She Was Sold to an Old Duke — But His Wedding Night Gift Changed Everything
Chapter 5
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Josephine stared at the key. The iron was cold, but as she reached out and closed her fingers around it, it felt like the warmest thing she had ever held.Josephine woke to the sound of rain hammering against leaded glass. She was alone in the center of the massive four-poster bed. For a long, disorienting moment, she stared at the heavy velvet canopy above her, trying to place the smell of burning coal and lemon oil.Then her fingers brushed against cold iron beneath her pillow: the key.The memories of the previous night crashed into her, sharp and sudden: the contract, the trust fund, £40,000.She sat up abruptly, the chill of the bedchamber biting through her thin linen nightgown. She looked toward the small table by the hearth: the leather portfolio was still there, exactly where she had left it. It had not been a dream; she had not been tricked.She threw off the heavy blankets and walked across the freezing oak floorboards. She picked up the portfolio, holding it tightly to her chest. It felt heavier this morning; it felt like armor.A timid knock sounded at the door. Josephine quickly shoved the portfolio into the bottom drawer of a heavy mahogany dresser, locked it with the key left in the lock, and slipped the key into her dressing gown pocket."Come in," she called out. Her voice was steady; it surprised her.A young maid entered, carrying a brass jug of hot water and an armful of towels, keeping her eyes glued to the floor, terrified. Behind her came an older woman clad in severe black bombazine: her face was pinched, her gray hair pulled so tightly back it seemed to strain her features."Good morning, Your Grace," the older woman said. Her tone was perfectly respectful, yet utterly devoid of warmth. "I am Mrs. Higgins, head housekeeper. His Grace is already in his study. He requested you join him for breakfast in the morning room once you are dressed.""Thank you, Mrs. Higgins," Josephine said.She did not shrink away; she did not offer a nervous smile. Her brother's house had been a chaotic mess of screaming creditors and drunkards; she knew how servants looked at a household that was falling apart. This woman was testing her, looking for the terrified, purchased child she expected to find.Josephine walked to the washstand and poured the hot water into the ceramic basin herself. "I will wear the dark blue wool this morning, and I prefer my tea strong, without milk. See that it is ready."Mrs. Higgins blinked, a flicker of surprise breaking her stoic facade. "Yes, Your Grace."Forty minutes later, dressed in a practical, unadorned gown that offered no concessions to bridal finery, Josephine navigated the sprawling corridors of the Clydesdale estate. The house was a monument to silent, overwhelming wealth: dark wood paneling, faded tapestries, and portraits of severe-looking men holding swords or scrolls lined the walls. It felt more like a museum than a home.