After the Arranged Marriage, Why Did the Cold Duke Cross the Line?

Parchment Warning

Caroline jolted awake from the dream, the birthmark on her inner wrist burning hot. She sat up, fingertips brushing the faint golden mark — she knew the parchment had updated again. In her mind’s eye, the words appeared: “Your uncle will transfer thirty thousand gold pounds tonight.”Time was running out.

She threw off the covers and slipped from the bed without lighting a lamp. Moonlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, casting a narrow bright stripe on the carpet. She pulled the lavender sachet from beneath her pillow and tucked it into her sleeve — the scent kept her sharp. She didn’t call for Bess; she dared not alert anyone. Last night’s dream had warned her: this time, she must go alone.

The accounting office lay on the west side of the main house, near William’s study. On ordinary nights, servants patrolled, but tonight all was unnaturally quiet. She crept along the wall, steps feather-light. At the corridor’s end, the grandfather clock struck twice, its chime echoing through the empty hall. She paused for a minute, made sure no one appeared, then moved on.

The accounting room door stood ajar, lamp still lit — highly irregular. William never let candles burn overnight, especially in a place storing finances. She eased the door open a c***k and heard the rustle of paper. Someone was inside.

Holding her breath, she peeked through. A single oil lamp burned on the desk, flame trembling faintly. Several ledgers lay open, pens and ink untouched beside them. She recognized the latest family accounts. William wasn’t there, but the pen’s nib retained warmth, the inkwell lid ajar — someone had just been writing.

She hurried to the desk, flipped to the last page. A transaction of thirty thousand gold pounds leapt out at her: recipient, “East London Credit Bank,”authorized signatory, “William Holt.”She stared at the name for two seconds, then touched the page — the ink was still wet; her fingertip came away with a damp smudge.

From her skirt pocket she drew the wax seal mold — a keepsake from her mother, used to verify official documents. Pressing it beside the signature, she saw the pattern misaligned by half a hair’s breadth. The seal was forged. William had fabricated the account to move the money.

She closed the ledger, poised to take it, when footsteps sounded outside. Slow, steady, deliberate — William’s gait. Each night before bed he inspected the accounting room; tonight he was later than usual, but he had come nonetheless.

No time to hide in a cabinet. She darted behind the tapestry curtain by the fireplace. The heavy fabric brushed the floor, concealing her hem. Back pressed to the wall, hand over her chest, she forced her breathing shallow.

The door swung open. William entered, clad in a dark brown checked robe, left hand rotating the emerald cufflink. His gaze shot straight to the desk — the ledger had been disturbed. His brow furrowed, eyes scanning the room.

Then the door burst open. Bess rushed in, hair disheveled, sweat glistening on her face.

“My lady, go!” she called, breathless. “The guards are coming!”

William spun around, cold fury in his eyes. “How did you get here? Who sent you?”

Bess gave no answer, only planted herself in the doorway as if shielding someone behind her. William strode forward, seized her by the hair, and yanked her backward. Bess cried out in pain but offered no resistance.

From behind the curtain, Caroline watched, chest tightening. She longed to run out — but could not. Appearing now would mean both their arrests. Biting her lip, she held still.

Dragging Bess toward the exit, William snarled, “I warned you never to touch the ledgers! If it happens again, I’ll send you all to the workhouse!” His voice echoed down the corridor.

As Bess was hauled out, she glanced back. Briefly — but she saw the curtain stir. She blinked, as if to say: I know you’re there.

The door shut. Footsteps faded.

Caroline waited five minutes until the corridor fell utterly silent. She stepped from behind the curtain, swiftly tucked the entire ledger into the hidden pocket beneath her hoop skirt — the bulge could be flattened while walking. She blew out the lamp, cracked the door to check outside.

All clear.

Retracing her path, she quickened her pace. Before returning to her room, she detoured toward the kitchen. Beside the second-floor kitchen was a small oven; Bess had once told her of a hidden compartment there. She couldn’t risk going straight to her room — if William ordered a search, that would be the first place.

At the oven, her fingers probed the mortar joints. The third brick loosened, revealing a hollow. She stuffed the ledger inside, covered it with ash, and only then returned to her chamber.

Everything looked undisturbed. She sat on the bed’s edge, removed her shoes. Her ankle throbbed — the injury from scaling the palace wall. Untended, it was badly swollen, but she had no time to care.

She took out the lavender sachet; the scent had faded. Placing it beneath her pillow, she lay down and closed her eyes.

Bess being dragged away played over and over in her mind. She’d known Bess was loyal, but never imagined she’d confront William outright. He was heir to a marquis; one word from him could cost a servant her life. Yet Bess had charged in.

Opening her eyes to the ceiling, Caroline resolved: she couldn’t keep reacting to the parchment’s warnings. She had to act. Bess had taken the risk for her — she had to save her.

Far off, a wisp of white smoke rose from the kitchen chimney. Dawn approached. A new day was beginning.

Sitting up, she drew a sheet of blank paper and a pencil from the drawer’s depths. Slowly, clearly, she began to

write:

Arrange for another maid to deliver meals to the side hall.

Have a kitchen hand distract the guards.

Meet Bess herself to check for injuries.

Swap the ledgers — return the forged copy, secure the real one elsewhere.

Folding the paper, she tucked it into the sachet. At morning’s light, she would ask another maid to pass on the message.

Crossing to the window, she saw the sky edged in pale gray. The manor still slept.

In a low voice, she said, “Bess, wait… we’ll turn this around soon.”

Downstairs, keys clinked. The side hall door opened. Shadows escorted a figure toward the cellar. Bess’s lilac dress flashed briefly in the darkness.

Caroline’s grip tightened on the windowsill.

Two guards stood at the cellar entrance. They took the prisoner, pushed her inside. Iron doors thudded shut, chains wrapped tight.

One guard glanced up at her window.

Caroline shrank back, out of sight.

Returning to sit, she opened her diary. No emotion — only facts:

*Thirty thousand gold transfer record obtained.

Bess arrested, imprisoned in west side-hall cellar.

Ledger hidden behind third brick behind kitchen oven.

At noon tomorrow, kitchen delivers soup to side hall.*

She closed the book, blew out the candle.

Dawn was near.

Leaning against the headboard, she stayed awake, eyes fixed on the window.

Sunlight crept onto the sill.

A sparrow landed, pecked twice at the glass.