Page 20 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke (Cursed Brides #1)
Chapter Nineteen
“ O h, they have finally arrived!” Genevieve announced as Wilhelm and Kenneth emerged from the shadows of the hallway, their figures illuminated by the soft candlelight that danced across the meticulously set table.
Wilhelm, his expression a careful mask of neutrality, greeted Marianne and Owen with a polite nod of his head.
“Lord and Lady Clowefield,” he acknowledged. “Welcome to Ravenshire.”
He gestured towards the elaborately laid table, its surface gleaming with polished silverware and crystal glasses.
“Shall we?” he prompted, his gaze sweeping over the assembled guests.
They settled into their chairs, which were fitted with plush velvet cushions that complemented the table setting and the décor. An awkward silence descended upon the group.
Marianne cleared her throat delicately and took steps to break the ice.
“The weather has been quite agreeable of late,” she remarked, her voice a touch too bright in the strained silence. “It has certainly been a welcome respite from the recent storms.”
Owen nodded in agreement.
“It has, yes,” he said, his gaze darting between Wilhelm and Genevieve. “Though I find the tempestuous nature of the weather rather exhilarating.”
Wilhelm’s lips curled into a small smile. “I prefer a more predictable climate,” he replied.
Owen took a deep breath, nodding. “Predictability is good.”
“Indeed.” Wilhelm gave a sharp nod.
Another silence settled over the group. Marianne took a slow sip from her glass, wiping the dewy stem with her napkin before setting it down gently on the table.
Kenneth cleared his throat, his eyes widening in mock horror as he surveyed the guests.
Genevieve’s eyes flicked from Wilhelm to Kenneth to her friends as she desperately racked her brain for a topic to ignite their conversation and dispel the awkwardness.
She caught Wilhelm’s eye and silently pleaded for him to take the lead and end the suffocating silence, but he shrugged helplessly.
Her frustration mounted. This was her first dinner party as the Duchess of Ravenshire, and it was off to a terrible start.
She had envisioned a lively gathering, filled with laughter and conversation, a celebration of her newfound happiness and the blossoming friendship between her husband and her dearest friends. But instead, they were all trapped in awkward silences and banal pleasantries.
At last, the grand doors of the dining hall swung open, and a procession of servants entered, bearing trays laden with delectable dishes. The aroma of roast meats, spiced vegetables, and freshly baked bread filled the air, momentarily distracting them from the silence.
“Ah,” Kenneth exclaimed, his voice a welcome interruption to the stifling silence. “It seems our culinary salvation has arrived.”
A chuckle rippled through the group, their collective uneasiness lessening as they turned their attention to the feast before them.
“This pheasant is divine, Genevieve,” Marianne remarked after swallowing a bite, her voice laced with genuine appreciation. “Your chef is a true artist.”
Genevieve smiled, her heart swelling at her friend’s praise.
“I shall pass along your compliments,” she replied. She looked over at Wilhelm, who was quietly enjoying his meal.
Owen, ever the charmer, raised his glass.
“To the Duchess,” he declared. “May her culinary delights continue to grace our palates and banish any lingering discomfort.”
Kenneth let out a genuine laugh.
“Indeed,” he agreed, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “May the mighty pheasant forever vanquish the dreaded silence.”
The laughter spread like wildfire, infecting the entire group. Even Wilhelm’s lips were forming a genuine smile.
“Yes,” Genevieve chimed in, “may it banish any lingering awkwardness and pave the way for an evening of delightful conversation and camaraderie.”
Wilhelm raised his glass in a mock toast.
“To camaraderie,” he echoed, his gaze meeting hers with a warmth that made her heart flutter. “And to the banishment of all awkward silences.”
“Pardon my directness, Duchess,” Kenneth remarked, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “I am quite impressed with your ability to tame the cold beast beside you.”
Genevieve’s cheeks flushed, her gaze darting towards Wilhelm, who feigned a look of mock indignation.
“Tame, you say?” he retorted in a playful growl. “I assure you, Gaverton, I am merely behaving.”
They burst into laughter again, the sound echoing through the grand dining hall, chasing away the lingering shadows of formality and apprehension.
“And I, in turn, assure you, Lord Gaverton,” Genevieve chimed in, her eyes sparkling with playful confidence, “that the beast is quite tame. In fact…” She paused. “I find him quite manageable.”
Wilhelm suppressed a grin and feigned umbrage at their attack.
“Do I appear to be someone who can be managed?” he said as he raised his eyebrows and placed one hand over his heart. “Duchess, I am deeply wounded by your lack of faith in my ferocity.”
Genevieve’s melodious laughter filled the room, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson that rivaled the hue of the wine in her glass.
“Do not fret, Your Grace,” she retorted teasingly. “I have witnessed your ferocity firsthand. It is quite impressive, to say the least.”
A collective gasp echoed through the room. Marianne and Owen exchanged amused glances at the blatant scene unfolding before them.
Kenneth, ever the jovial observer, could not resist a playful jab.
“My word, Ravenshire!” he exclaimed in mock astonishment. “It seems your icy exterior has melted faster than a snowflake on a summer day.”
Wilhelm feigned a look of annoyance.
“Gaverton,” he admonished in a playful tone, “do not tempt me.”
Another wave of laughter erupted around the table. Marianne wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes with her napkin. Owen looked at Genevieve and Wilhelm, and also could not contain his amusement.
“I must say, Genevieve,” he said laughingly, “you seem to have a rather remarkable effect on His Grace.”
Genevieve’s eyes dropped to her plate as a shy smile curved her lips. Wilhelm, his own smile widening, reached across the table, his fingers gently stroking the back of her hand.
“Indeed,” he murmured, his voice a low caress that sent shivers down her spine. “She has a way of…” He turned to Kenneth. “Do not, Gaverton.”
Kenneth gasped, widening his eyes in mock horror.
“Oh, Your Grace,” he exclaimed, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me!” He turned to Owen, his expression the picture of aggrieved innocence. “Can you believe the audacity of this man, Lord Clowefield?”
Owen chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well… Lord Gaverton,” he replied, leaning back in his chair, “I would not put it past you. After all, you have a certain reputation for mischief.”
Marianne grinned and added, “Indeed, Lord Gaverton. We have all heard tales of your charm and charisma. It is a wonder any lady could ever resist your advances.”
Kenneth threw his hands up in mock despair. “Alas,” he lamented, “I am not humble enough to deny it.”
Genevieve giggled as Wilhelm grabbed her hand and squeezed it, looking at her with a subtle smile.
As the final course was cleared away and the dessert trays were presented, the conversation flowed effortlessly, their laughter and banter weaving a new tapestry of friendship and shared happiness.
“Ah, yes, Ravenshire in his youth,” Kenneth began, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “A veritable iceberg of a man. He moved through the world with a chilling aloofness, his gaze as sharp as a winter wind, his words as cutting as shards of ice.”
He paused, swirling the wine in his glass, a dramatic gesture that captured the attention of the room.
“I recall a particular incident,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “involving a young lady—quite smitten with our dear Duke, I might add. She approached him at a ball, her eyes filled with admiration, her heart aflutter with hope. But Ravenshire, with a single glacial glance and a curt dismissal, shattered her dreams faster than a candle flame extinguished by a sudden gust of wind.”
A collective gasp filled the room. Genevieve’s eyes widened in surprise, her eyes darting towards Wilhelm, who merely shrugged and smirked as Kenneth unraveled the tale of woe.
“It was a sight to behold,” Kenneth continued, relishing the memory. “The poor girl, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, fled the ballroom in tears. And Ravenshire, unfazed, merely returned to his brandy, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever.”
Genevieve glanced at Wilhelm, who met her gaze with a tenderness that made her heart skip a beat.
“You know, Duchess,” Kenneth declared, raising his glass in a mock toast, “I had never seen him smile before you moved into this mansion.”
“Is that so?” Genevieve asked.
Wilhelm looked at her, and with a serious expression on his face, he responded, “I suppose did not have a reason to smile before.”
Something raw and powerful stirred in Genevieve’s heart.
Wilhelm rose from his seat.
“To Genevieve,” he said, raising his glass. “The Duchess of Ravenshire.” He then lowered his voice so only Genevieve could hear him. “ My Duchess.”
They all rose from their seats, their glasses raised high.
“To Genevieve!” they toasted in unison.