The rustling sounds of hurried footsteps stirred Amelia from sleep. She blinked against the morning light, only to find a procession of maids entering her room, their arms laden with silk gowns, makeup trays, and ornate jewelry boxes. That's when it hit her.
Today was the day—the day she would finally meet the infamous Duke Dorian Blackmoor.
Within moments, the room transformed into a flurry of activity. Grace guided the others with gentle authority as they helped Amelia dress in a rich purple gown that flowed like twilight mist around her ankles. Her golden-blonde hair was delicately pinned up, soft curls framing her face, with sparkling purple flower clips tucked neatly on each side. A set of matching amethyst jewels—a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet—added the final elegant touch.
After three hours of transformation, Amelia stepped out of her room.
Whispers followed her as she walked down the hallway, her presence stunning the maids into silence. Even Grace stared at her with awe, murmuring, "You look beautiful, my lady."
In the grand dining room, Viscount Harrowind looked up and his expression softened with rare satisfaction. "Perfect," he muttered under his breath, pleased with the results.
But on the other side of the table, Celina and Geneva could barely hide their disdain. Though their lips were curled into sweet smiles, their clenched jaws betrayed the jealousy burning behind their eyes. The Viscount had already warned them not to embarrass the family, so all they could do was chew their breakfast in painful silence.
After the meal, the carriage arrived, a glossy black coach with the family crest glinting on its door.
As Amelia stepped toward it, a tall, broad-shouldered man in uniform offered his hand to help her in. His touch was firm, and his eyes were calm beneath thick lashes. She tilted her head, confused. There was something familiar about him.
Grace slipped into the seat beside her and leaned in with a soft chuckle. "That's the butler's son. You used to chat with him sometimes before he left for his military training."
Amelia looked out the carriage window with a thoughtful hum. "No wonder he's smiling so hard," she whispered under her breath, smirking to herself.
As the carriage rolled forward, her heart beat faster—not from nerves, but from curiosity. Today, she would step into the world of the Blackmoors. And nothing, absolutely nothing, would be the same again.
The ride to the Duke's estate had been quiet, with only the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels filling the silence. Amelia sat beside Grace, her hands clasped in her lap, the hem of her purple gown delicately resting over her knees. Her golden hair was adorned with jeweled pins in the shape of blooming violets, and her features were as composed as a noble portrait.
She had been instructed—repeatedly—not to speak unless spoken to. To smile politely. To act with perfect grace.
But Amelia had plans of her own.
She didn't intend to marry some cold-hearted war hero just because it pleased the Viscount. She needed time—freedom. And for that, she had to speak to Dr. Real. Privately. She had written a letter the night before, proposing a secret deal. If she could get it to him, she might just change the course of her fate.
As the carriage finally arrived at the estate, Amelia blinked at the estate It was magnificent… and eerie. Dark stone walls, ivy-covered pillars, and a strange stillness hung in the air. It was so quiet that it reminded her of a haunted estate from an old ghost tale.
Still, she stepped out of the carriage with all the elegance she could muster. A tall man—George, the butler—offered his hand and welcomed them with formal bows, leading them into the estate. Grace walked beside her, whispering that the tall man is really brutal when he is in battle but he treats ladies right
"Oh," Amelia murmured, watching him from the corner of her eye. "That must be why he's smiling too much."
Inside the welcoming room, George informed them with a deep, apologetic bow, "The Duke was summoned to the palace by the King himself. He regrets not being able to receive you today."
The Viscount was disappointed at first, but brightened quickly when Theodore entered with an array of lavish gifts from the Duke. Amelia, meanwhile, saw her window of opportunity. As the Viscount was being distracted by documents about the mine, she pulled Theodore aside.
"I have something I need you to give the Duke," she whispered.
She handed him a sealed envelope. "Don't open it. Just make sure it reaches him."
Theodore nodded solemnly. "You have my word, my lady."
Relieved, she returned to her role—smiling, nodding, pretending. Eventually, the formalities ended, and the men began talking business while the women waited in a side room with the maids. That was when it hit her—urgently.
"I need to use the restroom," she told one of the maids.
Unfortunately, the maid was new and unsure of where the guess bathroom were. She gave her vague directions, and Amelia wandered through the sprawling hallways of the estate.
She passed room after room, each one closed or dimly lit. Until she saw one door—taller, older, carved with strange patterns. Curiosity prickled her spine.
Maybe it's a grand bathroom?
She pushed the door open slowly.
Inside was not a restroom—but a room lined with soft drapes and porcelain figurines. And in the center, on a delicate chair, sat a doll. A life-sized one. Pale, with glassy eyes and a faded tomato-red gown laced up the back.
The room was clean, maintained. Someone had been taking care of it.
A strange chill settled over her shoulders.
"What is this…?"
Before she could inspect further, she heard someone calling her name down the corridor. She turned quickly, shutting the door behind her and brushing the chills from her arms.
They were done with the discussion. The engagement was now officially scheduled in two weeks.
Back in the carriage, the Viscount wore a smug grin, already counting coins in his head. But Amelia sat quietly, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
She had to meet the Duke. Before that ceremony.
And she had to find out why a strange doll sat waiting alone in a locked room in the heart of a mansion where no laughter echoed.