Matteo returned with a heaping plate of food that made my stomach growl audibly. The rich aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread made my mouth water instantly.
"Here you are, Miss Isabella. I've put together the best bits from what's left," he said, handing me the plate with a warm smile.
"Thank you, Matteo." I gratefully accepted the offering. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Matteo's eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. "Things will get better for you, Miss. I believe that."
"Do you really think so?" I asked, unable to keep the doubt from my voice.
He waved his hand dismissively. "Absolutely. Though I've always hated that ridiculous saying about there being a 'rainbow at the end' of your troubles."
I couldn't help but laugh. "What would you suggest instead?"
"I'd say happiness will come with the next shipment of rum," he replied with a conspiratorial wink, his voice slightly slurred.
Looking at him more closely, I noticed the slight flush on his cheeks and his unusually bright eyes. "Matteo, have you been drinking?"
"Just a nip," he replied, swaying slightly. "Or perhaps two. Maybe three." He chuckled and patted the jug he'd handed me. "I may have slipped something nice in there for you as well."
I shook my head with amused disapproval. "You know Lady Beatrix would dismiss you if she caught you drinking the household spirits."
"Let her try," he snorted. "I'm the only one who knows how to make that awful fish pie she loves so much." He straightened his apron with exaggerated dignity. "Besides, what's life without a little risk, eh?"
His carefree attitude was infectious. "Thank you for the food—and the spirits."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Isabella. Before your grand escape." He gave me an exaggerated bow that nearly sent him toppling over, then turned and wobbled back toward the kitchen.
I smiled to myself as I watched him go. Matteo's high spirits had lifted my own mood considerably. The alcohol wouldn't be a problem for me—I'd developed quite a tolerance over the years, thanks largely to Matteo's generosity with the cooking brandy.
With my bounty in hand and the kitten still nestled against my chest, I carefully made my way back through the shadowy corridors toward my room. The house felt different at night—less oppressive somehow, as if the darkness concealed the shabby furniture and faded wallpaper that betrayed my father's financial decline.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would meet with Duke Alaric and, with any luck, secure my freedom from this miserable existence.
As I passed near the main hall, I heard voices—maids clearing the last of the party debris.
"Did you see how Lady Clara threw herself at the Duke?" one whispered. "Shameless, if you ask me."
"Doesn't matter how pretty she is if the man's not interested," another replied. "Though I'd take my chances with him, monster or not. Wealth like that can make any face handsome."
"Shh!" I hissed, stepping into view. "Your gossip carries."
The two maids jumped at my sudden appearance, their faces paling as they took in my masked figure.
"M-Miss Isabella!" the younger one stammered, backing away. "We didn't see you there."
The other maid, newer to the household, actually crossed herself. "Please," she begged, "I meant no harm. Don't—don't curse me. I have a baby at home."
I might have laughed if it weren't so pathetic. Instead, I merely stared at them until they scurried away, gathering their cleaning supplies in frantic haste.
Such was my existence—feared and reviled, my mask making me something less than human in their eyes. I continued on my way, unbothered by their reaction. I'd grown accustomed to such things long ago.
As I passed through the garden where I had met Duke Alaric earlier that day, I paused momentarily. In just a few hours, this would all be behind me, one way or another. Either I would begin a new life as the Duke's wife—a contract marriage, but freedom nonetheless—or I would face my father's wrath for my audacity. There was no middle ground.
Finally reaching my small chamber, I unlocked the door and slipped inside, immediately feeling the tension ease from my shoulders. This tiny room was my sanctuary, the only place where I could truly be myself.
The kitten mewed softly as I set it down on my bed. "Welcome to your new home, little one. It's not much, but it's safe." The creature blinked at me with bright eyes before curling up on my pillow.
I placed my plate and jug on the small table by the window and lit a candle. My room was sparsely furnished—a narrow bed, a simple dresser, a cracked mirror that I usually kept covered, and a chair. Unlike Clara's lavish chamber, mine contained no decorative trinkets or fashionable furnishings. But it was mine, and here, at least, I could find some peace.
The kitten watched curiously as I reached behind my head to untie the ribbons securing my mask. With careful movements, I removed it, feeling the cool air touch my scarred skin. I never took off the mask outside this room—never. But here, alone, I could breathe freely.
I set the porcelain covering aside and ran my fingers over the raised, uneven skin that marred the left side of my face from temple to jaw. Clara's handiwork from childhood—a moment of jealous rage with a fireplace poker that had forever changed my life.
The kitten didn't recoil from my appearance. Instead, it stretched and yawned before padding over to investigate the plate of food.
"Hungry, are you?" I smiled, breaking off a tiny piece of chicken for the small creature. "You're the only one who doesn't seem bothered by my face."
As I ate my meal in silence, I found my thoughts returning to Duke Alaric Thorne. His reputation as a monster seemed at odds with the man I'd met—stern and intimidating, certainly, but not cruel. He'd looked at me differently than most people did, seeing beyond the mask to the desperate woman beneath.
I took a deep swallow from the jug, appreciating the warm burn of rum mixed with cider as it slid down my throat. Tomorrow would change everything. I had to believe that. After twenty-one years of misery, I was finally taking control of my own destiny.
The kitten, having eaten its fill, curled up against my side and began to purr. I stroked its soft fur, finding comfort in its simple presence.
"What do you think, little one?" I whispered. "Am I making a deal with the devil, or is this my salvation?"
The kitten merely purred louder in response.
I finished my meal and took another long drink, feeling the rum's warmth spread through my limbs. I would need courage tomorrow—courage to face the Duke, to present my case clearly and convincingly. I couldn't afford to stumble or show weakness.
As I prepared for bed, carefully placing my mask on the nightstand where I could easily reach it in the morning, I allowed myself to imagine what life as Duchess Thorne might be like. No more hiding in corners during social events, no more cruel remarks from Clara, no more cold indifference from my father. Instead, I would have protection, respectability, and most importantly, freedom.
I slipped beneath the threadbare blankets, the kitten settling in the crook of my arm. Tomorrow couldn't come quickly enough. Either I would secure my escape from this prison, or I would face the consequences of my boldness. Either way, the endless cycle of my current existence would finally be broken.
As sleep began to claim me, I found myself whispering a prayer—not to any god, for I'd long since given up on divine intervention, but to whatever strands of fate might be listening.
"Please," I murmured into the darkness, "let him say yes."