Duke of the Beast and the Vicarious Bride - Chapter 3

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※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

“Still, I fail to understand. To ask a girl who butchers pigs to become a Grand Duchess overnight. Do you truly believe that makes any sense?”

At Fiona’s retort, the Count could only sputter, his moustache twitching. This time, the Countess spoke in his stead.

“Joséphine is still too young to bear the weight of being a Grand Duchess. She has much to learn; she is inexperienced. You, Fiona, on the other hand, are of sufficient age and, as you say, have likely had far more varied experiences than Joséphine. It is true you may have some rough edges… but in that regard, we are more than willing to assist.”

Having neatly polished the coarse phrase “pig-butchering girl” into “varied experiences,” the Countess finished her hypocrisy with one more addition.

“And Joséphine… due to matters of succession, she cannot be sent as Grand Duchess.”

At this, Fiona grew even more bewildered. Matters of succession? Was Joséphine to inherit the House of Troyes instead of Jayden? When was there a legitimate eldest son? Why?

Her gaze naturally drifted to Jayden. He was staring elsewhere, his expression one of utter weariness with the whole affair. Fiona was trying to gauge if there was some strife she knew nothing of, when the Countess’s next words drew her attention back.

“And besides, you are her elder sister, are you not? When your younger sister is in difficulty over an ill-timed marriage proposal, it is only right that you should help.”

Listening to the Countess’s honeyed tones with a sullen face, Fiona could not help but let out a short laugh. Elder sister. Given the treatment she had received from the House of Troyes all these years, even a passing dog would find that funny.

But the next words from the Count wiped the last trace of humour from her face.

“Or shall we speak of your real little sister? Yes, that mute girl you keep with you.”

Unable to stomach her silent, mocking snorts, the Count had at last played his final card. And vexingly, it was a highly effective one.

“Do you truly believe you can care for that child forever, in your position? If you accept this proposal, the House of Troyes will take responsibility for her.”

The words sounded very much like a threat: if Fiona did not accept, harm would come to the girl. That the despicable Count would resort to mentioning Rose was something she had already anticipated.

Fiona glared at the exquisite teacup before her and thought. Her mind was not on the sister who had suddenly become a bargaining chip, but on other matters. Such as how long it would take for the Count’s pretentiously genteel tone to curdle into outright threat, and what advantages she might wring from this if she consented to the marriage gracefully.

Given that it was a matter of matrimony, they seemed to desire her willing cooperation. Fiona weighed the reality laid out before her. If she refused, how would the Count of Troyes react? He would not let the matter rest easily. Summoning the entire family like this, their answer was clearly already decided. Like most nobles, the Count was not known for mercy towards those who defied him. Fiona already felt weary at the thought of the reprisals she could expect.

“Very well. I’ll do it.”

The calculation was swift. Fiona answered with a sense of resignation. Her pretence of defiance had been mere spite; the conclusion was, in any case, unchangeable.

She could have refused this absurd marriage and struggled on, enduring the Count’s harassment, but she had no desire for such a wearying fight. Least of all because of Rose, the sister the Count had seen fit to mention.

“I was just thinking it was about time I married. To have you personally arrange a match, I am so overwhelmed with gratitude I scarcely know where to put myself.”

No one replied to Fiona’s sardonic words. For people who had gathered so harmoniously to plan their coercion, they all looked rather startled by her swift acceptance.

“Is it true? You will go north in Joséphine’s stead?”

Would you not have forced me to agree regardless? At the Countess’s odious question, Fiona finally let her irritation show.

“I said I would, so let me hear the reason plainly. Why send someone like me to a position such as Grand Duchess? Is it perhaps a death sentence?”