The Duke And His Beauty

The Valentine mansion was bathed in the morning light, its lavish chandeliers glittering like a thousand tiny suns.

Rosellene stood at the top of the grand staircase, her delicate fingers gripping the bannister.

The mansion felt colder now, a place of haunting echoes rather than beauty.

The faint hum of laughter and conversation drifted up from the hall below, the sound so clear and joyous.

The voices grew clearer as she descended step by step, their laughter mingling with the clinking of delicate china.

Her long black hair gently swayed with every step, and her eyes surveyed the scene below.

There they were, Her father, Earl Valentine, lounged at the head of the grand dining table, tall and commanding, his gaze cold and distant. Beside him was her mother, Lady Valentine, the picture of elegance with her serene smile and delicate gestures.

And then there was Eleanor, perched like a doll in her seat. Her soft, golden hair framed her angelic face, and her rosy lips curled into a bright, innocent smile.

It was a scene Rosellene had lived through countless times, a picture-perfect family radiating warmth and harmony.

Rosellene's lips curved into a small, bitter smile. What a farce.

She moved gracefully to her seat at the table, her hands resting in her lap as the lively chatter around her continued. The smell of freshly brewed tea and buttered scones filled the air, but to her, the atmosphere was stifling.

"Good morning, my darling," her mother greeted, her voice warm and saccharine. "You're up early today."

"Good morning, Mother," Rosellene replied, her tone smooth and composed. She inclined her head toward her father. "Father."

Lady Valentine smiled sweetly. "Okay. Come here. We were just discussing the upcoming grand ball."

Eleanor's wide eyes sparkled as she chimed in, "Sister! You look so radiant this morning. Did you sleep well?"

Rosellene met Eleanor's gaze, her expression unreadable. "Indeed," she said, her voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil beneath the surface.

Her parents resumed their conversation, but Rosellene hardly listened.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table as a surge of determination coursed through her.

"Is something the matter, dear?" her mother asked, noticing her distraction.

Rosellene blinked and offered a soft smile. "Nothing at all, Mother."

Her mother, Lady Valentine, placed her teacup down with a soft clink and finally turned her gaze toward Rosellene. Her expression was one of motherly concern.

"Rosellene, darling," her mother began, her voice light and measured, "I was speaking with Lady Montague yesterday. She mentioned her eldest son has returned from studying abroad."

Rosellene raised an eyebrow, a polite smile gracing her lips. "Did she?"

Lady Valentine nodded, her tone becoming slightly more incisive. "Yes. A fine young man, I hear. Well-educated, charming, and from a respectable lineage. Perhaps we should invite their family for tea sometime soon."

The implication was clear. It's time for you to find a suitable husband.

Eleanor, seated across from Rosellene, perked up at the mention of Lady Montague's son. "Oh, I've heard about him! They say he's quite the gentlemen."

Rosellene's fingers tightened slightly around her teacup, but her smile remained serene.

"How thoughtful of you, Mother. I'm sure Lady Montague's son is a fine gentleman, but I see no need to rush into such matters."

At this moment, her father, Earl Valentine, cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. "Your mother is right, we should begin considering some eligible young bachelors for you, Rosellene."

The words, so casual and matter-of-fact, struck Rosellene like a slap to the face. They hadn't even missed a beat.

Rosellene closed her eyes briefly, collecting herself.

"I see, Father," she softly replied, her tone demure. "I will give it my utmost consideration."

The Earl seemed satisfied with her answer, returning his focus to the papers in his hand.

Eleanor's delicate laugh broke the brief silence. "Sister, you've always had such high standards. I wonder, what kind of man would be able to catch your eyes?"

Rosellene gaze flickered to Elenor, her cold eyes meeting her sister's cheerful ones.

Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Someone who values more than just appearances, I suppose," she said lightly, letting the words hang in the air.

Eleanor's smile faltered for a split second before she quickly recovered. "How noble of you, Sister. I'm sure you'll find someone extraordinary."

Rosellene glanced at Elenor, her gaze sweeping over her family and taking a slow sip of her tea, she allowed herself a small, private smile.

Later that day,

Rosellene reclined gracefully upon the velvet chaise in her drawing room, her posture a picture of effortless refinement. One leg was crossed delicately over the other, and her back was poised yet relaxed.

A leather-bound novel rested lightly in her hands, her slender fingers turning its pages. Nearby, a porcelain teacup sat on the low table, the faint steam curling upward.

The faint aroma of chamomile lingered in the air, complementing the serene atmosphere of her tea time.

Across the room, Millie, Rosellene's maid, lingered by the corner under the guise of tidying.

Her eyes, sharp and perceptive despite their outward docility, watched her mistress with a quiet attentiveness. Ready to attend to any need that arises.

The sound of hurried steps echoed down the grand staircase, breaking the room's stillness.

Eleanor descended with her usual air of youthful exuberance, her skirts billowing lightly with each step, light and carefree.

As she twirled at the base of the stairs, the glittering jewels adorning her neck caught the sunlight streaming through the windows, and casting tiny prisms of light across the room.

Rosellene's gaze lifted from her book, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Her expression remained tranquil, her lips curving into a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she closed her book with a soft thud, she placed it beside her teacup.

"Eleanor," Her voice was calm, yet tinged with a detached curiosity, "Did you, perhaps, wander into my room earlier today?"

Eleanor halted, the corners of her lips lifting in what seemed to be genuine delight.

She touched the necklace at her throat, her fingers grazing the jewels as though drawing attention to them.

"Oh, these?" Eleanor gestured to the necklace with a playful tilt of her head.

"Aren't they just lovely? I found them in the most unexpected place—they seemed forgotten, collecting dust. It's a shame for something so exquisite to be left hidden away."

Rosellene's gaze lingered, studying her sister with an unreadable expression.

Millie's gaze flitted between the two sisters, her hands pausing briefly over the silver tray she had been polishing.

"Forgotten?" Rosellene echoed softly, her voice laced with a faint amusement.

She leaned forward, her fingers brushing idly against the rim of her teacup. Her eyes carried a glimmer of something sharper, something cryptic.

"That's an interesting perspective. That necklace holds a particular sentiment for me. It was a gift from my dearest friend on my eighteenth birthday, a treasure I've always cherished deeply."

Eleanor paused for a moment, her brows lifting in mock surprise before she waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh, is that so? How thoughtful of them. Well," she added with a light laugh, "you have such excellent taste, sister. I couldn't help but admire them."

Rosellene's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. "Indeed," she replied smoothly, her voice even. "Naturally. It's good to know you share my appreciation for beautiful things."

"But I would be terribly heartbroken should anything happen to it. Do take care not to lose it, won't you?"

Eleanor's smile flickered for a fraction of a second before she shrugged with practiced nonchalance.

"Of course, Rosellene," she said lightly, her tone carrying an air of carelessness. "You needn't worry."

Without waiting for further comment. Eleanor turned on her heel and strolled toward the door, the jewels tinkling softly as she sauntered toward the door, her carefree hum lingering in the air long after she'd left.

As Rosellene lifted her teacup to her lips, a quiet sigh escaped her, a sound so light it was nearly imperceptible.

Millie hesitated before speaking, her voice low and cautious. "Milady, if I may..."

Rosellene's gaze shifted to her maid. "Speak freely, Millie."

"Should I retrieve the jewels for you?" Millie asked, her tone respectful yet firm.

Rosellene reached for her teacup, her fingers graceful, but her grip tightened ever so slightly against the porcelain.

A wry smile touched Rosellene's lips as she shook her head. "No," she murmured, her voice distant. "Let her play her little games. It's not the jewels she's after..."

Millie nodded, though unease lingered in her chest as if sensing an undercurrent she couldn't fully place.

She bit back a sigh, continuing to polish the tray with practised ease.

Rosellene's fingers brushed lightly over the edge of her book, A faint, almost imperceptible chuckle escaped her lips as she murmured under her breath.

"My sweet sister," her tone laced with quiet amusement and an underlying chill. "I trust you won't give me a reason to regret this."

"But don't say I didn't offer you the chance."

There was no need to act now; patience, after all, was a virtue she'd mastered.