Cornelia stopped in her tracks immediately she stepped onto the floor of the dungeon. The foul smell of the unkempt cells coursed through her nostrils and nausea crept to her heart. She took a step forward as soon as one of the guards noticed who she was.
“I am only here to bring him his medicine,” she whispered.
Harry, Crane, and Brian–they were the names of the guards. She had known each of them since her father had brought her into the manor years ago, and it wasn’t surprising that they stared at her with pity in their eyes too. “Be quick with it,” Harry said, and she nodded at him, walking by to find her father’s cell.
It was the last cell on the left row, and immediately her father saw her through the bars, he jolted from the straws that were his bedding and crawled towards the iron bars. “Oh, my daughter,” he whispered. Tears welled in his eyes, almost as full as the ones in hers.
“Father….” she beamed at him. “Oh, you look lean? I hope the guards have been kind to you?”
He shook his head. “I wish it were but kindness that I need. I—I have been worried sick, Cornelia. I thought the duke was going to throw you into a cell too.”
“No, he didn’t. The dowager duchess insists that he must, but he let me go.”
He didn’t seem convinced. He stared at her face with his sad eyes and reached between the bars to cup her cheek. “What is it, my child?” he whispered.
“I am to never come down here, father,” she tried to hold her tears. “The duke says I can only twice in a month. How do I bring your medicine to you, Father? How do I continue to live up there, knowing the stench of this place?”
She had tried to be strong for him, but tears rushed down her cheeks already. He brushed a few off her cheeks and drew near to her. “Did you really do it?” she asked before he could speak. “Did you tell everyone Duke Durham isn’t the right heir?”
Her father’s gaze didn’t drop to his knees this time around. She saw the tears in his eyes slowly roll down his cheek and fall to the dirty floor.
“No, daughter,” he said. “I would never. Late Duke Durham has been nothing but helpful to us and his son, he has been the kindest duke any servant could want.”
“Then why are you in a cell, Father? Why have they put you in chains if you haven’t done anything?”
She wanted answers, and she wanted them now. She had been unable to eat for the past three days, stricken with sadness. Whenever she walked around the house, everyone whispered around her, and she was tired of being seen as a criminal when her father claimed to be innocent.
“You are not going to talk, Father?”
Her father was quiet. He sat helplessly on the straw, inching a little away from her while she sniffed back the rest of her tears and resolved to let him be. He wasn’t guilty, yet he wouldn’t yell his innocence; there was something strange about his tolerance.
Curious about what it was, she stared at his gray hair and the thick lines that had formed over his forehead, down to his cheeks and jaw. He wasn’t supposed to be in a cell, she thought. Having battled severe fever for weeks and finally survived it, she had thought life had finally begun to be kind to him.
She shook her head, eventually passing him the bowl in which she had poured his medicine. “You should drink this, Father,” she whispered. “We may think you have gotten better but this place….it could bring….”
“I think someone wants me out of the manor, Cornelia.”
She heard him but paid little mind to his words. “It could bring back your fever,” she continued. “And it may take very long before I am allowed in here again.”
He had become frantic in seconds, and she watched as he inched towards the iron bars again. He reached between them and held her hand. “Loo—look at me, Cornelia,” he spat. “Help me find out who it is. It is the only way I am to get out of this hole. You should find a way to prove that your father is innocent.”
She was staring bleakly at him. Why didn’t he tell this to the duke after he was accused of treason in the middle of the night? Why hasn’t he even asked for an audience or a fair trial, at least to get the duke to listen to him? Duke Garnet was indeed a kind and just man.
“Did you hear what I said, daughter? I have been framed!”
“I plan to leave the house tonight, Father.”
Cornelia blurted out the words without staring into his eyes. She looked away from him, hiding the pain and fear in her eyes and really hoping he was going to tell her to go…to leave everything behind.
“Leave? There is no place to go, Cornelia.”
She shook her head, still staring away from him. “I will find another home to maid in. Perhaps I may get married to a stable boy and have children.”
She had begun to cry again, and her father heaved a loud sigh, reaching through the bars again to place his hand on her knee. “You deserve a lot from this world, my child,” he whispered. “I am afraid and terribly sorry I couldn’t give you more.”
“Oh, don’t do that, Father.” she gritted her teeth at him. “Don’t make me remember how much you have done to bring us here and love me so much after Mama—after Mama….”
Words had failed her, and she was already moving towards him, finally looking into his eyes. What was she thinking? She couldn’t leave, not when he could rot in a cell without her. She needed to be in the castle with him for as long as it was possible…for as long as she could prove his innocence.
“Tell me everything, Father.” she finally whispered. “I want to hear everything.”
Chapter 2
Withering Flowers
The weather had been fluctuating between harsh and favorable in the past few days. The dowager duchess of Durham hissed and began to fan herself to get rid of the beads of sweat that had formed beneath her nose and in between the lumps of her breasts.
She hated that she was traveling in the middle of the afternoon, but there were some journeys the footman or even an errand boy couldn’t take for a woman of her status. Once the wheels of the carriage ran over a rock, getting the carriage to sway sideways for a second, almost shoving her out of her seat, she hissed again and closed her eyes to control the rage that had begun to grow inside of her.
“You will only see him for a minute and be back to the comfort of your home,” she tried to soothe herself. “You aren’t supposed to go to him, but you could hardly breathe without seeing that he is alive and well.”
Love. She had always considered it to be one of the weakest feelings any human could possess. The first time she had felt it was with her father, a learned man who had gotten himself enough wealth and power by mining silver and gold for men of royal blood. Her father was anything but compassionate towards his children, but she had loved him still. She had been the only child to stay for many years with him, and he had compensated her by finding her a duke to be betrothed to.
Of course, she had felt love too for Eustis James Garnett. The young duke had swept her off her feet with his handsome face and brawny shoulders, and she had known on the spot that she would love no one better than she loved him. He had taken her to the Garnett Manor, and she had stayed loyal to him and had wept nonstop, weeks after his demise.
Perhaps she should have stopped loving anyone after then, but some things do not change. Love was the only thing in the world that made her weak, and she was equally vulnerable to the intense feeling.
The carriage finally stopped, and she heaved a sigh of relief, already feeling sick from the long journey. It had been over five hours of sitting in the carriage while the sun got hotter and merciless in the sky.
The driver stepped down and opened the door for her, tipping his hat courteously at her. “We are here, Duchess Elizabeth,” he whispered.
She sauntered out of the carriage without looking at him. “Keep the horses ready. We leave soon,” she grunted, and he tipped his hat again, nodding at her and stepping back unto the carriage.
He had stopped in front of a small house that used to be a tavern. The bungalow was ab
andoned now, and lots of unwanted twigs had grown around its wooden pillars. Duchess Elizabeth held her breath for a while before stepping towards the front porch. She really hoped her letter had been received and the man she had come for was waiting for her inside.
She was close to the front door when she heard clattering behind the door. It sounded like a steel plate crashing to the floor at first, but then she listened again and noticed it was the sound of boots being dragged over the wooden floor. Someone was pulling things to hide them from her sight before she stepped into the house.
The door swept open a few minutes later.
“Hello Edward,” Duchess Elizabeth said, heaving a long sigh after noticing the bloodstains on her host’s hands.
***
Durham realized he had been so occupied with Lydia throughout the weekend, he hadn’t noticed that his mother wasn’t around him as she always was whenever she was in the manor. As soon as the weekend ended, and a carriage had come from Wilmington for Lydia, he was finally left alone in the house. He could also think about more things apart from the fading colors of the flowers in the garden or the fact that he needed to read more books.
He stepped into the dining room thirty minutes later, still wondering why he hadn’t seen the Duchess Elizabeth. Once Martha began to set the table with his lunch, he asked her about the dowager duchess, wondering if she had been in the manor at all since Friday.
“Aye, Your Grace,” Martha whispered. “Duchess Elizabeth had been in her room up until this morning when she pulled up one of the old carriages to take her out.”
“Did she inform anyone where she was going?”
Martha shook her head and went back to serving his food. He would be unperceptive if he didn't notice that the older maid wasn’t as cheerful as she always was with him. Once again, he was reminded of Cornelia and her erring father.
“What about Cornelia?” he asked. “Isn’t she supposed to be helping out with lunch?”
“She isn’t feeling too well,” Martha whispered. He knew instantly she was lying and began to tap his fingers on the table. That drew Martha to him, and she straightened anxiously, finally raising her head to look at him. “She hasn’t really been out and about since—since…”
“Since her disloyal father was locked up in the dungeon?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“I have shown both of them mercy, haven’t I? Get her out of her room and working like the rest of the maids immediately.”
He had spoken before he realized that perhaps he was a bit unsympathetic. It might have been over ten years ago, but he remembered Kolb and Cornelia’s story pretty well. Bringing Cornelia into the manor a few years after employing Kolb as the manor’s gardener was perhaps one of the few kind things his father had done. Kolb and Cornelia had been separated for so long after Cornelia’s mother’s death and bringing them together had tied their fates together forever.
“Martha,” Durham whispered on second thought. Martha was already hurrying out of the hall. “I think it is best I handle this myself once I am done with my food. Maybe she could be allowed to grieve some more.”
Martha seemed surprised by his decision. He wondered what she thought of him, or if she saw him as his father. Without pondering much about it, he shoved his hand into his food and began to eat without so much as glancing at anyone.
Sometimes, it was better to enjoy what he could before the heavyweight of ruling a duchy were back on his shoulders.
***
Despite that the sun had hidden behind thick dark clouds, Cornelia felt hot beneath her thin dress. She had worn a hat earlier to keep the sun from her eyes, but it seemed the hat made it worse; it was hot beneath it, and her scalp felt itchy.
It wasn’t her place, but she had chosen to water the flowers at the back of the manor. She hated how no one had tended to them in the past four days, leaving some flowers to wither under the harsh sun. Some leaves had lost their fresh green colors too, and they reminded her of how unkempt her father had looked down in the dungeon.
Struggling not to sadden herself with the thought of him, she swept her attention back to her task and almost ran into the duke as she twirled around to water more parts of the lush garden.
“Oh my…!” she muttered, dropping the watering can in fright. The container landed beside his feet, spilling water over his pants and shoes, despite how he stepped away from her to avoid it. She almost bit her tongue with sheer embarrassment.
“I—I’m terribly sorry,” she managed to mutter. “I didn’t see you come out of the manor.”
He was staring bleakly at her as if she had gone insane. Perhaps she was. In the brief moment that she had dropped the can and might have ruined his shoes, she had also placed her palm on his chest to steady herself. Why she was still holding on to him was beyond her, neither did she understand the warmth in his eyes as he stared quietly back at her.
“Your Grace.”
She forced the words out of her mouth, getting herself to step away from him and bow courteously as she should. She kept her eyes averted to the ground afterward, wondering what was going through his mind.
“You haven’t been working as you should, Cornelia Kolb,” she heard him clear his throat.
She blinked twice at him. “I—I don’t understand, Your Grace.”
“Martha informs me you have kept to your chambers since your father was thrown into the dungeon. I remember I told you that you are on thin ice….it is why I ever let you be, despite what….”
“Father claims he didn’t do it, Your Grace.”
She hadn’t meant to interrupt him. She wasn’t even aware she had said the words until she noticed him grimacing at her.
“You interrupted me, maid,” he said, and she felt a bit of pain in her heart. She had always been referred to as a maid, but hearing him say it with such contempt made her bow her head in shame. “I apologize, Your Grace,” she muttered, staring at her feet.
Perhaps he reconsidered scowling at her. He stepped towards her after she apologized and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You trust easily, and you are young, Cornelia,” he said. “While Kolb, your father, might have been the good man he was when you were brought to him here, people change. Every finger points at him.”
She nodded, hating it that she had brought up the topic. The only reason she was finally out of her room was that she had thought hard about what her father had told her in the dungeon. She could sniff around while doing her duties and find out the truth. If someone had framed him, there must be a reason for it, and she needed to find what it was before Christmas.
It had to be before Christmas.
“So, would you like to go back to your maid duties or you would prefer to take your father’s gardening duties?”
She had gotten lost in her thoughts for a second. She stared at the duke’s thin lips, compelled by their slow movement. “Cornelia?” he said.
“Yes, yes, Your Grace.”
“Yes, what? Are you okay?”
She really wasn’t, Cornelia thought. She was currently torn between an inexplicable attraction to him and the confusing thoughts of how she was going to find out the truth about her father’s imprisonment. “I would always be a maid, I think,” she finally managed to whisper, recounting the exact words he had said to her in her head. “I only come to water the garden since the leaves had begun to wither.”
“Oh,” he drawled, looking around them. “I will probably get a new gardener in the manor.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. His hands were still on her shoulders, and their bodies were only inches away from each other. She wondered when the attraction towards him had begun, and why she hadn’t noticed it before. It was also strange that he was suddenly intimate with her, apparently reluctant to step away from her.
“Your Grace….”
Cornelia jolted out of his reach as Martha suddenly appeared a few feet from them. She had her eyes averted to her feet, but she had definitely seen them together…and w
ith such proximity! Cornelia wished the ground could open and swallow her.
“Yes, Martha,” Duke Durham said with such a calm demeanor. She glanced at him, wondering how he could be calm.
“It is the dowager duchess, Your Grace,” Martha said. “You asked about her earlier and the butler has just announced her arrival into the manor.”
The duke sighed while stealing a glance at her. It was almost as if he regretted that they had been interrupted. Nodding at her and muttering the words, “get back to your duties, Cornelia” to her, he strode away, leaving her and Martha with an uncomfortable silence.
It seemed like forever before Martha turned on her heels and left too.
Cornelia closed her eyes, swearing under her breath as she noticed how she had nervously clutched to the tip of her dress to stop her pacing heart.
Chapter 3
The Needs of a Duke
Durham met with the dowager duchess in the large sitting room of the first floor. She was knitting a sweater by the time he sauntered into the room and sat across her. “Where have you been, Mother?” he asked.
She shrugged and went back to knitting her sweater with a resolute smile that said that she had no intention to tell him about her recent strange disappearance. It wasn’t the first time either. Two weeks ago, he had found her room empty the entire weekend, only to have her brought back to the house with a cheerful smile on her face. He wondered if she had been seeing anyone, and why she hadn’t made any effort to tell him about it.
Determining not to pry into her private life though, he pointed to the hat on her head. “New hat?” he asked.
She patted her head as if she hadn’t realized the hat was still there. “Oh, yes,” she smiled. “I had the carriage ride by the market to get me one. It has been nothing but fierce outside there with the harsh sun. One could hardly tell that it would be Christmas soon with snow and a gentle breeze.”
“Perhaps it would be different this time,” he shrugged.
He stood to leave, seeing there was more he could wring out of her, but his mother slowly dropped her knitting and smiled weirdly at him.
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