Trapped in Their Manor, Twin Dukes Keep Me Captive

Chapter 17:The Raiment

“I’m glad we see eye to eye. I can hardly wait to lay eyes on the beauty my brother will receive. Show me right now the grace and bearing this young lady possesses.”

I fought one last desperate battle to steer him away. “My Lord. The finest gifts remain shrouded in mystery until they are opened. Surprise makes the recipient’s joy all the sweeter. If you struggle to settle on the perfect offering, Eleanor would gladly spare you such trouble.”

So many people crowded this chamber—footmen, maids, stewards, enslaved servants alike. Everyone could plainly see you planned to mock Count Elvis. Once gossip spreads, no one stands to gain. Please pick another target. Leave me out of this.

Before the Earl could respond, a footman stepped forward. He wore a French waistcoat of white cloth trimmed with gold edging, one of the Earl’s personal attendants. In an overblown, sycophantic tone, he spoke down to me. “The Earl’s orders are law. Lightning from the sky and currents in the river must obey. Your only duty is submission, not hollow compliance and secret defiance!”

His flattery was stale and predictable. I would wager that despite his uniform as a senior attendant, he ranked among the lowest of their circle, starving for any scrap of attention he could grab.

The Earl let out a dry chuckle and waved lazily. Two burly housemaids advanced, seized my arms, and dragged me toward an adjoining suite.

I tried to argue, yet the maids gave me no chance. These women performed rough labour day in and day out; their strength far outmatched mine. Within moments they shoved me into a small inner chamber, slammed the door shut, and departed. Left alone inside the cramped private dressing room, I paced back and forth, burning with rage.

This space was meant for quick touch-ups or intimate visitors, no wider than four or five metres on every side. A mahogany vanity with snail-shaped legs sat beneath the window, holding ivory cosmetic caskets. Along one wall stood a full-length mirror framed in carved silver. Apart from that, only a handful of stools remained.

“A concealed channel runs beneath the window. I would advise you not to entertain thoughts of leaping down.”

A soft feminine voice sounded behind me as I pulled back the curtains to survey my escape options.

I spun around to find Beatrice, surrounded by her usual retinue of handmaidens. Each carried an array of garments: silk chemises, a whalebone corset, and an off-white lace off-the-shoulder ball gown fit for a dance performer.

Good Lord. I knew every layer of such attire, understood precisely how to untie each lacing, and had assisted countless ladies into these dresses before. Never had I imagined I would be forced to wear them myself.

“Even if I jumped, I would still need to find a way out of the manor. Taking you hostage to force the Earl to release me would stand a far better chance.” I always made it my rule to treat women gently, yet I could not resist the sharp jab toward the Earl’s favourite companion. “I expected crude, ill-bred low maids to come for me, not you. It would seem the Earl has never considered the risk of his most treasured pearl being stolen away.”

Beatrice did not grow angry at my thinly veiled accusation. “I trust your breeding would never allow you to lay violent hands upon a lady. And you are wrong about the Earl. I was the one who proposed this scheme, so it falls to me to carry it out.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

I thought I had misheard her.

This ridiculous, pointless ploy, crafted solely for amusement at my expense, had originated with Beatrice? I could not recall a single slight I had dealt her. Could it be over Anne? Anyone with eyes could see that even noble young ladies such as the three Misses Lester could barely compete with her standing. A girl like Anne posed no real threat at all.

“With all due respect, this idea is utterly preposterous, built on wild, impossible fantasies.”

“I disagree. Think of it as an extended masquerade ball. From what I have observed, French nobility host such entertainments often, casting restraint aside entirely.” Beatrice gestured toward the chemises and gown held by the maids. “Count Elvis favours understated English casual styling. Taking your situation into account, I have selected a day gown that requires no heavy pannier. Please change into it so I may see how it suits you. I am certain you will comply. You would not wish to lose this wager with the Earl before it has even begun.”

I ground my teeth hard.

Beatrice’s words sank in. Setting aside the horrific consequences of disobeying Earl Iain’s wild whim, this could be my only path to reach Count Elvis alive. If the Earl truly intended to use me as a jest against his brother, he would bring me to Frigoules Manor. He would not brand me as a slave, nor inflict further physical punishment. The price I needed to pay was merely setting aside my pride. As Beatrice said, I could pretend this was nothing more than masquerade theatre, a performance to win passage back to Europe.

Even so, the truth weighed heavy, filling me with overwhelming defeat.

“I will heed your persuasion. Do you intend to watch me undress?”

I assumed Beatrice would step outside at such a question. To my shock, she nodded as if it were only natural and seated herself upon one of the wooden stools.

I stared in stunned silence. At an unspoken signal, the young handmaidens behind her swarmed around me, chattering excitedly, and set about undoing the buttons of my shirt and breeches.

Being surrounded by soft feminine figures should have been any rake’s dream. Knowing their objective twisted the moment into unspeakable horror.

Ignoring my instinctive struggle, the maids stripped me bare in a flurry of hands. They first pulled a thin cotton chemise over my frame, then brought forward the whalebone corset to fasten around my torso.

I raised my voice in protest toward Beatrice. “I have no need of this!”

I could barely stomach slipping into women’s gowns by telling myself it was only masquerade fun, but a corset—an item made purely to shape a woman’s figure—was far harder to accept.

Noticing my fierce reluctance, a red-haired maiden spoke to Beatrice in French. “I believe her waist is slender enough. Perhaps we may skip the corset for now.”

Beatrice nodded. “Very well. We shall try it without.”

I had never realised how many layers went into dressing a woman. Beneath the outer gown sat the cotton chemise, followed by two silk petticoats of differing hues, and finally the off-white off-the-shoulder lace ball gown with its tight fitted bodice and flowing skirt. When the maids cinched the waist sash to sculpt my shape, I could barely draw breath, teetering on the edge of fainting.

There was still more work ahead. They arranged cascading lace trim and waist bows, tied ribbons around the outer skirt to reveal the contrasting lining beneath, then fetched matching long gloves, a feather-trimmed bonnet, and silk garters and stockings. I moved stiffly like a wooden doll, manipulated every which way by the handmaidens.

Once the initial dressing finished, the maids gathered beside Beatrice and exchanged uncertain glances. “You would not easily tell the truth if no one spoke of it…” “Her hair is too short. If it were longer and curled, no one could guess…” “How vexing. A woman with a waist slimmer than mine…” “She is far too tall, and she lacks a woman’s curves…”

Beatrice studied me carefully and shook her head, unsatisfied. “Fetch my pale brown Indian wool shawl. Bring the bonnet with feather plumes, exchange these for long white silk gloves, and find a neck ribbon as well…”

She dispatched each maid one after another. When the last maiden left the outer room to retrieve hair ornaments, Beatrice stepped to my side and reached out to straighten the lace along my collar.

“If the Earl were to slay a noble person, Count Elvis would order every soul within this manor put to death to contain the secret. No matter what hardships you face, endure until you stand before Lord Elvis.”

This possibility had never crossed my mind. I met her gaze. “So that is the real reason you proposed this scheme to the Earl?”

To secure my survival, so I might leave this estate and reach Count Elvis through such a bizarre ruse. Truly, what a benevolent favour I had received.

Beatrice looked at me but offered no reply. At that moment, a handmaiden returned carrying an off-white silk ribbon. Beatrice took it, then turned me toward the mirror with a light push.

I gasped aloud.

In the full-length mirror, taller than my own height—there stood the reflection of my mother, Viscountess Sabine Cormon Edmund.

Eleanor: “Do you plan to watch me change?” (provoking)

Beatrice: “Naturally.”

Eleanor: ????