Chapter 1
"Your Grace?" A knock sounded on the heavy oak door, hesitant yet insistent.
Raphael Emberlin, Duke of Barrington, stirred from his sleep with a muffled sigh. It felt as though he had barely closed his eyes, and now, for what seemed the hundredth time, someone dared to disturb his rest.
"Your Grace," the knock came again, slightly firmer.
"What is it?" His voice was hoarse from sleep, carrying the unmistakable tone of irritation.
"The dowager duchess asks that you begin your preparations. She says it's nearly dawn."
"And what did I tell you when you brought this up earlier?"
A pause. Then the maid's voice, trembling slightly, answered, "You said not to disturb you, Your Grace. I told the dowager duchess, but she… insisted."
Raphael sighed again, though this time it was with resignation. He could imagine the poor maid wringing her hands, caught between her duty to him and the dowager duchess's unyielding commands.
"Very well," he said, sitting up and running a hand through his tousled hair. "Tell the maids to prepare my bath and breakfast. Have the valet start loading my luggage onto the carriage."
"Yes, Your Grace." The relief in her voice was palpable as her hurried footsteps retreated down the hall.
For a while, he stayed in bed, eyes fixed on the carved beams of the ceiling above. The room was silent, except for the soft crackling of dying embers in the hearth.
He sat up slowly, his body heavy with the weight of restless sleep. The thick blankets slid away as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The cold floor greeted his bare feet as he moved across the room.
At the tall windows, he carefully pulled back the heavy drapes and stepped out onto the balcony. He rested his forearms on the cool stone railing, his gaze steady on the land before him. His mind wandering to the tasks that had kept him awake. Balancing the estate's finances was no small feat, especially with the added strain of his upcoming travels.
"Your bath is ready, Your Grace," a maid's voice called from inside the room.
"You may all leave," he replied, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.
He stayed on the balcony for a moment longer, letting the quiet sink in. These rare moments of peace, when he could forget the pressures of the day, were something he valued deeply. But they never lasted.
With a sigh, he stepped back inside. The warmth of the fire greeted him, chasing away the cold that had clung to his skin. Inside the bathing room, a copper tub stood ready, steam rising from the hot water. He stepped into the tub, the heat immediately relaxing his tense muscles.
He let out a long breath as the warmth surrounded him. For a while, he just sat there, letting the heat ease the stiffness in his shoulders.
When he climbed out of the tub, his skin was warm and pink. He grabbed a towel hanging near the fire and dried off quickly.
He chose his clothes with care. A clean shirt, sturdy trousers, and a dark coat, all practical but well-made. When he was done, he headed for the door.
The estate was already alive with activity by the time he descended to the dining room. Maids and footmen bustled about, their steps quick but purposeful. They paused only to bow as he passed, murmuring "Your Grace" before continuing with their tasks.
To his surprise, the dowager duchess, his mother, was already seated at the far end of the long dining table. It was a rare sight. Since he had taken on the title of Duke, their meals together had grown increasingly infrequent.
"Good morning, Mother," Raphael greeted as he took his seat at the head of the table.
"Morning, Your Grace," she replied, her tone formal and clipped.
He inwardly winced at her use of the title. It served only to remind him of the growing distance between them, a rift that had widened ever since he assumed his father's mantle.
"You should have risen earlier," she said without preamble. "The earlier you begin your journey, the sooner you'll reach Denva."
"Early or late, the journey will take a week at least," he responded coolly, signaling a maid to serve his breakfast. "An hour or two will make little difference."
The maid gently placed a dish in front of him with practiced precision, the rich aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted meats drifting up, filling the room with warmth. He picked up his cutlery and began eating in silence.
"I heard you've left the estate's financial matters in the hands of Mr. Benedict Thornhill," his mother said, her tone sharp.
"I have," Raphael replied without looking up. "Is there an issue?"
"There is."
"And that would be?"
"The insult you dealt me by putting that man in charge of the estate's finances."
Raphael raised an eyebrow, setting down his fork. "The financial matters of the estate," he corrected. "You remain in charge of its operations."
"And why can't I handle both?"
"Because it pleases me," he said simply.
"Pleases you?" she echoed, her voice rising. "You've made it plain to everyone that I cannot be trusted with the accounts!"
Raphael leaned back in his chair, his expression calm though his patience was wearing thin. The memory of his mother's extravagant spending during his father's tenure as Duke was still fresh in his mind. Her penchant for expensive gowns and jewels had nearly drained the family's coffers. Restricting her access to the estate's finances had been a necessary, if unpleasant, decision.
"I've made my decision," he said firmly. "Mr. Thornhill is a certified advisor. He is capable, and I trust him. The matter is settled."
The dowager duchess glowered at him, her face a mask of anger. With a clatter of cutlery, she rose abruptly from her seat.
"I'm done," she declared. "Have a safe journey."
Her departure was swift, her maids scurrying after her. Raphael stared after her, his appetite thoroughly diminished. He pushed his plate away and stood, heading outside to inspect the carriage.
To his annoyance, he found a second carriage being prepared. A group of maids, a footman, and a guard stood nearby, their presence clearly unnecessary.
"What is this?" he demanded of his valet. "Where are they going?"
"They're to accompany you, Your Grace," the valet replied.
"On whose orders?"
"The dowager duchess."
Raphael's jaw tightened. "I travel with one carriage. I have no need for maids or guards. There are servants waiting for me in Denva."
The valet hesitated, clearly torn. "As you wish, Your Grace."
He turned toward his carriage but paused mid-step. A thought struck him. Perhaps he did need one maid—just one.
"Where is the maid who prepares my tea?" he asked.
"You mean Natalie, Your Grace?" one of the maids volunteered.
"I don't recall her name. She's short, and…" He frowned, realizing he couldn't quite describe her. "You know who I mean. Find her and tell her to prepare for the journey. She will accompany me to Denva. Quickly now—I don't have all day."
The maid hurried off toward the servants' wing, leaving Raphael to wait by the carriage.
Natalie Scott sat on the edge of her bed in the small room she shared with three other maids. The room was quiet, the only sound was the rustling of pages as she lazily flipped through a book. She wasn't really reading, just looking at the words. Her mind was somewhere else—on the fact that the duke, the man she worked for, would be away for a long time.Today felt like a holiday, no hurrying to serve tea, no bellowing orders from the duke.
The thought made her smile, just a little. The duke was traveling, and he wouldn't be back for at least a year. This was her chance to rest. The duke had always been so particular about his tea that she never had any time for herself. His obsession with it meant that she spent most of her day by his side. It wasn't a relaxing job.
Her job wasn't complicated in theory. The duke, for reasons Natalie could never understand, believed she made tea better than anyone else. It wasn't just tea to him; it was an art, a ritual. The water had to be the exact right temperature, the leaves measured to the tiniest fraction, and the steeping time counted with maddening precision. If it wasn't perfect, he wouldn't say a word—he'd simply stare at her with those cold, steely eyes, and she'd feel her stomach twist into knots.
But making the tea wasn't the worst of it. No, the worst part was standing silently like a statue while he drank it, then whisking the cup away the moment he was done because, apparently, the sight of an empty teacup offended him. Sometimes, hours would pass as she waited in the corner of his study, her legs aching, her stomach growling. And when he traveled, she had no reprieve. She'd pack his special tea set and follow him like a shadow, ready to brew his tea at the most inconvenient times.
But today, for the first time in what felt like forever, the duke was gone. He was far away, and she was free—at least for a while.
Natalie smiled as she took a small bite of the biscuit she'd been nibbling on. The buttery crumbs melted in her mouth. She let herself savor it, her body relaxing as she thought about what it would be like to have some real time to herself.
But then, a knock came at the door, and her heart sank.
She wasn't ready for anyone to disturb her peace.
The door opened slowly, and in walked Agnes, one of the senior maids. Agnes was older, and her tone was sharp.
"The duke wants you. He said you should prepare to join him on his travels."
Natalie froze, her mind going blank for a moment. She couldn't breathe.
"I think you must be mistaken," Natalie said quickly, standing up from the bed. Her voice trembled a little. "He can't want me. He must have asked for someone else. I'll go and clear this up with him."
Agnes didn't answer with any kindness. "No," she said flatly. "The duke specifically said it's you. He asked for his tea girl. Everyone knows who that is."
Natalie's knees shook, and she sank back down onto the bed. The warm, comforting feeling she'd had moments ago was gone, replaced with a cold weight in her stomach. Tears pricked at her eyes. "But… why?" Her voice cracked. "I was supposed to have time off. I need rest."
Agnes didn't show any sympathy. She just looked at her watch, impatient. "Hurry up," she said, turning and walking out without another word. "The duke's waiting."
The door clicked shut behind Agnes, and Natalie felt like she couldn't breathe. Her chest ached. She wanted to scream, but the tears came instead. They blurred her vision as she sat there, the weight of it all pressing down on her.
She had just started to feel free, just started to believe she could rest. And now it was taken away.
For what felt like hours, Natalie cried, letting the tears flow freely. She didn't care anymore.
The door creaked open again, and Natalie hurriedly wiped her face, hoping to compose herself. She didn't want anyone to see her like that. She glanced up, expecting Agnes, but it was Jenna, the younger maid, always kind, always understanding who stepped inside. Jenna paused in the doorway, her face softening as her eyes took in Natalie's tear-streaked face and slumped shoulders. She simply walked over to Natalie and sat beside her, wrapping her arms around her in a gentle hug.
"I'm sorry," Jenna whispered. "But you know how he is. We all saw this coming."
Natalie's voice was thick with emotion when she spoke. "I hate him. I really do."
Jenna sighed softly, pulling back a little to look at her. "I know," she said quietly. "But there's nothing we can do about it. The duke is waiting. And if you don't hurry, he'll get even more upset."
Natalie nodded slowly, feeling the anger still rising in her chest. But she knew Jenna was right. There was no choice.
"Let me help you," Jenna said gently. Jenna brought out her chest and threw in some dresses and a maid uniform. When she was done, she turned to Natalie and inspected her face.
"Come," Jenna urged softly. "Let's get you cleaned up. You'll feel better, I promise." She guided Natalie to the washstand in the corner of the room. The basin of water had grown cool, but it was still clean. Jenna soaked a cloth, wringing it out and then brought it to Natalie's face.
Jenna wiped her cheek, cleaning the corners of Natalie's eyes and smoothing the redness around her nose.
"There," Jenna said softly, setting the cloth aside. "You're looking better already."
She took a step back and studied Natalie with a critical eye. "Your hair's in a bit of a state, though. Sit here, and I'll fix it for you."
Natalie sank onto the small stool beside the washstand without protest, her body heavy but obedient. Jenna stood behind her, lifting the brush and running it through Natalie's blonde hair. Natalie closed her eyes, letting herself relax for the first time in what felt like hours.
Jenna weaved Natalie's hair into a neat braid. She tied it off with a simple ribbon, smoothing down stray strands with her palm.
"There," she said, her tone satisfied. "You look more like yourself now."
Natalie opened her eyes and gazed into the small mirror above the washstand. Her blue eyes were still rimmed with red, but her face was clean and her hair neat. She quickly went to fetch a simpler dress for the journey. After changing, she grabbed a dark grey shawl, it was thick and warm with a few patches. She wrapped it snugly around her shoulders. She turned to where Jenna waited, her friend's approving smile easing some of the tension in her chest.
"Much better," Jenna said, giving her a quick once-over before linking their arms.
"Come, then. We must leave at once before the Duke storms here himself."
Together, Jenna and Natalie walked down the stairs and headed towards the main courtyard. Jenna helped her with the satchel while keeping her hands gently clasped. The courtyard was bustling with activity as Jenna and Natalie made their way through the cobblestone.
The carriage was imposing—a rich mahogany structure with ornate golden trims, pulled by two imposing black stallions, their muscular forms exuding raw power. The horses pawed at the ground, their breaths visible in the crisp morning air, while the carriage wheels gleamed from a fresh oiling. The duke's crest was embedded on the doors.
Near the carriage, the Duke stood tall, his presence dominating the space. His voice cut sharply through the courtyard, issuing commands to a young maid who scurried toward the servants' quarters, her skirts swishing as she went. But she froze mid-step when her eyes landed on Natalie, her face pale and uncertain.
The Duke turned to snap at the girl again, his words poised on the edge of a shout. Instead, his gaze found Natalie. His grey eyes locked onto hers, and she felt a heat of rage surge through her body, quick and sharp like the strike of a match. She averted her eyes almost immediately, her pulse quickening. Control yourself, she warned silently, though every fiber of her being screamed to let him have a piece of her mind. He deserved it—but voicing her anger would only worsen her situation.
The Duke's glare bore into her, his eyes never leaving her face as she approached, especially her eyes. She didn't know if he even noticed her red eyes but she didn't care. Natalie dipped into a shallow curtsy when she reached him.
"What took you so long? I've been standing here for hours," he snapped, his tone laced with impatience.
Natalie drew a steadying breath. "I was packing. Forgive me for the delay, Your Grace."
"Whatever. We are already behind schedule. Come."
Without another word, he turned and stepped into the carriage, his long coat brushing against the doorframe. He left the door wide open, the gesture as dismissive as his tone.
Jenna handed Natalie's satchel to the waiting footman, who hoisted it up with ease and passed it to the coachman. Natalie's stomach twisted with bitter amusement. Of course, my luggage isn't fit to share space with the Duke's precious belongings, she thought.
Jenna turned to her and wrapped her arms around Natalie in a warm, desperate embrace.
"I'll miss you. I can't believe you'll be away from almost a year."
The words struck Natalie like a sudden gust of wind. She hadn't fully grasped the reality of what was ahead—a year away from everything she knew. Her chest tightened, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She clung to Jenna, trying to draw strength from her friend's steady presence.
"I'll miss you too," she whispered, her voice thick.
The Duke's voice cut through the moment like a whip. "What are you standing there for? We don't have all day!"
Natalie exhaled sharply and stepped back from Jenna. "Please, tell my father where I am. Let him know not to worry. "
"I promise I will," Jenna said, her voice trembling.
Natalie hurried to the carriage. The footman stepped forward and offered his hand, helping her climb inside. The heavy door closed behind her with a resounding thud, sealing her in.
