Wrapped in a soft bathrobe, Marcella sat before the vanity, her shoulders relaxed but her thoughts far from it.
Verona humd, rubbing a plush towel over her mistress's damp silver hair. "I must say," she began, her tone light and conversational, though Marcella could hear the curiosity beneath it, "what a charming gentleman the Duke is. I didn't expect him to take such good care of you, Milady. I am... relieved, knowing he will be a good husband to you."
Marcella's gaze flickered to her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her purple eyes were shadowed. She said nothing in response.
Verona, undeterred, continued. "He even brought you ho himself! What a fine gesture. I imagine the rumors are already flying, but for once, they might not be as nasty as usual."
She exhaled softly; her fingers curled slightly around the edge of her bathrobe. "Verona," she began, "what should I make of a person who was... cruel to you in the past, but now is suddenly kind? Soone who behaved as if you didn't matter, but then turns around and acts as though you an sothing to them?"
Verona paused mid-motion; the towel frozen in her hands. Her gaze shifted to Marcella's reflection in the mirror, her expression softening into sothing thoughtful.
"Well," Verona said, her voice carrying the asured weight of years of wisdom, "people are not simple creatures, Milady. Sotis they change because they've grown. Other tis..." She shrugged, resuming her task with a gentle touch. "Other tis, their kindness hides sothing they want."
She set the towel down on the vanity and gently combed through Marcella's hair with her fingers. "Are you doubting him?"
"Perhaps," Marcella said thoughtfully.
"Don't doubt him," Verona chuckled, "I saw the way he looked at you, Milady. When he helped you from the carriage... when you walked toward the manor..." She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. "I may not know much about matters of the heart, but I know what I saw. He didn't take his eyes off you until you were out of sight."
Marcella stiffened, her purple eyes widening in surprise. She turned her head to glance at Verona, but the older woman was busy tending to her hair.
"He was watching ?" Marcella repeated the words more for herself than Verona.
Verona nodded, her hands still moving gently through her damp strands. "He may have so sort of... liking for you," she said matter-of-factly. "The way he looked after you—there was sothing more."
Marcella blinked, the words settling over her. A faint crease ford between her brows as she turned back to her reflection. She couldn't reconcile Verona's observations with the Berith Montclair she rembered—the cold, indifferent man who had barely acknowledged her existence in her past life.
Marcella let out a soft, humorless laugh, "If that's true," she said dryly, "then the Duke has a peculiar way of showing affection. Possessiveness doesn't exactly scream romance."
Verona smiled, her tone teasing as she replied. "And you, Milady, have a peculiar way of accepting kindness. The man dropped everything to defend you today, and here you are, questioning his motives."
Marcella snapped her head, "I don't recall asking for his help," she said with mock indignation.
Verona threw a chuckle, her voice warm. "No, but it seems he decided to help you anyway. And if you ask , that's worth paying attention to."
Marcella was silent, her gaze returning to the mirror. Her thoughts churned once more, the mory of Berith's actions replaying in her mind. The way he had defended her, the way he had wrapped his cloak around her shoulders, the way his dark eyes had lingered on her as she walked away...
Verona finished her task, smoothing Marcella's now-dry hair before stepping back with a satisfied nod. "There," she said brightly. "All ward up and presentable again. Now, I'll leave you to your thoughts. But Milady..."
Marcella glanced at her through the mirror, with her questioning eyes.
"Don't overthink it too much," Verona said gently. "Sotis, people surprise you—for better or for worse."
Once the door clicked shut behind her, Marcella leaned forward slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of the wooden surface. "Berith Montclair, what am I supposed to do with you?"
Reviews
All reviews (0)