Chapter 146: Stoking the Fire

Chapter 146: Chapter 146: Stoking the Fire

Elysia climbed the stairs, washed, and changed into her nightclothes.

The burn throbbed steadily beneath its wrapping.

She extinguished the lamps and settled beneath the covers, taking care not to put pressure on her injured arm.

There was no point in waiting awake.

If Melissa wished to speak, let her speak.

If the Marchioness wished to listen, let her listen.

Elysia closed her eyes.

She had already made her move.

Now she would see what the other side chose to reveal.

---

The lantern path took slightly longer than a quarter of an hour, just as Elysia had predicted.

By the time Melissa and the Marchioness reached the inner courtyard, Melissa had spoken of many things.

Yet she had not openly accused the Duchess of anything.

That would have been too obvious.

Instead, she had merely mentioned, in passing and with evident reluctance, that His Grace was very fond of his wife.

Perhaps a little too fond.

That he permitted her a great deal.

And then, whenever the Marchioness seemed ready to ask for an explanation, Melissa would fall silent with a troubled expression, as though she had already said more than she ought.

It was precisely the sort of silence that invited another question.

Now, seated in the front reception hall with tea poured and the household assembled in proper order, the Marchioness set her cup into its saucer.

Her gaze rested upon Melissa.

"Melissa."

"Yes, Sister?"

"Did you write to me?"

The pause was exceedingly brief.

"Write to you?"

Melissa’s brows drew together in mild confusion.

"I have not sent a letter to Elwoodmere in some time. Forgive me, Sister. Elwoodmere is so far away, and the capital keeps me busier than it ought. I have been remiss."

The Marchioness studied her face in the lamplight.

There was nothing there but faint, injured surprise.

"No matter."

She lifted her cup again.

"Where is the Duchess?"

Bertha stepped forward and bowed deeply.

"Her Grace begs your forgiveness, my lady. She has an old injury to her knees, and the damp has troubled her greatly these past few days. She had already retired when your carriage arrived."

A stillness settled over the hall.

Melissa’s cup paused halfway to her lips.

"Retired?"

She lowered it with a soft, precise click.

"Sister, forgive me for speaking, but..."

She turned towards the Marchioness, her expression troubled.

"You have travelled four days from Elwoodmere. You are an elder of this family. Surely Her Grace might have risen for a quarter of an hour, however poorly she was feeling."

She glanced towards Bertha.

"Perhaps you should go and tell her again. I am certain she will come once it is explained to her properly."

"There is no need."

The Marchioness’s voice was flat.

Melissa immediately fell silent.

"If she does not wish to see me," the Marchioness continued, "then dragging her from her bed will hardly improve our acquaintance."

Bertha bowed lower.

"My lady, Her Grace’s illness is not an excuse. His Grace summoned Doctor Grey back to the capital specifically to treat her knees."

Melissa’s expression changed as though she had just remembered something.

"Oh, yes."

She turned to the Marchioness.

"Years ago, Sister, when Her Grace was still young, there was an accident in the street. She was with the Crown Prince at the time."

The Marchioness’s gaze sharpened.

Melissa let the silence linger for a moment.

"She pushed him clear and took the injury herself. Without a moment’s hesitation, by every account I have heard."

There was even a trace of admiration in her voice.

"It was a very brave thing to do."

The Marchioness remained silent.

Melissa lifted her cup and took a small sip.

Then, almost casually, she added,

"I only wonder..."

Her eyes lowered to the tea.

"If His Grace were the one in danger instead, would she do the same for him?"

Bertha’s hands tightened behind her back.

The Marchioness said nothing.

But warmth had left her expression entirely.

Bertha’s heart sank.

Lady Melissa truly was a master at stoking the fire.

She had managed to make the question sound almost innocent, yet everyone in the room understood what she was implying.

Bertha forced a thin smile.

"You may not know this, my lady, but a few days ago, His Grace encountered assassins in the street."

The Marchioness’s gaze shifted towards her.

"Assassins?"

"Yes."

Bertha nodded.

"Her Grace was there as well. When the danger arose, she did not hesitate. She stepped directly in front of His Grace."

A faint crease appeared between the Marchioness’s brows.

"Several people witnessed it," Bertha continued. "There can be no question of what happened."

Melissa’s expression tightened.

She had not expected Bertha to intervene so quickly.

"Enough, Bertha."

Her voice was sharper now.

"You may leave."

Bertha did not move.

She glanced towards the Marchioness.

Leaving now would mean handing the entire conversation back to Melissa.

And once that happened, who knew what else Melissa would say?

"My lady," Bertha began carefully, "I merely thought—"

"You may go."

The Marchioness’s voice was calm, but there was no room for argument.

Bertha hesitated.

Then she bowed.

"As you command."

She turned towards the door.

With every step, she glanced back over her shoulder.

Her heart remained heavy.

The Marchioness of Gildemont was not like Melissa.

Melissa was troublesome, but manageable.

She could be dealt with because Cassiel knew her nature and had already made his position clear.

But the Marchioness was different.

She was Cassiel’s maternal aunt.

She had watched him grow up.

She had known him long before Elysia entered his life.

And unlike most people, she had never hesitated to reprimand him when he was in the wrong.

If such a woman truly took a dislike to Elysia, the consequences would not be easy to overcome.

Bertha could only hope the Duchess had known exactly what she was doing when she chose to remain in her chambers.

The door closed behind her.

The reception hall fell quiet.

For a moment, Melissa remained seated opposite the Marchioness.

Then she moved her chair closer.

She lowered her voice and sighed.

"Sister, please do not be angry."

The Marchioness glanced at her.

"The Duchess is still young."

Melissa’s expression was almost sympathetic.

"Since she entered the manor, His Grace has indulged her terribly. It is hardly surprising that she has developed such a temper."

The Marchioness gave a cold snort.

"But if His Grace favours her, what can we say?"

Melissa’s lips curved faintly.

"There is little any of us can do."

She picked up her cup and took a small sip.

"Even her courtyard is being renovated. I heard that the furnishings and materials being used are all expensive imports."

She frowned.

"I once managed this household myself. I know the state of the manor’s finances. A renovation of that scale is no small expense."

The Marchioness’ gaze sharpened.

"Then where will the money come from?"

Melissa sighed.

"I wondered the same."

"Did you not advise Cassiel?"

Melissa immediately shook her head.

"Advise him? I would not dare."

The Marchioness’s brows drew together.

Melissa lowered her eyes as though embarrassed to recall the matter.

"When the Duchess first arrived, I asked her to come to Rose Hall and pay her respects."

She hesitated.

"She told me that I was merely an aunt by marriage and not someone worth her time."

The Marchioness’s expression hardened.

"She said that?"

Melissa nodded.

"I tried not to take offence. After all, she was newly married and perhaps still unfamiliar with the household."

She gave a small, resigned smile.

"But somehow, she managed to persuade His Grace to reprimand me."

"Cassiel reprimanded you?"

"Yes."

Melissa’s voice grew softer.

"He even took back my entry token and forbade me from entering their courtyard."

The Marchioness’s fingers tightened around her teacup.

"Such a thing happened?"

"It did."

Melissa looked down.

"The entire manor knows of it."

She gave another weary sigh.

"I have swallowed the matter. My husband has been gone for years, and I am, after all, an outsider in this household."

Her gaze lifted towards the Marchioness.

"But you are different."

The Marchioness said nothing.

"You are His Grace’s own aunt."

Melissa’s expression became concerned.

"If I were in your place, I would simply turn a blind eye to the Duchess’s temper."

"Turn a blind eye?"

"Yes."

Melissa leaned slightly closer.

"Do not allow a young woman to ruin the bond you have shared with His Grace for so many years."

The Marchioness’s face grew colder.

Melissa continued softly,

"If His Grace were to become so enamoured of his wife that he decided you were no longer welcome at Draevenor Manor..."

She let the rest of the sentence hang unfinished.

The Marchioness’s expression changed.

"He would not dare."

Her voice was low.

Melissa lowered her eyes, concealing the satisfaction that flickered across her face.

She had worried that Elysia might come downstairs and ruin everything.

But the Duchess was sleeping soundly in her chambers.

Perfect.

The Marchioness was already displeased with Elysia.

All Melissa needed was a little more pressure.

Once the Marchioness began urging Cassiel to reconsider his marriage, everything would become much easier.

And when the time came, Melissa could put in a few carefully chosen words on Lillian’s behalf.

If Elysia ceased to be Duchess of Draevenor, there was no reason Lillian could not take her place.

It was the perfect solution.