Chapter 14: Not in This Life

In Argentum, an hour later, Harlan brought in the soldier.

“Your Grace, Duke of Blackmoor!” The soldier bowed deeply, his nervousness evident. Geoffrey regarded him with a steady, measured gaze. “No need for alarm,” he said calmly. “I have a few questions. What is your name?”

“Hannibal, Your Grace,” the soldier replied, standing rigidly.

Geoffrey inclined his head slightly, his expression kind though his eyes sharpened. “You were at the city gate today. Tell me—what did you see?”

Hannibal hesitated, his unease growing. “Your Grace… I didn’t see anything unusual.”

“Speak freely,” Geoffrey said, motioning to a chair. He poured a goblet of wine and placed it before him. “I assure you, no harm will come of it.”

Hannibal remained standing, his hands trembling. After a moment, he stammered, “Forgive me, Your Grace. I saw… the Lady Blackmoor leaving the city. She was with a man, leaning on his arm.”

Geoffrey’s expression darkened, though his voice remained measured. “And how can you be certain it was my daughter?”

“Your Grace, I accompanied Marshal Blackwell to your manor once,” Hannibal answered quickly. “I saw the Third Lady then and recognized her.”

Geoffrey let out a quiet hum, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Ah, so you’ve seen her before. Then you must have been mistaken, for my daughter remains in the manor and has not left.”

Hannibal froze, realization dawning. He dropped into a deep bow. “Yes, of course! It must have been my mistake. Please forgive me, Your Grace.”

Geoffrey’s smile held. “Ignorance is no crime.” With a wave of his hand, Harlan stepped forward and pressed a folded note into the soldier’s hand. Hannibal’s eyes widened as he unfolded the note—1,000 thalers.

“Take it,” Geoffrey said with easy warmth. “A gift for you and your comrades—have a drink on me. But remember: after drinking, keep your tongue in check. Some things must remain beyond question.”

Hannibal clutched the note tightly, bowing again. “Yes, Your Grace! I’ll say nothing more.”

“Good,” Geoffrey dismissed him with a nod. “You may go.” The soldier bowed deeply before retreating.

As the door closed, Harlan turned to find Geoffrey’s expression transformed, his calm façade cracking to reveal barely restrained fury.

“Your Grace,” Harlan began hesitantly, “the rumors have already spread. There were many at the gate who saw and heard…”

How far they must go—bring that ungrateful girl back to me.

“At once, Your Grace!” Harlan bowed and left swiftly.

Once alone, Geoffrey exhaled slowly, closing his eyes against the anger roiling within him. Yet Isolde’s defiant words from that day rang unbidden in his mind. Could she truly have eloped? The thought struck like a blow. There had been no sign. Or perhaps… she has returned to Windermount!

That evening, as he returned to the manor, Matilda met him at the door, tears streaming down her face. “Your Grace,” she wept, “this is my failing as well. I should have seen it coming… but I noticed nothing.”

Geoffrey’s mind churned with rage. As Matilda wept incessantly, he turned to her, his voice like ice. “Do you even consider her your daughter? If you’d shown her the slightest care, this disgrace would never have come to pass.”

Matilda sobbed, wringing her hands. “It’s my fault, my lord. All my fault!” Her voice trembled as she spoke. Since Isolde returned from Windermount, she’s been so distant. How could a mother and daughter not grow apart when she tells me nothing? I thought her quiet and obedient—how could I have known this scandal was brewing? No wonder she’s been acting strangely of late. She meant to leave!

Geoffrey strode into the room, her words only fanning the flames of his anger. With a loud crack, he slammed his palm against the table. “What did her maid say?”

Matilda dabbed at her tears with trembling fingers. “At first, the wretched girl wouldn’t speak a word. But under questioning… she confessed.” Matilda’s voice faltered as shame crept into her tone. “She said Isolde met the scholar late last year. They fell in love at first sight, pledged themselves to each other in secret… and… they… consummated the union long ago.” Her voice broke, and she whispered bitterly, “And all this while, she spoke of Eleanor as if nothing was amiss!”

Geoffrey’s expression darkened. Consummated—and yet he accepted the betrothal to the marquess’s family? His years of careful diplomacy with the marquess, undone by her folly.

“Bring the maid here!” he barked, his fury spilling over. Matilda gave the order to Anne, and before long, Helena was dragged into the room. She was barely conscious, her face battered and fingers swollen—proof of the interrogation she had endured. Anne struck Helena across the face with a resounding slap, her voice sharp. “The Duke has questions. Speak plainly or you’ll regret it.”

Helena flinched, her matted hair falling over her tear-streaked face. Her swollen lips parted, her voice barely a whisper. “I… I don’t know…”

“Don’t know?” Anne’s hand struck again as she yanked Helena’s hair. “Did you forget my warning? Speak truthfully to the Duke—no lies, no shielding Miss Langley!”

Helena broke into sobs, unable to contain herself. “It was my fault… I pushed her to leave with the scholar. She didn’t want to go… she didn’t…”

A glint of cruelty flashed in Anne’s eyes, but Matilda subtly gestured for her to stay silent.

Geoffrey’s anger erupted. He kicked Helena hard in the stomach, sending her sprawling on the floor, gasping for air. Finally, she whispered, trembling, “Kill me, my lord… just kill me…”

“Lock her away,” Geoffrey commanded, his voice cold. “When that ungrateful girl is found, they’ll both answer for this.”

Servants rushed in, dragging Helena out like a broken doll.

Matilda lowered her gaze, masking the triumph flickering in her eyes. “My lord, what can we do? People from the Valen family will hear of this soon. We must act quickly.”

Geoffrey glared at her, his expression thunderous. “This disgrace within my household begins with you. If you can’t manage the family, I’ll write to my mother and have her return at once.”

Matilda’s heart raced, but she kept her voice steady. “I have failed you, my lord. Forgive me.” Still, bitterness slipped into her tone as she added, “But last time, when Isolde killed Mary, my brother intervened, catching her in a fit of madness. He disciplined her, yet you pitied her—”

Geoffrey cut her off, his voice icy. “Are you suggesting the affairs of my house require your brother’s oversight?”

“No, my lord,” Matilda replied quickly. “I only mean that anger will not resolve this. The deed is done, and it must be addressed.”

Geoffrey drew a sharp breath, forcing himself to think. If the Valen family inquires, delay them. I’ve sent men to search for her. She’s likely fled to Windermount. Once she’s captured, she’ll pay for this.”

“Yes, my lord,” Matilda answered, bowing. As she withdrew, satisfaction gleamed in her eyes. Return? Never. Isolde will meet her end in Wolf Mountain. Marry into the marquess’s family? Not in this life—or the next.