The mornings turned chilly, and with each successive morning, Amelia found herself sinking into a pattern. The manor was less noisy with Claude's absence, the passageways ringing with an emptiness, but it was a silence that felt heavier than the distance between them.
Grace had become quieter as well, her health still weak but her mind acute. She had seen the little signs of Amelia — the way she hesitated by the windows when a carriage came, the way her fingers would run over the letters from Claude as if to discover some secret meaning in them. Grace was familiar with her by now to notice the tension in her eyes, although Amelia would never confess it.
One night, while the sun of twilight cast its final rays across the gardens, Clara stood beside Amelia. The woman was a familiar presence by this point, a bizarre figure that had grown accustomed, if not exactly invited.
Amelia sat before the fire in the drawing room, a book unfurled in her lap which she had not opened in an hour, her mind elsewhere. Clara strolled into the room, her habitual scowl relaxed into something more like curiosity.
"Penny for your thoughts, Duchess?" Clara inquired, standing near the hearth.
Amelia looked at her, her lips compressing into a thin line. "If you want a coin, you'll have to earn it."
Clara smiled, sitting down in the chair across from her. "I thought I'd already gained the right to your presence."
Amelia said nothing to that, instead darting her eyes back to the fire, the dancing flames providing the only heat in the otherwise chilly room.
Clara leaned forward, her tone more serious now. "You know, I wasn't mistaken about you."
Amelia glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
Clara leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I said you were more interesting than I expected. Not because of your position or your husband, but because you play the game quietly."
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "What game?"
"The game of survival," Clara replied, her voice firm but tinged with something sinister. "You're more perceptive than you admit. More capable than you seem."
Amelia didn't respond immediately. She had no need to explain herself to Clara, not really. But for some reason, the challenge in Clara's words stirred something in her. Something that had been dormant for far too long.
"I'm not playing games," Amelia said, her voice low. "I'm simply trying to live."
Clara looked at her for a long time. Then she leaned back, a wicked smile playing at the edge of her lip. "Is that what you think?"
Amelia said nothing, but Clara's face changed as she looked over her shoulder at the window.
"I wonder," Clara murmured, "if you'll be the same woman when Claude comes home."
The words lingered in the air, thicker than the silence that trailed behind. Amelia's heart missed a beat, the anticipation of Claude's return bringing on emotions she had not yet worked through. It had been months, now, months of correspondence and temporary dreams of a life prior to the war.
The war had altered him. And it had altered her.
Clara's voice sliced through her reverie. "The world is changing, Amelia. You don't have to pretend it isn't occurring."
Amelia glared at Clara, but the woman merely raised an eyebrow, her face impassive.
"We're all acting out a role," Clara went on. "And sometimes, those roles change when we least expect it."
Amelia's chest constricted, the truth of those words settling deep in her bones. She couldn't help but know they were true. She had changed already, and not just because of the war.
"Perhaps," Amelia said, rising and moving to the window, her fingers tracing the cold glass, "but some roles are more difficult to relinquish than others."
Clara did not answer, but the pressure of her look remained. She understood, maybe better than anyone, that being Claude's wife, the Duchess of Everthorne, was a role that could not be readily shed.
And yet, in that instant, Amelia found herself questioning whether it ever would be.
The flames of the fire danced in the hearth, crackling with angry spirits. And outside, the night drew over the manor, dark and silent.
Your revised version looks great! Here's the same passage, keeping your changes intact and ensuring all important words are highlighted for emphasis:
The morning had started like any other — a crisp chill in the air, the sky streaked with the first soft light of dawn. Amelia, her favorite woolen shawl wrapped around her, stood at the garden's edge, her eyes on the faraway hills. Weeks had passed since the previous letter from Claude, and the silence was oppressive.
She ached to sense the pressure of his presence once more, to catch the sound of his voice, but every day made it seem less probable that he'd return anytime soon. The news from the South only grew darker, and she was often lost in visions of him on the battlefield, far, far away and fighting in a fight she could barely picture.
A gentle click of the door closing behind her cut the silence. Clara, predictably, had slipped into the garden, her footsteps tapping on the stone floor.
"I figured I'd find you here," Clara said, her voice breezy, but with a sharp edge to something Amelia couldn't quite identify.
Amelia didn't glance up at her. "I needed air."
"Of course," Clara answered. "I was going to question you on your most recent communication with him. Anything new?"
Amelia's jaw snapped together at the sound of her husband's name. She did not have the time for Clara's questioning now.
Before she could respond, a noise from someone coming rapidly interrupted both. A servant had entered the garden, his countenance white as a sheet, a letter grasped in his hand.
"Your Grace," the man gasped, bowing quickly. "A messenger from the capital has come. He has urgent news."
Amelia's heart missed a beat. The arrival of the messenger at such an hour boded nothing well. She waved for him to speak, and the servant came forward, looking about nervously at Amelia and Clara.
"The message is for you, Your Grace," he said, offering the sealed parchment.
Amelia picked up the letter, her hands trembling as she opened it, breaking the seal. The writing was elegant, the letters scribbled in haste.
Your Grace,
I write to inform you of the highest importance. The situation in the South has deteriorated. The enemy lines have been broken in multiple points, and the situation is desperate. Our troops are forced back, and we have lost strategic positions.
The Duke's troops are in retreat, and we need reinforcements urgently. We are afraid that the enemy will try to strike further into the kingdom if they are not halted. Your Grace, action is needed at once. We request that you prepare to deploy troops to support. This is no longer a question of borders — the kingdom itself could be in danger.
The Duke's return is put off indefinitely. His absence will be sorely felt in the days ahead.
We wait for your decision.
Amelia's breath caught in her throat as her eyes scanned the letter, the import of the words crashing over her. She had known the war was heating up, but this—this was something entirely more sinister. The kingdom itself was at risk.
"Amelia?" Clara's voice was strained, her eyes locked on the letter. "What does it say?"
Amelia blinked, her thoughts reeling as the truth of the situation sank in. She reread the letter, but the words made little sense in her brain. She didn't have a moment to lose. She couldn't allow herself to fail.
"This is bad," Amelia grumbled, her voice heavy with the weight of duty. "The kingdom is at risk. And Claude—"
She caught herself, not wanting to complete that thought. Claude had to be here. He wasn't just her husband, after all, but a Duke. This duty rested on him. But it no longer rested only on him. It rested on the kingdom itself.
Clara, observing her intently, moved forward one step. "What will you do?"
Amelia shut her eyes for a fleeting moment and thought. She let her brain spin through each potential move, each possible decision. The very last thing she wished to appear was unready, to show weakness when the kingdom was as weak as she knew it currently was.
"I must answer," she said at last, her voice firm in spite of the tempest brewing within her. "I must mobilize the troops here, coordinate with the local nobles. If the capital requires assistance, then we must provide it."
Clara looked at her for a long time before she spoke. "Are you sure? You're not going to sit back and let someone else do it?"
Amelia's eyes blazed as she spun around to confront Clara. "There is no time for doubt. There is no time for hesitation. If we do not move, the kingdom will be lost."
Clara's lips curved into a smile, but it was colored with something more sinister. "Well, well. So you are like him after all."
Amelia paid no mind to her, the bitter wind nipping at her cheeks as she was intent on what needed to be done. The kingdom required her, ready or not.
The servant, remaining nearby, coughed. "What shall I inform the messenger, Your Grace? Shall I send a word back with him?"
Amelia drew a deep breath. "Yes. Inform him that I will ready the forces at once. We shall not sit idly by."
The servant bowed and took off, his footsteps growing faint in the distance.
Clara was quiet for a very long time, and then at last spoke up. "Well, you've made your choice, it appears. But I do wonder." She hesitated, as if choosing her words very carefully. "Will you regret it?"
Amelia's eyes stayed on the horizon, her mind racing ahead with schemes, strategies, and backups. "I don't have time to regret anything," she said quietly, but there was a hint of doubt in her voice.
She turned to Clara, her expression cutting. "Get ready. This is just the start."
As the footsteps of the servant disappeared from hearing, Amelia was left standing alone, her heart weighing heavily with the realization that the path before her would be a difficult one. But one thing was certain: she would not lose her kingdom. Not without a fight.
The pieces on her board had moved once again, and now more than ever, she had to prove herself. Not only as a wife, but as the Duchess of Everthorne.