The Perfect Duchess Dies At Dawn

The day I learned the truth about my husband, Duke Alistair, and his adopted sister, Liana, I left. I abandoned my title, my home, and returned to my father's palace.

A year passed. Then came news of chaos in the duchy.

The servant Alistair sent spoke with desperation, “Your Highness, the Duke and your son are lost to reason. If you don’t return, I fear they will burn everything to the ground.”

I looked at the blood I'd coughed onto my handkerchief. I nodded.

"Fine. I'll go back."

The doctor had already given me my diagnosis. Consumption. I had only a month left to live.

So I went back. And I played the part of the perfect duchess.

I no longer demanded Alistair's loyalty. I even found him three new mistresses who looked just like Liana and sent them to his bed after he had sent her away for me.

I no longer made Damian study the arts of statecraft and not forced him to master his courtly duties. Instead, I supported his ridiculous dream of joining the Expeditionary Force.

I took the pain they gave me. I wrapped it in the "understanding" they always craved. And I served it back to them cold.

But it drove Alistair mad.

He threw out the mistresses. He crushed me in his arms. His kiss was a punishment. He bit my lip, drawing blood.

"I sent Liana away! What more do you want from me? How can I earn your forgiveness?"

Damian cried and clung to my arm.

"I'll never call Aunt Liana 'gentle' or 'beautiful' again! Mother, please. Just stop."

They didn't understand. I wasn't making a scene. I just wanted to live out my last month in peace. And then, I wanted to die.

The day I learned the truth about my husband, Duke Alistair, and his adopted sister, Liana, I left. I abandoned my title, my home, and returned to my father's palace.

A year passed. Then came news of chaos in the duchy.

The servant Alistair sent spoke with desperation, “Your Highness, the Duke and your son are lost to reason. If you don’t return, I fear they will burn everything to the ground.”

I looked at the blood I'd coughed onto my handkerchief. I nodded.

"Fine. I'll go back."

The doctor had already given me my diagnosis. Consumption. I had only a month left to live.

So I went back. And I played the part of the perfect duchess.

I no longer demanded Alistair's loyalty. I even found him three new mistresses who looked just like Liana and sent them to his bed after he had sent her away for me.

I no longer made Damian study the arts of statecraft and not forced him to master his courtly duties. Instead, I supported his ridiculous dream of joining the Expeditionary Force.

I took the pain they gave me. I wrapped it in the "understanding" they always craved. And I served it back to them cold.

But it drove Alistair mad.

He threw out the mistresses. He crushed me in his arms. His kiss was a punishment. He bit my lip, drawing blood.

"I sent Liana away! What more do you want from me? How can I earn your forgiveness?"

Damian cried and clung to my arm.

"I'll never call Aunt Liana 'gentle' or 'beautiful' again! Mother, please. Just stop."

They didn't understand. I wasn't making a scene. I just wanted to live out my last month in peace. And then, I wanted to die.

...

"Seraphina, what in God's name are you doing?"

Alistair stood in the center of the room. His eyes were a storm of confusion and barely contained rage. "Are you trying to torture me, or yourself?"

I sat at my vanity, listening quietly to his questions.

The woman in the mirror was a ghost. But a careful touch of rouge had painted life back onto her cheeks.

Perfect. As always.

Torture?

My dear husband, I'm just playing the part you always wanted. The perfect duchess.

The one who no longer fights with him over Liana. The one who no longer questions Damian's decisions.

The one who always wears a gentle, elegant smile.

So why aren't they happy?

"It's nothing," I said softly. "I just feel I was being difficult before. I want to be better to you and Damian now."

Alistair's expression softened instantly.

He strode toward me, arms open for an embrace.

"Seraphina, I knew you—"

"Your Highness, the women you requested are ready," a maid called from outside the door.

I rose, a picture of grace. I sidestepped his outstretched arms.

"Let them in."

The door opened. Three dancers entered, their gowns luxurious and their presence sensual.

Chestnut curls gleamed in the candlelight. Emerald eyes stared back.

They all had that helpless, fragile air I could never fake.

Every one of them looked just like Liana.

"A gift, Your Grace," I said with a gentle smile. "Specially for you. I hope you like them."

The three dancers curtsied in unison. "Your Grace."

Alistair went rigid. The color drained from his face. Fury turned his features to stone.

I could see him fighting to contain an explosion.

"Mother!" Damian burst in, his face frantic. "What are you doing? You're back, can't we just be a family again? I don't want any dancers, and Father won't either!"

I looked at my son. This was the same boy who once told me, "A man of Father's station is expected to have mistresses." Now he was panicked over a few dancers.

"What kind of duke doesn't have a mistress?" I said with a light laugh. "I must see to your father's needs, after all."

I turned back to Alistair, my perfect smile still in place. "Your Grace, which one will you be spending the night with?"

"Get out!" Alistair roared. "All of you, get out!"

The dancers fled in terror. He shoved Damian out behind them.

The door slammed shut.

The next second, Alistair lunged for me.

He pulled me into his arms, his mouth crashing down on mine.

I struggled, pushing against his chest.

His teeth cut my lip. The taste of blood filled my mouth.

He finally released me. He stared at the blood on my mouth, his eyes full of pain and despair.

"Tell me, Seraphina," his voice trembled. "What do I have to do for you to forgive me?"

I just stared back at him. I said nothing.

"I sent Liana away!" he shouted, his voice rising. "What did I do wrong? Why are you torturing me like this?"

In his fury, he slammed his fist against the mantelpiece.

A crystal figurine flew through the air, shattering against the floor.

He lost his temper and shoved me. I fell hard.

My hand landed on a sharp shard of crystal.

Pain shot through me.

Blood soaked through my white silk glove, dripping onto the floor, one drop at a time.

"Seraphina!" Alistair cried, rushing to help me.

I flinched away from his touch.

"Amy," I called calmly.

My personal maid immediately entered and carefully helped me to my feet.

Alistair stood frozen, watching me refuse his touch.

His eyes grew bloodshot. A low, pained growl rumbled in his throat.

"You won't even let me touch you anymore?"