-CHAPTER 27-
"Behave yourself in there."
Estella started as her father clutched her hand tightly just as she made to alight from the coach. The third party had long since stepped out, so it was perfect timing for what he did next.
Seizing her with a firmness that could tear her limbs apart, the baron yanked her back down, slamming her butt against the stiff-cushioned bench. A hiccup tore out of her.
"I am sounding this as a warning because I will not have to repeat myself. Don't go exchanging words with His Grace if he should ask a few questions. Own up to what you stole, and do not dare make a scene. Until we leave back, be on your best behaviour. Whatever he asks you to do, obey without complaint."
The baron ended his talk by shooting her a look that begged the question, Have I made myself clear? Estella gave a few stricken nods before he released his hold on her.
The part of her hand he had held onto was her sore wrist, and it had not only inflicted further pain but dragged her mind back to the scars she was trying so hard to forget and hide underneath all that fluff.
Inhaling sharply, Estella climbed down from the cart, determined to state her case before the duke, regardless of what her father thought.
She steeled herself and began her walk toward the house. Every so often, she stopped to admire the glazed sculptures scattered about that side of the lawn. She was beshook by the vastness of the land and the magnificence of everything she was seeing.
Before cutting off the lawn and stepping into the vast, glossy corridor leading into the main house, she caught sight of water springing out of a seal's mouth.
Her heart leapt out of her chest, eyes glinting, bewildered. It wasn't even a real seal; she didn't think it was, but it looked too good to be true. Her mouth practically dropped to the floor after seeing such an aesthetic for the first time. Gazingly, she stopped for a bit to soak it all in.
"Estella!"
The baron's shout smacked her back to the present. She had been so dazed by the sights that she clearly forgot someone was leading them in, and her slowing the pace would only make her father angry.
"Hasten up!"
Estella complied and quickened her pace toward the front.
⋱⋮⋰
⋯✧⋯
⋰⋮⋱
Inside, the duke's house was even more stylized than outdoors. The Chippendale settee, glossy parquet flooring and Skyview ceiling mural gave Estella a run for her money. Not to mention the crisp marble fireplace, its mantel lined with porcelain figurines. Everything seemed like it had been plucked straight out of a dream, a fairytale.
Estella chose one of the twin bergère chairs at the corner of the hall. Gingerly, she settled herself on it, the softness foundering under her weight. She gave it a few taps in a blink and then began bouncing on it—up, down, down, up. The lushness felt like it held the power to scrub her sorrows away after all.
"What are you giggling for anyhow? What's so funny?" the baron scolded, but Estella was in her own little world. It was a pleasant feeling, this thing.
Scooting out of there, she darted forward, sidestepping the low oval centrepiece with bronze-rimmed edges and reached a short way from the wall of the fireplace. The rich oil portrait of a woman cuddling a toddler while keeping a straight face caught her fancy, and she looked intently, reasoning that to be the duke's mother.
Everyone has a mother but me, Estella thought, feeling her joy ease out to disheartening grief. She knew next to nothing about the woman who'd birthed her, save that she was her father's mistress and a house servant and had died in childbirth. Some days, she wished she didn't know who her mother was or how she lived her short life. If no one knew where she came from or who had birthed her, Estella thought, her father would treat her as a stranger, just like the servants in his household—the baroness and her daughters no less.
As it stood, the staff at the baron's house received more princely treatment than she, who happened to share the baron's blood.
Raw bile welled up inside, thrusting to her throat as she twisted and eyed her father, who just sat there looking tensed. He was firming his jaw too hard, so Estella knew. But she wondered why that was and wrinkled her forehead. She didn't think he was worried about her in the least, so why was he acting so shaken—more than her, who should be interrogated by the duke for allegedly stealing from him?
"Miss Grimalde!"
Estella startled. The voice that called out to her was thick. Turning, she found it was a lean-muscled man who had spoken.
"Baron Estefan. His Grace welcomes you also."
Estella looked at her father, who had jumped up from his seat, another uncharacteristic trait. He wasn't easily shaken on a normal day.
"Miss Grimalde," the man called again, softer this time, and Estella turned her shoulders to him.
"Butler Bach at your service," Bach said. Then, turning to the baron, he added, "His Grace will be down with you shortly as he is tending to an important matter in his study."
"Can't I go to his study?" the baron asked, wide-eyed.
"No, I'm afraid not," Bach retorted. "But he will be down soon. The kitchen staff will keep you entertained. You have journeyed long, so as His Grace would want, be at ease until he can meet you."
"Okay." The baron's shoulders dropped. "Thank you." He sat back down.
"The message is different for you, Miss Grimalde. You are expected to follow me," Bach said again, pulling a frightened look out of Estella, whose hands trembled against each other.
"Why? What is—where are you taking me?"
"That's right. Where are you taking her?" the baron asked, rising to his feet.
Bach said nothing, simply maintaining eye contact with the girl before him.
When he wouldn't speak, the baron asked again, "Did His Grace ask that she be tried for her crime in a separate room? Is that what this is?"
Bach again ignored the man. Looking intently at Estella, he said, "I am simply obeying His Grace's order. No questions asked also. Now tell me: Would you rather I inform His Grace that you are resisting his command in his own house?"