Rosamund
My breath caught. I pressed my back against the stone wall and inched closer to the corner, heart hammering.
A third voice joined in. "Of course, she doesn't know. You think Lord Fletcher would have told her? He needed her willing to walk into that room."
"But surely someone should warn her? Before they leave for Wellspring?"
"Warn her about what?" the older voice said with a bitter laugh. "Where would you even start? The fiancées? The mask? The screaming, they say, comes from his estate at night?"
There was silence for a bit, then the first voice spoke, barely above a whisper.
"My cousin works at an inn near the Wellspring border. She told me about the last one. Lady Catherine, I think her name was. They found her wandering the road three miles from the estate in nothing but her nightgown. She was barefoot, talking to herself and wouldn't stop scratching at her own face, like she was trying to claw something out of her eyes."
"God in heaven."
"She'd been his fiancée for less than a month. They took her to the sanatorium in Ashford. She's still there, from what I hear and won't speak or eat. She just sits by the window and rocks."
The second voice dropped even lower. "And the one before her? Lady Elowen? Viscount Whitmore's daughter? Wasn't that like eight months ago since they threw an elaborate engagement ball?"
"Vanished," the third voice scoffed. "There was no body, no letter, just gone. Her family sent men to search the estate, but the Duke's people turned them away at the gates. Said she'd left of her own accord."
"And they believed that?"
"What choice did they have? You don't challenge the Duke of Wellspring. Not if you want to keep breathing."
The older voice sighed heavily. "There's talk that he keeps them locked in a tower when he's done with them. That the ones who disappear never actually leave the estate at all."
"But why? What does he do to them?"
There was a pause before the older voice spoke again. Her voice carried the weight of someone repeating something they wished they'd never heard.
"They say the mask hides something unnatural. Something no woman has ever seen and stayed sane afterwards. The rumour is that once a bride sees what's underneath, she either loses her mind or she dies. And the ones who don't die fast enough, he finishes himself."
My hand was pressed so hard against the stone wall that my fingers had gone white. My legs felt like they might buckle, but I couldn't move or breathe.
The Duke is a killer who kills his fiancées. It was the only thing running through my mind.
The thought was so enormous that my mind couldn't hold it. It just sat there, pressing against the inside of my skull.
"No!" I shook my head, unable to bear it anymore. "This can't be true."
Immediately, I stepped around the corner, coming face to face with the gossiping woman.
The three women—two young maids and an older woman I recognised as the cook—froze mid-sentence. One of the younger ones went white as a sheet. The other dropped the linen she was wringing out, and it landed in the mud with a wet slap.
"My lady!" the cook recovered first, pressing her hands flat against her apron. "We were just—we didn't—forgive us, we were only—"
"It's alright," I said quickly, raising my hands. "Please. I'm not here to get anyone in trouble."
But the damage was done. The two younger maids had already dropped into frantic curtsies, their eyes darting between the cook and me like cornered animals. One of them was trembling.
"Please forgive us, my lady," the trembling one whispered. "We meant no disrespect. We were speaking out of turn, and it won't happen again—"
"I don't care about that." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "I need you to tell me what you know about the Duke."
All three of them went still.
"My lady, it's not in our place to say things like that—" the cook began.
"I grew up in a boarding house in Hadley Cross," I said. "Until two days ago, I had never been to a ball, never worn a dress like this, and never heard the name Nevan Wilder in my life. I don't know who he is. I don't know what he's done. And no one in this house will tell me the truth." I looked at each of them in turn. "If you were in my position, if you were about to be sent off to a man's estate with nothing but rumours to guide you, wouldn't you want someone to tell you?"
The younger maids glanced at each other. The cook stared at me, her jaw working.
"Please," I said. "If I were your sister, would you let me walk into my death?"
The cook exhaled slowly through her nose. She looked over my shoulder toward the house, then at the two maids. Something passed between the three of them—a silent negotiation—before the cook turned back to me and wiped her hands on her apron.
"Three," she said quietly. "Three fiancées before you. That we know of. Could be more."
"And everything you said happened to them is true?"
One of the maids nodded. "My cousin saw it first-hand. She wouldn't lie about things like that."
"How about the first fiancée? You never said what happened to her," I pursued, trying to breathe normally.
"She was found dead in her chambers at Wellspring," the cook said. "They said it was a fever, but the servants who were there tell a different story. They say she saw something underneath the mask." She paused. "And that whatever it was, it killed her."
At this point, it was as though a circus festival was happening in my mind. I couldn't think.
"Does everyone know about this?" I asked quietly. "My father? Madam Theresa?"
The cook's expression softened, not with pity, but with the heaviness of someone delivering a truth they wished they didn't have to.
"My lady, there isn't a household within fifty miles of Wellspring that hasn't heard these stories. If your father arranged this marriage…" she trailed off, but her eyes finished the sentence for her.
He knew. Of course, he would know, but he still gave me to the Duke.
The younger maid who had been trembling spoke again, her voice small. "We're sorry, my lady. We didn't mean for you to find out like this."
I looked at her, then at the cook and at the wet linen lying in the mud at their feet.
Is this why my father had searched for me? Paid off my debts, brought me home and made me beautiful only to sell me to a man who kills his brides?
Knowingly.
"It's fine," I shook my head, trying to put on a brave smile. "Thank you for telling me."
I turned away from the servants without another word and walked back toward the house, my feet pressing into the cold, damp earth with every step.
I had three days before I left for Wellspring.
And the man sleeping across the hall from me had already buried three women who had worn the title I now carried.
His fiancée.