"You're going to do what?" Lady Beatrix's shrill voice echoed across the garden.
I watched from my window as Clara continued digging the small hole beneath the willow tree, her blonde hair tied back in a messy ponytail, mud staining her usually immaculate skirts.
"I'm burying Isabella's little pet," Clara replied, not bothering to look up. "Why are you acting so concerned now? You've never cared what I do to her before."
Lady Beatrix glanced nervously toward the house. "The Duke threatened your father. Things are different now. We can't risk angering Isabella."
Clara laughed, the sound brittle and cold. "Father has another plan. He's going to send me to live with Isabella, as her escort."
"He's what?" Lady Beatrix's face paled. "He never mentioned—"
"He just decided." Clara's smile was victorious. "It's my chance to get close to the Duke. To show him what a real beauty looks like, without a mask hiding half her face."
I leaned closer to the window, my heart pounding. They couldn't possibly think Alaric would allow this.
"Clara, darling," Lady Beatrix's voice dropped to a whisper, though I could still make out her words. "I don't think the Duke will—"
"Father's coming," Clara interrupted, straightening up.
I watched my father stride across the lawn, his expression thunderous. "Clara, what are you doing? Get someone else to dig that hole. The Duke has left already."
Clara dropped the shovel immediately, wiping her hands on her dress. "Did you speak to him about me coming to stay with Isabella?"
Father glanced at Lady Beatrix, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "I was just informing my wife of our new plan," he said stiffly.
"Reginald," Lady Beatrix began, "is it wise to—"
"Wise?" Father cut her off with a harsh laugh. "What's wise is doing whatever necessary to secure our position. The Duke threatened to kill us if we mistreat Isabella."
Lady Beatrix gasped. "Surely he was exaggerating—"
"He wasn't," Father said grimly. "His exact words were that he would hunt us down like animals if we ever hurt her again. But," he continued, his eyes glinting with calculation, "he can hardly object to Isabella having her beloved sister as a companion, can he?"
"And what exactly do you expect me to do there?" Clara asked, though her smirk suggested she already knew.
Father lowered his voice, but the evening air was still, carrying his words clearly to my window. "This is your last chance to win the Duke, Clara. Get close to him. Make yourself indispensable. And if necessary..."
He hesitated, looking around before continuing. "If necessary, get with child by him. A pregnancy would force his hand, especially if you're discreet about the timing."
I covered my mouth to stifle my gasp. Even Lady Beatrix looked shocked.
"Reginald! You can't possibly suggest—"
"I'm suggesting whatever it takes," Father hissed. "We're drowning in debt. The Duke is our only salvation."
Clara's face lit up with malicious delight. "I'll make him forget all about Isabella. He'll be begging to marry me instead once I'm done with him."
"Just be subtle," Father warned. "No obvious attempts at seduction. Be the perfect sister-in-law first. Gain his trust."
Lady Beatrix wrung her hands. "This plan is dangerous. If the Duke discovers—"
"He won't," Father said firmly. "As long as everyone plays their part." He turned to Clara. "Finish with that kitten business later. We need to prepare you for your stay at Blackwood Manor."
As they walked back toward the house, I ducked away from the window, my mind racing. Their plan was ridiculous—Alaric would see through it immediately. But the sheer audacity, the willingness to use pregnancy as a trap... I felt ill.
I stayed hidden when they entered the house, listening to their footsteps as they passed my door.
An hour later, I heard Clara's light step in the hallway, followed by the creak of my door opening. I quickly slipped behind my wardrobe, holding my breath as she entered my room.
Clara moved with purpose, opening drawers and rifling through my few possessions. I watched her find the box containing the dead kitten, her lips curving into a smile as she lifted the small, stiff body.
"Poor little beast," she murmured, not sounding sorry at all. "Almost as unloved as your mistress."
She continued searching, moving to my small closet. When she pulled out my mother's wedding dress—the only thing I had left of her—my heart clenched.
The dress was simple but elegant, ivory silk with delicate lace trim. My most precious possession, hidden away for safekeeping.
"What's this?" Clara held it up to the light. "Mother's wedding dress, I presume? How sentimental."
I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out as she folded the dress carelessly, tucking it under her arm along with the box containing the kitten.
"Two birds with one stone," she whispered to herself. "Goodbye to the cat and to this pathetic reminder of the woman who birthed you."
She left my room, and I followed at a safe distance, watching from an upstairs window as she returned to the garden. The hole she'd been digging earlier was still there, and now a nervous-looking maid stood beside it.
"Finish digging this," Clara ordered the maid. "Make it deeper."
The maid hesitated. "Miss Clara, what are you burying? It looks like—"
"It's none of your concern," Clara snapped. "Dig, or I'll tell my father you've been stealing."
The maid paled and took the shovel, deepening the hole while Clara watched with growing impatience.
"That's enough," Clara finally said. She set down the box with the kitten, then deliberately placed my mother's wedding dress in the hole first, spreading it out to form a lining.
"Miss," the maid whispered, "that looks to be a fine dress. Are you sure—"
"Completely sure," Clara said, placing the box with the kitten on top of the dress. "Now fill it in. And if you breathe a word of this to anyone, especially to Isabella, I'll make sure you never work in this county again."
I felt tears sliding down my cheeks as the maid reluctantly covered my mother's dress and the kitten with dirt. The dress was the only physical connection I had to my mother, the only proof that I had once been loved, truly loved, in this house.
"Pat it down well," Clara instructed. "Make sure it looks natural. I want nothing left to find."
When the maid finished, Clara dismissed her with a warning look before arranging some fallen leaves over the freshly turned earth.
I retreated from the window, my hands shaking with rage and grief. Part of me wanted to run down there immediately, to dig up the dress before the soil ruined it. But revealing that I knew what she'd done would only give Clara the satisfaction of seeing my pain.
Instead, I sat on my bed, plotting. In two days, I would be leaving this house forever. Alaric would never allow Clara to stay at Blackwood Manor—I was certain of it. And once I was Duchess, I would have the power to ensure my "family" never hurt me again.
I thought of the small grave under the willow tree. My kitten and my mother's dress, buried together in an act of pure spite. Another cruelty to add to the long list of what I'd endured in this house.
But this time, Clara had miscalculated. This time, her actions wouldn't go unpunished. Because in two days, I wouldn't be helpless Isabella anymore, the girl they could abuse with impunity.
I would be the Duchess of Blackwood, wife to the most feared man in the kingdom.
And I would make them all pay for what they'd done.
Outside my window, I could see Clara standing with her arms folded, admiring her handiwork—the small, unmarked grave that held not just my pet but my most treasured possession. Her face was lit with satisfaction, reveling in her secret act of revenge.
Little did she know that her petty cruelty had only hardened my resolve. When I left this house, I wouldn't look back with any regret or sentimentality. Every tie had been severed, every illusion of family destroyed.
And Clara's stupid plan to seduce Alaric? I almost smiled at the thought. She had no idea who she was dealing with—neither Alaric nor me.
She would learn soon enough.