Page 8 of The Duke’s Cursed Virgin (Cursed Brides #3)

Chapter Seven

“ Y ou look tired, Sophia,” Aunt Mary observed. Her tone was sharp as ever, but there was concern there. “I hope you did not stay up reading by the candlelight? Again?”

Often, whenever Sophia woke up from a nightmare, she would have already forgotten everything. Only a feeling of dread would remain, but it would not last.

Today was different, though. Everything was still vivid.

Sophia saw the flashes of hope turning into violence, death, and horror. She could still hear the sounds of screaming, horses neighing, and her heart pounding.

They remained. It was not supposed to be that way.

The smell of breakfast somehow calmed her a little.

“No, Aunt Mary. I… I simply didn’t sleep well,” she mumbled.

Aunt Mary sniffed, returning to sipping her tea.

Bright sunlight streamed through the windows. A hearty breakfast waited for her. But sometimes Sophia felt she didn’t deserve them.

The Holtons and Aunt Mary were already seated. They were engaged in hushed conversation while they slowly ate their meals. Sophia wondered what they would think when she sat down and began eating. She was famished, and she was not certain she could restrain herself.

Lord Holton was engrossed in his newspaper. Meanwhile, Lady Holton was stirring honey in her tea. Aunt Mary was her usual self, her back straight and poised while she ate eggs and toast.

Sophia’s eyes met Anna’s. The blonde debutante scanned her face, her brow furrowed and her gaze worried.

Sophia smiled at her reassuringly. Even though her nightmare had taken away some of her appetite, the smell of eggs hit her strongly. She reached for toast and butter. Then, she took some eggs.

She could feel Aunt Mary’s eyes on her.

“We must focus on the tasks at hand today, and there are many. After breakfast, I expect you to be prepared and look your best. We won’t have time to dwell on paltry matters.”

Sophia’s chest ached at her aunt’s words. Paltry matters. Another person would think her aunt cruel and heartless, but she knew better. Aunt Mary merely didn’t want Sophia to linger on things that would make her feel—and appear—weak.

Sophia was only human, though. She could still feel grief and the grip of her nightmares, and they were not “paltry matters.”

Beneath the table, a warm hand covered hers. Sophia started at first, but she smiled when she saw it was Anna.

It was a small gesture of support, and she would take it. She did not have much in this world.

“Father,” Anna spoke to Lord Holton. “May Sophia and I be excused? I believe the morning air would do us some good.”

“If you wish, my dear,” Lord Horton replied, not even looking at them. His newspaper had him hostage. “Do not take too long, though.”

Anna smiled and got up quickly, and Sophia had no choice but to follow. Still, she was glad for the respite, even though she felt her aunt’s judging eyes follow her everywhere.

I am not weak , she told herself.

The Holtons’ garden was long and narrow, but it provided enough space for entertaining, gossiping, and walking. It was just enough for breathing in the fresh morning air while still maintaining privacy.

Stepping outside made Sophia’s nightmares dissolve into the air at last, no matter how stubbornly they clung to her spirit. Although they were more stubborn this time.

Anna led her to a bench in a quiet corner, protected by a magnolia tree. The smells of vanilla and lemon wafted from the blooms, and for a moment, Sophia wondered if they could just sit there all day.

“You look troubled, Sophia. What’s the matter?” Anna asked.

“I… I had a nightmare. About… the accident,” Sophia admitted. “Again. It was not the first time, but it was the first time it lingered.”

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, then turned her eyes heavenward.

The birds were chirping above them, oblivious to the chill that she still felt.

“I am so sorry, Sophia. I cannot imagine what that feels like. You deal with everything so bravely.”

“I am not brave, Anna. I simply have no choice but to move forward.”

“You are resilient, that much I know.”

“Aunt Mary does not allow weaknesses,” Sophia explained. “She believes that there is no use in dwelling on things we cannot change. It is what keeps me moving, though, so I understand her.”

“Yes, she is a strong woman, the Dowager Countess,” Anna murmured. “But Sophia, being strong does not mean bearing everything alone. You need to talk when things become overwhelming. You are allowed to.”

Sophia felt a blanket of warmth envelop her. It was nice, having a friend who was softer—one with whom she didn’t have to constantly put a brave mask on.

“I dreamed of the accident. But most of all, I dreamed of my father,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “We both knew something was wrong, but… it was too late. He shielded me when the carriage went out of control. I lost consciousness, and when I woke up…”

Her throat tightened, forbidding her from saying the words.

No. She had to. She had to tell someone.

“Our carriage had crashed. The walls had splintered, and the pieces… My father was wounded. He… He was already dead when I came to,” she said.

Anna murmured almost unintelligible but comforting words, her hand reaching for Sophia’s. The gentle squeeze made Sophia want to cry, but she held onto her remaining strength.

“It wasn’t just that, Anna. The dream confirmed something that had been troubling me all along. I have not spoken about that night, but I remember something that I found strange.”

“What do you mean?” Anna asked, her voice rising.

“What happened to our carriage… It was not just because of the storm. The rain was getting stronger, yes, but if you ask, most people still managed to reach the ball or turned back safely.”

“That was what they said. I was still too young to go, back then,” Anna said thoughtfully.

She had withdrawn her hand and was sitting straighter, but Sophia knew that her friend still supported her.

“Our coachman had always been careful. He would have stopped if he thought it too dangerous to proceed,” Sophia continued. “That night, he was not himself.”

“What do you mean?” Anna was gaping at her now.

With every pause, Sophia could hear the birds chirping once more. They were better to listen to, but she would not hide again. There were things she needed to know about that fateful night.

“He was in a daze, slurring his words, like he was drunk. He was not that sort of man, Anna. The man consumed wine only during communion. I remember that very clearly.”

The memory flashed again, clear as day. Sophia could hear the panic in her father’s voice as he pounded at the carriage ceiling. The coachman’s words were barely comprehensible.

Why did he sound out of his mind? Couldn’t he have just stopped the carriage?

“Didn’t you ask him after the accident?” Anna asked.

Sophia shook her head. “He died as well.”

Anna frowned, her eyes dropping to the ground. “Perhaps he was simply terrified? I know I have found it difficult to speak during times when I am thoroughly scared. You’ve seen me like that.”

“No, he was not like that,” Sophia insisted. “It was not fear or nerves. He was in some sort of stupor. And he wasn’t drunk, I am certain of it. He would never risk our lives like that. He was a good man, Anna.”

“Grief can play strange tricks on our minds, Sophia,” Anna said softly, looking her friend in the eye.

She was a contradictory creature—sometimes serious and wise, and sometimes silly and flighty.

“Perhaps,” Sophia replied hesitantly.

“Your mind is still trying to make sense of what happened. That is absolutely understandable. It was a horrifying experience. Not everyone’s reason can survive something like that.”

“You are probably right,” Sophia agreed reluctantly, biting her lip.

Was her mind digging up some details from the past in order to cope? If so, why now?

“Whatever the case may be, know that you are not alone,” Anna promised. “I’m right here with you.”

“Thank you, Anna,” Sophia replied with a smile.

It was a relief to be able to talk about the accident and the lingering questions that remained with her for six years and a half. Perhaps the purpose of her nightmares was to push her to unburden herself and talk to someone about it.

Sophia looked up at the birds flying near the magnolia blooms and wondered if she would have peace one day.

Dearest Genevieve,

I am in London and may be here for the rest of the Season. My sincerest apologies for not reaching out as soon as possible. I no longer have the same leisure time as when we were younger. I am here at the behest of my aunt Mary, who is sponsoring a dear friend.

Hopefully, I will be able to see you at one of the upcoming events.

Yours,

Sophia.

Dearest Rosaline,

I am currently in London. I hope I will get to see you before I leave at the end of the Season.

I am only here as my aunt Mary’s companion. She is sponsoring Miss Anna Martin. Anna is a lovely person and a good friend. I hope you’ll get to meet her.

Yours,

Sophia.

Writing the letters was emotionally taxing but necessary. No matter how much Sophia hid from her past, it would always come back.

The best part of the history she’d left behind was her friends. They had survived the ton’s cruelty and had married dukes. She heard about it from Society papers and her knowledgeable aunt, but she had not had the pleasure of talking to them in person.

Anxiety gripped her. What if they were no longer the same people they were before? What if they shunned her because she was still cursed and they had been saved?

Only time would tell. She decided that even if her friends chose to no longer receive her warmly, she still wanted to see them and find out what they remembered about the accident. It was not a whim, but a need.

A soft knock sounded at her bedroom door. So, she lowered her quill and sealed her letters.

“Come in!” she called out as she straightened on the chair in front of the vanity.

“My dear niece, it looks like we have something to do soon,” Aunt Mary said, stepping into the room.

It was hard to tell if the Dowager Countess was pleased or not. “Something to do soon” could mean a gathering—a ball or a party. Mary Fraser knew the importance of being seen at balls and other gatherings.

“What is it, Auntie?” Sophia asked, hoping she could mask her annoyance.

She reminded herself that it might be her chance to see Genevieve and Rosaline.

Another figure flitted into her thoughts—someone tall and imposing.

The Wolf Duke.

As for him… Well, he could simply serve his purpose: a distraction from her nightmares.

“We have been invited by your uncle to a ball he is hosting. Imagine that! Put on your best dress, but also choose something practical enough. Also, his wife mentioned that their boys have been asking about you.”

Sophia sighed. “We’ll have to be there. For Anna, of course.”

“I may be sponsoring Anna Martin, but do not come to the ball looking like you were just lifted from the cinders, Sophia!” the Dowager Countess warned, making her chuckle.

“No, Auntie, I won’t,” Sophia promised, her thoughts drifting back to the dashing Duke.

If he wished to play a game, perhaps she was ready to humor him.

Above all, she was ready to live .