Then, slowly, the storm in her eyes calmed. In its place, a hesitant spark of understanding ignited. "Lost your memory, Duchess?" she echoed, her voice cautious.
I nodded, unable to tear my gaze from her. "Everything. I don't even know who I am before becoming... this."
For a long moment, silence filled the air, broken only by the gentle lapping of the water. Then, to my surprise, Ada offered a small smile, hesitant but hopeful.
"It's alright, Duchess," she said, her voice regaining its warmth. "Though I confess, it is quite a surprise. But know this, even if you don't remember, you are still you. And I, Ada, will do everything I can to help you find yourself again."
Tears welled up in my eyes, not of fear, but of relief. In that moment, I knew I wasn't alone. This loyal maid, bound to the original Eleanor, had somehow chosen to extend that loyalty to me, the stranger inhabiting her mistress's body.
With newfound determination, I squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Ada," I whispered.
The bathwater had grown tepid, but the chill that ran down my spine was far from the temperature. "What do I have scheduled for today?" I asked, the question hanging heavy in the air.
A dark cloud seemed to pass over Ada's face as she hesitated. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and laced with apprehension. "You have a meeting with the Duke today."
"The Duke?" My voice hitched. The implications of that title, of that man, finally crashed down on me. I was married. Married to a complete stranger, a man who, in the original story, had stood by silently while his brother's cruelty towards Eleanor unfolded.
A shudder wracked my body. It was all their fault, a voice whispered in my mind, not mine but echoing eerily from somewhere deep within. The Duke, the prince, Amelia, everyone who had played their part in the original narrative. If they hadn't pushed her, ostracized her, treated her as less than human, maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be my reality.
"It was all their fault," Ada echoed my unspoken thoughts, her voice gravelly with anger. "If they all hadn't pushed you, if they had all at least given you a semblance of attention, or even treated you as a human being, you wouldn't be married to this cold bastard." Her words were harsh, laced with a bitterness that mirrored my own burgeoning resentment.
But amidst the anger, a spark of defiance ignited. I wouldn't be a victim, not anymore. This marriage, this twisted reality, wouldn't break me. Instead, I would use it to my advantage. The Duke, with his supposed cold indifference, might hold the key to unraveling the truth about Eleanor and understanding the motives behind the cruel game that had brought me here.
"Thank you for your honesty, Ada," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I may not remember everything, but I know one thing – I won't be a pawn in anyone's game anymore.
A flicker of admiration lit up Ada's eyes. "That's the Duchess I remember," she said, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "Strong, determined, and unafraid. And remember, Duchess, you are not alone. I will be by your side, every step of the way."
Emerging from the bath, the steam clung to my skin like a warm embrace. Yet, the chill that had settled within me was far from physical. Today was the day I met the Duke, a prospect that sent a shiver down my spine. Not just because he was a stranger, but because of the role he played in the original narrative – a silent observer to the torment Eleanor endured.
Ada, ever the loyal companion, assisted me with the elaborate dressing process. First came the undergarments, a labyrinth of lace and linen that seemed designed to both constrict and accentuate the female form. The corset, however, was a different beast entirely. As Ada tightened the laces, each pull felt like a vice gripping my lungs. I gasped, the air momentarily stolen from me. This Victorian torture device, a symbol of both beauty and oppression, was now my daily reality.
Finally, the red dress, a crimson wave designed for grand balls, not morning meetings. It rustled with every step, a stark contrast to the sleek suits I was used to. A wry smile touched my lips. The universe, in its infinite humor, had traded one kind of confinement for another.
Ada fussed over the finishing touches – delicate jewelry adorning my neck and wrists, makeup that transformed my face into a porcelain mask. Looking in the mirror, I was a stranger, beautiful and captivating, yet someone I barely recognized.
"It's not exactly practical," I confessed to Ada, gesturing to the dress. "I'm not sure I can navigate courtly intrigue in this getup."
She smiled knowingly. "Duchess, practicality is rarely a priority in these halls. What matters is presence, power, and perhaps a touch of mystery."
Her words were true, but the thought of navigating social minefields in this elaborate gown filled me with trepidation. Still, I straightened my posture, the red silk whispering around me. This wasn't just a dress; it was armor, a shield against the unknown.
For the first time since waking up in this body, I stepped out of my chambers and into the gigantic and magnificent hall. My eyes feasted on its beauty, the grandeur so vast it felt like stepping into a storybook. Soaring ceilings adorned with intricate frescos, polished marble floors reflecting the flickering light of crystal chandeliers, and tapestries depicting scenes from forgotten myths lined the walls. It was overwhelming, breathtaking, and undeniably beautiful.
But the magnificence paled in comparison to the man seated behind the ornately carved desk at the far end of the room. He was the epitome of aristocratic perfection, with raven hair that framed ice-blue eyes that seemed to pierce through me. His features were sharp, chiseled like a Greek god statue, and his posture exuded an aura of quiet power. He was everything I expected the Duke to be – handsome, intimidating, and, if the rumors were true, utterly cold.
My pulse quickened, not from fear, but from a strange mix of apprehension and a faint tingle of...curiosity? In all the novels I'd devoured, the Duke was portrayed as a villain, yet staring into those glacial eyes, I couldn't help but wonder if the truth was more complex.
Ada cleared her throat, snapping me out of my internal musings. The guards flanking the door, their uniforms impeccably crisp and adorned with the family crest, gave me a respectful nod as we approached the Duke's desk. They stood tall and imposing, their attire a stark contrast to the opulence of the hall. Their uniforms, a deep blue with gold accents, were polished to a mirror shine, and their hats, adorned with the ducal crest, sat at a precise angle. Their expressions were stoic, their gazes fixed not on me, but on a point beyond my shoulder. They were silent guardians, their very presence a reminder of the Duke's power and authority.
He remained seated, his expression indifferent.
"Let's face the Duke," I said, my voice surprisingly firm.