Rosamund
Rosamund.
My eyes flew open. My fingers were gripping the sheets so hard my knuckles ached, and the sweat on my skin had turned cold.
I scanned every corner of the lit room with my eyes before wobbling from the bed to check behind the curtains and under the bed.
Nothing. There was never anything.
It has been two days since the voice started, and it has not stopped.
Every time I closed my eyes, it came. It wasn’t loud or harsh; it just spoke my name softly as if someone was standing behind me. It came in the pauses between my heartbeats, in the silence between Fanny’s snoring in the outer room, and every time sleep began to pull me under.
Since it was nearly dawn, I decided it was no use trying to sleep.
I sat on the bed with my knees drawn up to my chin, arms wrapped around my legs, rocking back and forth just like I used to do at Hadley Cross when the nights got too cold, and the threadbare blankets couldn’t keep me warm. There was nothing left to do but hold yourself together and pray for morning.
I managed to doze off somewhere between the first rooster’s crow and the morning light, when the voice came again.
Rosamund.
My jaw clenched. A part of me wondered if this was what the Duke had done that first night. Had he planted something inside my head that was now growing roots? Was this what happened to the women before me? Was this how it started, a voice calling out their names until there was nothing left of them but hollow-eyed women rocking by windows?
No.
I tightened my grip around my knees and pressed my forehead against them.
No. I would not become another cautionary tale whispered behind walls. I had survived nineteen years with nothing and no one. I had survived fending for myself all those years. I would survive this, too.
The next time the voice came, I would face it. Perhaps the more I cowered, the stronger it grew. Perhaps bravery was the only thing it hadn’t counted on.
The thought was barely finished when it called out again.
Rosamund.
I sprang from the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor, fists clenched at my sides.
"What do you want?" My voice cracked through the silent room. "Show yourself! Tell me what you want!"
I paused, heart pounding, and listened. Nothing. The room was quiet.
"Don’t be a coward now!" I turned, jabbing my finger at the air. "Whatever you are, you won’t have me because I’m not like the others. I won’t claw at my face, I won’t wander the roads in my nightgown. I won’t let you destroy me. So whatever this is, you had better stop, because you picked the wrong woman!"
Silence.
My chest heaved as I scanned the room again, fighting the desperate urge to fall to the floor and weep. It was morning by this time, and the gentle morning rays pierced through the curtains. I caught my reflection in the mirror. Wild-eyed. Haggard. Exhausted.
"If you won’t reveal yourself and face me," I continued, averting my gaze from the mirror. "Then don’t call my name again. If I so much as..."
The door burst open.
Fanny stood in the doorway carrying a wash basin, her eyes wide with confusion. She looked past me, scanning the room, then back at me, standing in the middle of the chamber in my nightgown, fists raised at nothing.
"My lady? I heard shouting. I thought someone was in here with you." She stepped inside and set the bowl on the table. "Who were you talking to?"
My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat. I lowered my fists slowly and forced a smile.
"No one. I was... practising."
"Practising?" She eyed me. "What?"
"How to be a perfect duchess," I said, letting out a brittle laugh. "I figured if I’m going to order people around in the future, I might as well start rehearsing."
Fanny stared at me. Her gaze moved from my face to my clenched fists, to the tangled sheets, to the dark circles I knew were carved beneath my eyes.
"My lady, how did you sleep? Your eyes are bloodshot."
"I slept like a baby," I said, turning away from her.
"Or you didn’t sleep at all." She took a step closer. "Lady Rosamund, are you alright? You’ve been acting strange since yesterday. Did something happen?"
"I’m fine, Fanny." I picked my way to the bed and sat on the edge, smoothing my nightgown and hoping she wouldn’t notice my trembling hands. "How about you? Did you sleep well?"
"Yes." She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go and walked back to the table. "What is the plan for today, my lady?"
I turned to her, confused. What plan? I could barely hold a thought together. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" She set the bowl down hard. "My lady, the wedding is tomorrow. Have you forgotten?"
At that, everything came rushing back. I was supposed to be marrying the Duke in less than twenty-four hours. The realisation settled over me, making me sadder. Tomorrow, I would stand beside a man who might be the very reason I couldn’t close my eyes without hearing my own name whispered back to me.
"My lady?" Fanny’s voice cut into my haze. "Did you hear me? The music, the flowers, your dress..."
"Fanny." I raised my hand. "Please. I’ll try to do something later. I just need to gather my thoughts."
"It’s not too late to go to the Duke and tell him you were angry when you made the offer. Ask him for help. I’m sure he won’t refuse you."
"What use would that be, Fanny?" I sighed and fell backwards onto the bed, pressing both hands over my face. Ask the Duke for help? I hadn’t seen him since breakfast two days ago. Yesterday, I’d refused to eat with him entirely because of the voice. If he was behind this, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me slowly crumble.
"I’ll find Lord Clyde," Fanny said again. "He seems decent enough, and the Duke listens to him. Let me bring him so you can ask for help with the preparations."
"Fine," I mumbled through my fingers. "Go."
Fanny left, and I remained on the bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the exhaustion wash over me while I waited for the voice.
Lost in bracing myself for the voice, a knock sounded at the door, grounding me back to reality. I ignored it, assuming Fanny had forgotten something and would let herself in. But the knock came again, then firmer a third time.
It wasn’t Fanny.
I dragged myself off the bed, pulled on a robe, and opened the door.
A tall, thin old man stood in the corridor, a pleasant expression on his face. I recognised him instantly as the same man from the ball who had whispered in my father’s ear and informed him of the Duke’s arrival.
"Good morning, Lady Rosamund." He bowed. "I am Mr Alistair, steward of Wellspring. I manage the estate’s external affairs."
"Good morning, Mr Alistair." I tightened the robe around me. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Nothing at all, my lady." He produced a letter from inside his coat and held it out. "This arrived for you late yesterday evening. I would have delivered it sooner, but I didn’t wish to disturb you."
My gaze shifted from his face to his hand, and my breath caught.
Heavy paper. Dark wax seal, stamped but bearing no crest and no name on the front. It was the same wrapping as the letter I had received at Briarwood Manor, the one that had revealed a dark secret about the Duke.
I took it from his hand, fighting to keep the distress from showing on my face.
"Thank you, Mr Alistair. That’s very kind of you."
"Of course, my lady." He turned and walked away before I could say more.
I closed the door and leaned against it, heart racing, before making my way to the bed. I set the letter down and stared at it. Every instinct I had screamed not to open it, that whatever was inside would change everything, that once I read those words, I would know more than I wanted to about the man I was about to marry.
I picked it up anyway. My hands were trembling so badly that the paper rattled in my grip. I broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was the same as before, but this time it wasn’t a single line. It was a full message.
No matter what they tell you, do not marry Duke Nevan Wilder. You will end up like the others, dead or mad, a cautionary tale whispered in darkened corners. But you don’t have to.
I can help you escape.
Come to the old mill by the Southern forest road at four in the morning. Come alone and ready to leave. I will have a carriage waiting.
This is your only chance at a life. Do not waste it.
Beneath it, the same signature:
— A Friend Who Knows the Truth