The Forgotten Duchess

Chapter Six | Confession

There was a pause as the duke leaned back. "That's what I thought myself. If someone gives you an ounce of kindness, finds you employment, food and shelter, there is no way one would lie to their host."

Vivienne's hands began trembling and she ground them into the folds of her skirt in order to hide them. She didn't know what the duke was going to say next, but it seemed that it was going to be a less than pleasant conversation.

"Is there anything you would like to confess to me dear Vivienne?"

In another circumstance, her heart would have warmed from hearing the duke call her dear. However, she knew that right now, he did not mean it as a term of endearment. He was using it to mock her. Still, she didn't budge from her position. Unless he told her what she was being accused of, she would not give away her position. Vivienne did not want to return to the cold empty countryside of England.

"I do not believe I have anything to say Your Grace." Vivienne muttered softly, however in the quite room her voice seemed to echo.

The duke's voice turned dangerously cold, "Look at me, Vivienne," he commanded.

Vivienne turned her gaze from her hands to his face. Fury was etched deep on his visage, and it seemed as though he was struggling to keep control. She visibly flinched as he came closer and his eyes blinked as if he just realized how terrifying he might look. His featured soften an inch—but it didn't comfort her for even a moment.

"Where was your previous place of employment again?" The soft tone did nothing to hide the wolf that was ready to strike.

Vivienne's heart leapt. She very well couldn't say nowhere, that would be reason enough for her to be dismissed. She tried remembering the different places Agatha had taught her but her memory was blank at the moment.

Sighing Vivienne spoke. "This is my first place of employment Your Grace."

Something akin to approval flickered in the duke's eyes. "Good, that would explain as to why you've caused such a ruckus in my household. Now, where did you come from?"

"A small town called Flaxpool, Your Grace."

She'd been honest enough about the location of the house her and Agatha had lived in. Vivienne didn't think it would give anything away, after all, servants came from all over the countryside.

"Did you reside in Flaxpool with Agatha?"

Vivienne looked at the duke sharply. He had remembered the name she had given him last night in the library—this was not good. She nodded in answer.

The duke sighed as if it was the greatest inconvenience of his time to be asking her such questions, "What made you flee Flaxpool?"

She hadn't spoken about her terrors, but Vivienne could be honest to the duke. He had a right to know.

"My town was attacked by men. They burned houses to the ground, slaughtered the men, and took the women as prizes." Her eyes welled up with tears at the memory of her old home in flames. She'd been fortunate enough to be walking outside the village, so she didn't witness such atrocities.

Vivienne could still remember walking back to the cottage her and Agatha shared. It had been ransacked with Agatha lying on the ground in a helpless form in the corner. A man with a sword was coming closer to her when Agatha had seen her. The only words her governess had formed were 'run.'

And like the coward she was, Vivienne had snuck back out and ran as fast as she could. "I was fortunate enough to flee and after many days of travel, stumbled upon this estate." Vivienne suppressed a sniffle. Something told her that the duke would not take well to tears.