor, with its floors polished to a reflective sheen and walls adorned with tapestries that told tales of valor and romance, she paused, collecting herself.
The Duke, his posture impeccable despite the late hour, stood by the hearth in the adjacent sitting room, watching her retreat with an inscrutable gaze. The amber of his eyes caught the fire's glow, casting a light that seemed to reach out toward her, warm yet distant. As his friend Friedrich had excused himself to freshen up for their impending drink, Ludwig remained rooted to the spot.
"Your Grace," Amelie began, dipping into a curtsy deeper than necessary, hoping the extra seconds would allow her to regain composure.
"Miss Amelie," the Duke acknowledged with a nod, his voice low and even. "I trust your evening has been pleasant?"
"Indeed, Your Grace." She kept her answer brief, unable to shake off the feeling of being thoroughly seen—as if he could peer straight through the fabric of her gown and into the depths of her unsettled thoughts.
A brief silence fell upon them, laden with unspoken words. It was then that Amelie noticed the trace of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth, a subtle twitch that spoke more than any grand gesture could. His expression was one of mild mirth, and she wondered what private jest had found its way into his mind.
"Your blush earlier," he started, his tone gentle, teasing almost, "was quite becoming." His words were not meant to wound or embarrass, that much was evident, but Amelie's heart raced all the same.
"Your Grace flatters me without cause," Amelie replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She could feel the heat returning to her face and willed herself to maintain a semblance of dignity.
"Forgive me. It was not my intention to disconcert you," he said, his demeanor softening. "Merely an observation."
"Of course, Your Grace," she managed, though her pulse thrummed in her ears.
Ludwig's attention shifted slightly, his gaze thoughtful as he contemplated the flickering flames before them. "That night... I have vague memories of someone aiding me. Your quarters are close to mine…"
Amelie felt the weight of his inquiry settle upon her shoulders, heavy with implications. "Yes, Your Grace. They are indeed."
"Then it was you who assisted me?" There was no accusation in his tone, only a quiet curiosity—a puzzle piece falling into place.
She nodded, finding no merit in concealing the truth. "I happened upon you in a state of... distress. It seemed only right to offer assistance."
"Ah." A knowing look crossed his features, the ghost of that night's inebriation haunting his otherwise clear gaze. "And my attire? I seem to recall waking with buttons undone."
"An accident, I assure you, Your Grace." She could scarcely believe they were discussing such intimacies so openly. "In my efforts to ensure your comfort, I may have been less attentive to such details."
A chuckle escaped him, rich and unexpectedly warm. "It is a peculiar thing," he mused, "to be unburdened by propriety in the presence of another, however unintended."
"Your Grace—" she started, but he held up a hand, halting her words.
"Please, Miss Amelie, think nothing of it." He was well aware that some among the staff might welcome—how shall he put it?—a closer relationship with their employer. "Your actions bore no hint of impropriety. I am eternally indebted to you for keeping this matter confidential."
"Thank you, Your Grace," she said, relief washing over her like a gentle wave.
"Moreover," he continued, his gaze locking with hers once more, "it is a rare thing to find oneself in the care of someone who expects nothing in return. You have a kind heart, Miss Amelie. It is... refreshing."
The compliment, sincere and unexpected, left her momentarily speechless. To be seen—not as a servant, nor as a woman to be pursued, but as a person—was a gift she never anticipated receiving from him. In the dire circumstances he found himself in, after countless weeks of being ignored by him, it was especially delightful.
"Your Grace honors me with his words," she finally said, her eyes downcast, not daring to meet his intense stare lest she reveal the tumult within.
"Think nothing of it," he replied softly, the ghost of a smile still present. "Now, I must join Friedrich for our drink. A good night to you, Miss Amelie."
"Good night, Your Grace," Amelie responded, dipping into another curtsy as he strode past her, the tail of his coat brushing against her skirts.
As she ascended the grand staircase to her quarters, the encounter replayed in her mind, each word echoing with significance. The Duke had seen her—not as a mere blushing maiden, but as a woman of substance—and that recognition filled her chest with a strange, fluttering sensation.
As she neared her quarters, she could hear the soft murmur of Maggy's voice soothing the baby. The warmth of her room enveloped her like a comforting hug, and she sighed in relief.
Maggy looked up as Amelie entered, a warm smile on her face as she took in her mistress' flushed cheeks. "Amelie," she said gently, rising from her chair by the fireplace. "How was your afternoon?"
"Eventful," muttered Amelie with a small laugh as she sat down heavily on a nearby settee. "The encounter with His Grace... I will leave the details for another time, but suffice to say, a certain secret of mine is safe."
"I'm glad to hear it," Maggy said, her eyes full of understanding as she intuitively read the unspoken relief in Amelie's tone.
She nodded, grateful for Maggy's empathetic ear. The baby in her arms let out a soft coo as Maggy shifted him closer to her chest, rocking him gently. "Amelie, it's late. You should rest," Maggy said, her voice thick with concern for her dear friend. "Come now, let me help you ready for bed." Her Maggy deserved some peace after all these sleepless nights spent helping her tend to the baby.
Her gaze lingered on the baby in its crib until it succumbed to slumber. But her mind refused to settle, still reeling from the tense confrontation with the duke.
Alone in her room, Amelie sat at the small vanity, tracing the wood grain with her fingertips. What did it mean, to be acknowledged in such a manner by a man of his standing? Was there an underlying sentiment to his words, or merely the musings of a nobleman whose life was a patchwork of decorum and duty?
"Refreshing," he had called her. The word lingered, wrapping around her like a shawl. Perhaps, in time, she would understand the Duke's enigmatic nature, what drove the somber shadows from his eyes, and coaxed forth those fleeting smiles.
For now, she contented herself with the knowledge that this night had marked a change, subtle yet undeniable. The connection between them, fragile as it was, had shifted, and with it, the trajectory of her days in the stately manor of Naria und Wartenburg.
Write
"Tomorrow," she whispered to her reflection, her resolve firming. "Tomorrow is another day."
And with that thought cradling her hopes, Amelie extinguished the candle, allowing the darkness to envelop her as she lay down to rest.