Page 4 of His Enemy Duchess

Her maid looked absolutely flustered and overwhelmed by her frantic instructions. It was as if a devil had possessed Sophia in the night, driving her into a whirlwind of madness upon waking. There had been no time for her usual cup of rosehip tea or even to change out of her nightdress, her commands to Gwen anything but routine, insisting that they start packing her things at once.

At least I am not moping anymore. You got what you wanted.

Ever since that wretched letter arrived at the house a few days ago, Sophia had been in a state of depression that had hung heavy about her like a cloak of chainmail. The joy had been sucked out of every little thing, leaving her drained and despondent, but all that had changed thanks to whatever devil had slithered into her mind as she slept.

Now, she had her vigor back, and a purpose that could not be delayed.

“My Lady,” Gwen begged, “I’m as confused as a tortoise on a fence post. Why are we packing? Where are you going? And why are we doing it before your father comes back? Doesn’t he know?”

“No, and if he ever does, then you might as well stab me in the heart and be done with it,” Sophia said fiercely, hoping that if shesoundedcourageous, it would be enough to hide the terror that bristled in her veins.

Gwen edged over to the valise and began folding everything that Sophia had tossed in haphazardly. “My Lady, forgive me, but?—”

“But I have not packed enough undergarments and warm things?” Sophia interrupted, refusing to let anything slow her down. “Quite right, Gwen. More of those.”

Gwen discreetly stacked the folded garments on the bed, decidedlynotin the valise where they were meant to be. “My Lady, I can’t go against your father—it’ll cost me my position at this house. I’m sorry, but?—”

“You can lie to him.” Sophia ran over with another armful of clothes. “You can tell him I told you I was leaving only temporarily, to visit some sickly friend or other, and you only realized afterward that I lied to you. Whatever it takes. I can write a note for you to ‘discover’ if that will help—but I need you, Gwen. I can’t do this without you.”

Gwen rested her hand on the pile of clothes, her gaze flitting between Sophia and the door. “My Lady, I will always do as you ask of me. I’ve promised to do so, you know this, but… Wait, I thought youwereleaving temporarily?”

“I doubt my father will approve of me escaping this wedding,” Sophia replied, reaching for the garments that had been removed from the valise and throwing them back in. “So, no, it’s unlikely to be temporary.”

The maid looked doubly bewildered. “But you will be a duchess, My Lady! Why wouldn’t you want that? It’s every woman’s dream.”

“Well, it’s not mine,” Sophia shot back desperately. “Not a marriage, not an arranged marriage, and definitely not an arranged marriage with…him!”

“What can be your complaint, My Lady? I hear he’s very handsome, he’s well-stationed, he’s obviously agreeable since he made the proposal—many would call you lucky.” A bittersweet note laced the maid’s words, her eyes downcast.

Are you going to call me ungrateful, too? Are you going to call me a silly girl, like my father?

Frustration stretched through Sophia’s limbs like a rope pulled too tight, on the brink of snapping. She was not oblivious; she knew that countless ladies both in and out of Society would give anything to be in her privileged position, but did that mean she had to roll over and do as she was commanded when it was the last thing she wanted?

For once, she wished there was someone who could understand her perspective, and not call her silly for it.

She paused to catch her breath, feeling that terrible, heavy gloom snake back into her mind. “It doesn’t matter what he looks like, Gwen. What matters is that my father… has decided to sell me off like cattle to the Pratts.” Her throat tightened. “I can’t believe… he would just accept the marriage proposal. Just like that. He didn’t consider my thoughts on the matterat all. Do you know what it’s like to be ignored, your feelings cast aside like used handkerchiefs?”

Tears threatened, each strained breath refusing to fill her lungs.

“My Lady…” Gwen rested a hand on Sophia’s forearm. “It can’t be so bad…”

“No, Gwen, it’s worse.” Sophia shrugged the hand off. “To be locked in that cage they call home with nothing but other Pratts to keep me company. They will be my end. It’s all a ploy—it must be. And my father is so blinded by Samuel’s… actions thathe can’t see through it! I am a sacrificial lamb, Gwen, and I am fighting for my life here!”

“And where will you go? A young lady all by herself?”

Sophia marched over to the armoire, wiping the tears from her eyes, and grabbed the last of her ‘necessary’ belongings. “I don’t know. And I don’t care. Anywhere else will be better. I’ll take a boat to the Americas if I have to, but I will not go quietly to a prison of the Pratts’ making.”

“My Lady…” The pity in Gwen’s voice was a twist of the knife in Sophia’s back, calling her silly without saying it outright.

Sophia whirled around, her eyes ablaze. “I hate him! I hate him, do you understand? Him and his family and everything they stand for. Do you understand? I will not marry him—not now, not in a year, not in a million years would you find medeadin the same bed as that man, sharing his wretched name!”

The maid stared at her as if she had taken utter leave of her senses, the quiet of the bedchamber filled with her sawing breaths as panic overtook her entirely. If Sophia could not get her lady’s maid—a trusted confidante and sometimes friend—to see things from her perspective, then she was doomed.

So, it came as a calming surprise when Gwen straightened up, pulled back her shoulders, and announced, “Well, you can’t travel anywhere with all of this.” She began pulling things out of the valises again. “Two carpet bags with a rope tied betweenought to work without worrying the horse. Your jewels and trinkets in the saddlebags.”

“Thank you,” Sophia wheezed, her hand flying to her racing heart. “Oh, Gwen, thank you.”

Sophia looked back at the house as her horse, Meadowsweet, pawed impatiently at the cobbles of the stable yard. Her family home, the house she had grown up in, the garden where her mother read her stories beneath the apple trees in the summer, the flowers she loved to smell… the lawns where there was always some competition or another underway, be it Pall-Mall or hurling snowballs or racing for the singular prize of being the winner.

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