Bride Behind the Mask

Chapter 7: The Heroine (Part 2 of 2)

Dedicated to a random commenter: Thank you for the support @BulletInABible_!

Chapter 7: The Heroine (Part 2 of 2)

Nicholas Weston sat beside the small fireplace in his study, feeding the flames slowly with a stack of letters he held in his hands. He sighed. The long, deep sigh of a man who felt much older than his years. Weak, jaded, and helpless.

As the flames consumed yet another piece of parchment, he picked up one more and scanned over the long paragraphs of text:

'Papa, I am sorry for not writing to you earlier. You must forgive me, for I have been very, very busy. I miss you greatly. And Spot. You are taking care of him, aren't you? He likes red apples. I know they are dearer than the green ones but he really likes the red's.

More importantly, I beseech you, I implore you, I BEG YOU to take me from this dreaded place. Drake Rohan is a most nasty, wretched man. I cannot fathom how you could have married your daughter off to such devil spawn. He was with ANOTHER woman on our wedding night, he cuddled with farm BEASTS on the second day of our marriage, and last night he ran off with THAT woman. He didn't even think to ask me for permission to elope?! It is absolutely unbelievably outrageous. He is sullying both our family names! You can file an annulment petition on my behalf, can't you? You do believe your daughter has been mistreated, don't you? You must rescue your beloved daughter afore she dies here!'

The Duke of Marlborough smiled feebly with a shake of his head before throwing the letter into the fire. Oh, Amelia, if he'd asked you for permission it wouldn't be 'elope'. Even without seeing his daughter's signature, there was no mistaking the rushed, boyish font and exaggerated speech that belonged only to Amelia. Even in the darkest hours she always managed to bring him these small moments of joy.

What then followed was another message from Marge, no doubt tucked into the envelope stealthily, and recounted the events in Steersberg in a much more believable manner.

A small chuckle escaped his lips as he read of how Amelia had really busied herself with tormenting the Emir. It was how he knew that his daughter was, in fact, well. Safe and healthy; that was all that mattered now. In different times, his definition for her wellness would have included her happiness, and he would have borne all the consequences of reneging on the betrothal with no second thought if it meant making her happy. But in times like these, happiness was no longer a priority.

"Your Grace, you asked for me?"

He lifted his gaze to the young stableboy at the doorway, who was smiling widely with an innocence that jarred with the cruel realities of this world. With a curl of his fingers, he beckoned the boy forward.

"Your Grace, why's everyone packin'? Are they leavin'? Are we movin'? Should I—"

The duke raised a hand to silence him. "Timo, isn't it?" The boy nodded with far more enthusiasm than anyone around him had for days. "I told them to leave," he said. Before the 'why' could slip from the boy with rounded eyes, he silenced him again. "No questions. I want you to leave by nightfall. Take Spot with you and go to my daughter in Steersberg. Speak to no one until you get there."

"Huh?" Timo gaped. "B-But Your—"

"No questions, Timo. Speak to no one. Do you understand?" he commanded harshly. Timo nodded slowly with a confused frown. "Good. Please ensure this reaches my daughter's hands." He reached inside his sleeve for a small scroll of parchment and passed it to the boy. "Now, go."

After the boy scurried off, he turned back to stare into the fire for a long minute before he sighed again, and fed another piece of parchment to the flames. Every so often, the fire blazed and emitted a dozen flying sparks, causing his eyes to sting. It was a sensation he appreciated, for such slight discomfort was an immense luxury compared to what was coming for him.