The Evil Ladies Form An Alliance

CHAPTER 6: The Affectionate Cub

In Satomi's world, public displays of affection are an unusual sight. Even within the confines of the otome game, where Duke Clifford and his wife Rosette are depicted, such intimate gestures are virtually nonexistent. The Duke frequently professes his unwavering love for Rosette, yet he refrains from any physical contact. However, he openly expresses his affection in front of the maid, butler, and a group of knights who watch with open curiosity. Rosette feels a rush of warmth and embarrassment that turns her cheeks a deep shade of crimson.

"This is so embarrassing. How can he kiss me in front of all these people?" she thinks, her heart racing.

The Duke, oblivious to her discomfort, leans closer, pressing his forehead against hers as his face flushes with warmth. "My beloved wife, I have missed you more than words can express. You have no idea how frantic I was when I heard what happened to you," he whispered earnestly, his eyes shining with a mixture of love and concern.

The enchanted onlookers, delighted by the couple's tender moment, can’t help but feel a sense of joy witnessing such a display of affection. Yet beneath their smiles, they share a collective unease, sensing that the Duke's fervent display might be pushing the boundaries of propriety, especially as Rosette playfully tries to nudge his face away from hers.

"Ah... he’s going a bit overboard," they murmured, their expressions a blend of amusement and sympathy for the Duchess's plight.

“Duke, the doctor has arrived,” announced a knight, his voice echoing through the chamber as he swung the heavy door open, granting entry to Doctor Elwing.

As he approached the gathering, he took a moment to compose himself, then bowed deeply to the Duke and Duchess, showing the utmost respect for their esteemed presence.

"Greetings, my Lord," he said, his voice steady but laced with a hint of relief. "I have heard that the madam has awakened."

A wave of relief washed over Rossete’s features seeing the presence of Dr. Elwing, softening her tense expression. Finally, she had a valid reason to request the duke to set her down. Across the room, Duke Clifford’s cold, piercing gaze locked onto the doctor, sending an unmistakable message of authority and danger. The tension in the air thickened as the Duke's fierce demeanor contrasted sharply with the urgency of the situation. Doctor Elwing, acutely aware of the palpable hostility, felt a chill run down his spine. He glanced around the room, searching the faces of the staff for a glimmer of understanding or support at this charged moment.

His mind was a whirlwind of anxiety, each thought shrouded in fear as he scanned the surrounding faces. A silent plea echoed in his eyes, "What is happening?" Yet, his unspoken question went unanswered, as those around him avoided his gaze, their expressions a mixture of concern and reluctance.

Earlier, in the dimly lit corridor of Wildenburge, Doctor Elwing, the esteemed resident physician, hurried down the narrow passage, his heart racing with a mix of anxiety and determination. The news he had just received rang in his ears like a desperate call. Rosette, the beloved lady of the estate, had finally regained consciousness after a long and harrowing day spent in a deep coma. The flickering candles along the walls cast shifting shadows, mirroring the turmoil within him.

As he made his way toward their chamber, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that enveloped him. He had hoped, more than anything, that the Duke's anger would now begin to wane, yet the thought filled him with unease. He imagined the Duke's piercing gaze, sharp and predatory as if he were a mighty lion poised to pounce on its unsuspecting prey.

Elwing’s mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Every instinct urged him to escape the impending confrontation, to flee from the Duke’s wrath. Yet, he knew he had to maintain his composure. He had a duty to perform, and a life to tend to, and facing the Duke was part of that responsibility.

“He—hello, Dr. Elwing,” came a soft voice, lingering in the air. It was the Duchess, and her gentle tone was a welcome sound he hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity.

As she stood before him, a warm smile broke across her face, instantly touching the doctor’s heart and enveloping him in a wave of relief. Yet beneath that serene exterior, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the doctor, whose face was slick with cold sweat.

With a tender motion, she lifted her hand and lightly touched her husband’s face, her fingertips brushing over his cheek. The caress slowly traveled to his soft lips, trying to direct his attention away from the overwhelming rush of emotions and the weight of the situation. It was a moment meant to soothe him.

"My dear, you can put me down now. The doctor is here."

The ferocious lion, feared by all, revealed a startling truth. It was nothing more than a docile cub in her presence. His once-intimidating eyes now shimmered with unrestrained joy, as though the universe had realigned just for the moment when his beloved wife finally acknowledged him as her husband. Her lips curled into the sweetest smile, a radiant expression so genuine that it pierced through the Duke's hardened exterior, leaving him utterly captivated by the warmth of her tenderness.

As if guided by an invisible thread, his body moved on its own accord, closing the space between them. His lips brushed against hers with a boldness born not of calculation, but instinct—a raw, unguarded act that stole the breath from the room. Gasps echoed around them, the collective shock of the gathered audience palpable. Even the Duchess herself froze, wide-eyed and stunned, her cheeks aflame with a delicate hue of red.

The Duke gently lay her down onto the vast, plush bed, his movements as tender as if she were made of glass. The Duchess’s cheeks burned a brilliant crimson, her embarrassment betraying her despite the hands she pressed against her flushed face. She turned her head away, unable to meet his gaze.

Standing nearby, the butler, the maid, and the knight exchanged glances that carried a shared sentiment—silent yet unified in their sympathy for the Duchess. Their disapproving stares bore into the Duke, who seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil he’d caused. Their collective thoughts, unspoken but clear as day, all echoed the same accusation:

"The Duchess just woke up, and he dares to kiss her so casually?"

Of all of them, Daisy, the Duchess’s exclusive maid, was the most visibly perturbed. Her cheeks puffed indignantly as she glared at the Duke. The sheer audacity of his actions boiled into her mind.

"She just woke up with no memories, and this man thinks it's appropriate to fluster her like this?!"

In her mind’s eye, Daisy delivered justice, slapping the Duke across the face a hundred times in rapid succession, each strike a cathartic outlet for her outrage. Of course, in reality, her hands remained dutifully clasped in front of her, and her anger was reduced to a fiery glare that she hoped would pierce the Duke’s oblivious demeanor.

But the Duke, as always, was impervious to their judgment. His gaze rested solely on the Duchess, his expression one of quiet satisfaction, as though the rest of the world and their disapproval simply didn’t exist.

"My wife seems to have no memories," Duke Clifford said, his deep voice tinged with an uncharacteristic vulnerability. His usually steadfast gaze now shimmered with worry as he looked at the frail figure of his wife lying on the bed.

Doctor Elwing, an elderly man with a composed air and decades of experience, nodded calmly. He wasn’t surprised by the revelation of the Duchess's amnesia following trauma was not uncommon. Without hesitation, he stepped closer to the Duchess and began a thorough examination, his hands gentle yet methodical.

Duke Clifford stood at her bedside, his tall frame radiating tension despite his composed exterior. His eyes never left his wife, watching intently as the doctor worked. The room was silent save for the faint rustle of fabric and the Duchess's soft, steady breathing.

After several minutes, Doctor Elwing straightened, his expression carefully neutral. Clifford's chest tightened as he broke the silence.

"How is my wife?" he asked, his voice firm, though his worry bled through the cracks of his carefully controlled demeanor.

"There is no issue with Madam's physical health," the doctor replied reassuringly. "Her body is recovering well and should regain its strength soon."

Clifford exhaled a quiet sigh of relief but quickly pressed on, his brow furrowing deeper. "What about her memories? Will there be a chance she’ll regain them?"

Doctor Elwing hesitated for a moment, his thoughtful pause only heightening the Duke’s unease. Finally, he spoke, his tone measured but honest. "I cannot guarantee anything, Your Grace. However, there is hope. With the aid of specific medications and by revisiting places where Madam has strong, positive associations, her memory might gradually return. But she must avoid stress at all costs, it could hinder her progress or even worsen her condition."

The Duke’s jaw tightened as he absorbed the doctor’s words. His hand instinctively clenched at his side, a mixture of frustration and determination building within him. His gaze fell back to his wife, her serene but unfamiliar expression tugging at his heart.

"She will have everything she needs," he said quietly, more to himself than to the doctor. "I’ll ensure it."

Doctor Elwing nodded solemnly, gathering his tools. "With patience and care, there is always a chance, Duke Clifford. Never underestimate the power of familiarity and love in aiding recovery."

As the doctor departed, Clifford remained at his wife’s side, the room now heavy with quiet resolve.