The Duke's Reluctant Bride

The Duke's Study - Late Evening

A knock at the study door broke the silence.

"Enter," Nathaniel called, his voice smooth and measured.

The door eased open, and Lady Rosalind glided inside. Her silver hair was pinned precisely as ever, hands folded neatly before her as though she already anticipated the purpose of this summons. Even so, her sharp eyes narrowed as they swept over her nephew seated at his desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

"You wished to see me, Nathaniel?" she began, her tone pleasant but edged with a certain wariness.

He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit, Aunt."

She settled stiffly into the chair as he lowered his hands. "First," he began, "I want to thank you. You have overseen this household for years, kept this estate running smoothly while my attentions were elsewhere. Your diligence has not gone unnoticed."

Some of the tension left her shoulders, and she inclined her chin. "That is only my duty to this family."

Nathaniel studied her a moment before continuing, his voice quiet but resolute. "And it's because of that very duty that I must now ask you to relinquish the management of the manor accounts."

Lady Rosalind's hands clenched into her skirt.

"I intend for my wife to take on these responsibilities," he explained evenly. "Evelyn is my Duchess. It is only proper that she stand at the helm of her own household."

A brittle silence followed. Lady Rosalind's lips thinned to a razor's edge as she stared at him.

"Surely," she began carefully, her voice strained but respectful, "you realize she is still new to this role. These accounts can be complicated: the servants, the purchases, the estate budgets. Perhaps it would be wiser to allow me to..."

"My decision is made," Nathaniel cut in, his gaze unwavering. "And I will see that she is properly supported. Your work up until now will make the transition a smooth one."

Lady Rosalind's hands, resting on her lap, had gone white-knuckled. "Of course," she forced the words past her lips. "If this is your wish, I will do as you say."

There was an unmistakable wound in her voice, a deep insult that she dared not voice aloud.

"You will prepare the ledgers for her," Nathaniel added, his tone polite but final.

She inclined her head slowly, her expression schooled into blankness, though fury smoldered in her eyes. "As you wish, Your Grace."

He gave a faint nod, his gaze never leaving hers. "That will be all."

For a heartbeat she lingered, breath sharp and shallow. Then she rose and dipped into a curtsey so shallow it was barely a show of respect before turning toward the door.

The moment it closed behind her, Nathaniel allowed himself a long breath. The house was shifting as it should and though he knew Rosalind would not take this lightly, his face betrayed no regret.

He was the Duke. And his wife was Duchess of Wycliffe Manor.

And that was how it would be.

The heavy door to Lady Rosalind's room shut with a final, echoing thud. The lamplight glowed warmly against polished wood and fine brocade, but all the grandeur of the room couldn't soothe the seething fury bubbling under Rosalind's composed exterior.

For years, she had ruled this household with a quiet, elegant tyranny; every ledger balanced, every expense scrutinized, every servant answering to her. And now Nathaniel, with a few measured words and that glacial stare, had stripped her of her authority as though she were nothing more than a hired steward.

"Evelyn," she hissed into the empty room as she began pacing, her fingers knotting into fists. "That simpering girl. What could he possibly see in her?"

Her heel dug into the rich rug as her thoughts churned darkly. This was more than losing control of the household accounts, this was an insult, a public humiliation. And if word spread, every member of society who mattered would know that Lady Rosalind had been set aside.

Her gaze flicked to a dainty porcelain vase perched on a marble-topped table. Without thinking, she snatched it up and hurled it into the wall. It shattered into a spray of shards with a sharp, bitter crack that felt good in her hands and ears.

The door creaked open.

"Mother?" Emilio slipped inside, his expression wary as his eyes tracked the glittering shards across the floor.

She rounded on him like a predator. "Your cousin has decided," she began, her voice low and trembling with a dangerous edge, "that it's fit to take my authority and hand it over to that girl."

Emilio's eyes narrowed. "He did what?"

"You heard me," Rosalind answered, lips pulled into a humorless smile. "He summoned me as though I were a servant, told me that all my years of keeping this house running smoothly were finished and all to give her my position. That upstart will hold the accounts. Our accounts."

Emilio's hands slowly curled into fists at his sides. "And what of us? The expenses you cover? My debts?"

"Gone," she bit out. "If this arrangement holds, there will be no leeway. No more quiet payments to cover your indiscretions. No more subtle siphoning of funds for my investments."

His face paled beneath the light of the lamps. "That can't happen. Mother... we cannot let this stand."

Lady Rosalind stepped closer, the sharp scent of her perfume filling the charged silence. Her dark eyes gleamed like polished glass as she stared up at her son.

"Oh, we won't." Her hands, graceful and cold, cupped his face with a calculated tenderness. "That little duchess will regret ever stepping into this house. And as for Nathaniel…"

She paused, breath hitching with suppressed fury. "He may wear a title and command respect, my dear boy, but even a duke cannot make decisions without consequences."

Emilio swallowed, his pulse hammering as he caught the dangerous glint in her gaze. "What do you want me to do?"

A slow, sharp smile unfurled across her face.

"You will do what you've always done," she told him, voice as smooth as silk yet edged like a blade. "You will help me put everything back as it should be. Watch her. Get close to the servants. Turn people to our cause. When the time comes, we will force Evelyn's hand and if that fails, we will destroy her one way or another."

He nodded, face taut with determination. "And Nathaniel?"

"Your cousin," Rosalind said icily, "may believe himself above us, but even a man like him has weaknesses. And we'll make sure this house never truly belongs to anyone but us."

For a heartbeat, mother and son stood together, the soft light glinting off their eyes as they plotted. Then, Lady Rosalind released him and smoothed her hands down her dress, her spine straightening as though nothing had happened at all.

"Go now," she instructed softly. "Keep up appearances. Be the perfect son at dinner tomorrow; civil, obedient. Let them believe we've accepted this quietly."

Emilio hesitated at the door, looking back at her with an almost boyish fear. "And if they don't?"

"They will," she assured him, voice like velvet over steel. "And when they do, we'll strike."

He slipped out, leaving her in the hush of the firelit room. Lady Rosalind exhaled slowly, hands trembling at last as she glanced into the hearth, eyes glowing with a fierce and ruthless light.

No one, not even a duke and his newly minted wife would steal her place.