-CHAPTER 17-
"His Grace will be down with you in a matter of minutes," Bach reported, calm and assured.
The woman nodded, then shifted uneasily in her seat as he planted a teacup and a saucepan on the centerpiece right in front of her. She should reject his fat show of hospitality—but she did not know what refusal meant in this house, nor did she want to find out.
Rubbing her sweaty palms against the fabric of her skirt, she studied the butler—for that was how he had introduced himself before ushering her into the Duke's house. Her eyes followed him keenly, trained on his steady hands, which did not seem to shake or falter while he artfully poured her tea from the ceramic jug he'd been holding.
"Let me know if you need anything other than tea. Biscuits, maybe?" Bach said, returning to his full height with the tea jug leaning against his chest.
"Thank you, but tea alone is fine," came her strained reply, her gaze fixed on the contents of the cup as though judging whether it would taste any differently than the kind of tea she was used to.
"In that case, I'll see myself out." Bach turned, ready to leave.
He had taken a few steps across the floor when he caught sight of the Duke's shadow entering the hall.
"You're in luck," he added, his words floating over his shoulder with no desire to look back. "His Grace is already here."
✯✯✯
Félix started when he saw her. The curtain leading into the sitting room, designed to mimic water, reflected her full form back at him—her dark skin shimmering under the candlelight, which was not lost on him, nor was the way she craned her neck from one turn to the other, taking in the house with an almost frightened air. One thing was 100 percent certain as he watched: he did not know who she was or where she came from. Why, then, had Bach reported her as someone important?
Bach attempted to ease past him just then, but Félix was quicker. Hands on his hips in a stance that commanded authority, he challenged his butler with a scalding voice.
"Is that the important guest you requested me to meet?"
"Yes, Your Grace." Bach gave a slow, up-and-down shake of his head, flashing a toothy smile.
The duke cringed back in disgust. Stepping to the side, he let Bach have his way. He would have to question the woman himself.
"Your… Your Grace."
Félix watched as the woman hastily stood, a teacup crashing to the floor with a sound reverberating through the house. That would surely alert Coralie, he thought. She bent down to fix the mess but clumsily dropped more pieces, her hip slamming into the table's edge hard enough to jar any normal person's joint. He could tell she was hurt, but she did not flinch to convey that she was in any kind of pain.
She was determined, though, continuing to try and clean up the shards, her knees jerking as though they had a mind of their own. Félix couldn't bear to watch her struggle any longer.
"Leave that."
Her misty eyes lifted to meet his, her lips pressing into a tight pout.
"Any of the servants can take care of that," he added, his tone final. He let her fumble her way up from the floor; her posture slumped as though she was too afraid to sit.
He stepped closer, fixing her with a direct gaze. "Who are you, and what brings you here this early in the day?"
"Your Grace… I…"
Her hands rubbed tirelessly against each other, and Félix could almost see the blisters forming under the strain. Briefly, he shut his eyes, exasperated, before walking to the other side of the hall and sitting in the round recliner chair. "Sit," he commanded.
She had no choice but to obey.
He gave her a minute's grace to calm herself before going on to say, "As said before, one of the servants would clean up the mess. It's hardly worth fussing over. If you have a reason for being here, hurry up and say it."
The woman sprang to her feet all at once, causing Félix to frown instinctively. What was she about? He watched as she pranced fretfully from one end of the sitting room to the other, her strides getting more heated with each passing second.
Félix noted how her lips looked pale and chafed at the edges on second glance, coupled with her agitated footfalls charging the air. At the same time, her large, sleepy eyes told a gloomy story—one of possibly crying herself to sleep every night in succession. That, too, in recent times. Was it a case of financial constraint? Félix scoffed. Of course, that was common practice in those parts.
But not once had anyone accosted him so early in the day to ask for assistance. Maybe on occasion, when he was riding past in his coach, would one or two strangers pleadingly require his help, but none had ever dared to come to where he stayed.
And why would Bach let just anyone in? Right, his butler would never do that. So, if he had reported her as someone important, it only meant there was more to her and an underlying cause for her visit.
Félix rose, deciding he'd had enough of her disrespect. Why request his presence when she was clearly not over whatever was holding her back from presenting her case to him?
"Bach—my butler," Félix said. "The man you met before?"
The woman halted in her tracks, her eyes fully on him.
"I'll have him call someone to clean up the mess," he continued. "As for you, come back when you've decided what it is you want to say to me."
As he turned his back on the fidgeting woman behind him, Félix inwardly cursed Bach for wasting so much of his productive time. He would have to have a word with him later, sternly scolding him to ensure that a situation like this never happened again. Félix vowed to handle it then.
But just as he was about to step through the curtains, wet, clammy hands seized his forearm. Her fingernails dug into his skin, leaving heedless claw marks as she dropped to her knees.
Félix spun around, urgency in his movement, ready to put her in her place. But seeing her sobbing and clutching her chest as though she could no longer bear the weight of whatever burden she carried, his eyes softened. What she said next only deepened his surprise.
"Mercy, Your Grace… Estella…"
Félix's eyes widened. Estella? What did she say happened to Estella?
Instantly, his throat tightened as if an invisible hand had cut off his air supply. The topmost buttons of his outer coat began to press painfully against his neck, squeezing too tightly.
"Whatever…"
She paused, sniffling.
"Whatever it was she took from you, allow me to pay you back. I can… I can work here. I can be a servant girl. But please, please, she's just a girl…"