A barely audible voice broke the silence. “…curse.”
Wilhelm’s gaze snapped towards the source, his eyes narrowing.
“Curse?” He laughed coldly, tilting his head to the side. “Indeed. My wife shall see you rot in your graves.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Well, if my eyes do not deceive me, it is the Duchess of Ravenshire,” a blonde woman in a golden gown remarked haughtily, her voice filled with disdain.
“Howunexpectedto see you here alone.”
Genevieve forced a polite smile and looked at the stranger before her.
“Indeed. Lady Granville, is it not?” she replied, her voice firm. “If it is any of your business, the Duke is currently occupied with business matters and could not attend. But I am positive he would be here if he could.”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the group of women surrounding her, their eyes widening with curiosity and barely concealed amusement.
One woman opened her fan, whispering to her friend and looking at her as they spoke.
“Business matters?” another woman scoffed, her gaze lingering on Genevieve with barely veiled contempt. “Or perhaps the Duke is currentlyindisposed?”
Genevieve’s jaw tightened, her gloved fingers curling into fists. “The Duke is perfectly well, Madam,” she retorted.
“Oh, but of course,” a third woman chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How foolish of us to forget. It is the curse, of course.”
Genevieve’s heart pounded in her chest, the whispers echoing around her like a haunting refrain.
She had hoped that her marriage to Wilhelm, that his presence by her side, would dispel the rumors that had plagued her for years. But it appeared that the curse followed her like a shadow—a stain on her reputation that she simply could not wash off.
“I do wonder,” a fourth woman remarked, her eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity, “when the curse will claim its next victim.”
Genevieve’s gaze hardened, her patience wearing thin. “I believe it is impolite to speculate on such matters,” she snapped.
The women exchanged amused glances and smirked at her discomfort.
“Oh, butDuchess,” the first woman chimed in, “we are merely concerned about the Duke’s well-being. After all, your… reputation precedes you. You cannot blameus.”
They all burst into laughter.
Genevieve longed to defend her honor, but the words caught in her throat.
Just as the tension reached its peak, a cheerful voice cut through the air.
“Genevieve!” Marianne exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with warmth as she approached, her presence a welcome beacon amidst the sea of hateful faces.
“Marianne,” Genevieve greeted, relief flooding her voice as she reached for her friend’s hand.
Marianne’s gaze swept over the group of women, her brow furrowing in disapproval.
“Ladies,” she acknowledged darkly. “I do believe that the Duchess needs some refreshments. If you will excuse us.”
With a gentle tug, Marianne steered Genevieve away from the vile gaggle of ladies, their figures disappearing into the throng of guests.
“Thank you,” Genevieve murmured, her voice filled with gratitude. “I was beginning to feel quite overwhelmed.”
Marianne’s gaze softened, her hand resting reassuringly on Genevieve’s arm.
“I noticed,” she replied softly. “Those women are nothing but vultures who delight in preying on the vulnerable.”
