CHAPTER

ONE

Tatiana

gazed wistfully out the tall, mullioned window of her bedchamber, admiring the

verdant hills rolling gently in the distance. A light breeze rustled the leaves

of the tall oak and maple trees dotted across the landscape. How she wished she

could feel that breeze and smell the fresh outdoors.

But

the walls of Beaumont Manor had been her home and her prison for all of her 19

years. She pressed her hand against the cool glass pane, imagining what it

might feel like to walk barefoot through the grass, the morning dew kissing her

skin.

As

a child, she'd begged and pleaded with her father to allow her outside, if only

for a few minutes under his close watch. But Lord Henri Beaumont refused to

even entertain such a notion. A young lady of noble birth had her place, and

the wilderness of nature was not it.

A

wistful sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against the window frame. She

wondered what the velvety petal of a rose would feel like between her

fingertips or the tickle of grass on her bare feet. What might it be like to

amble through the woods, no walls or fences hemming her in?

Just

then, Tatiana was startled from her reverie by a familiar stern voice.

"What

are you doing over there dreaming the day away?".

She

turned to see Ariana sweeping into her bedchamber, raven hair pulled back

severely beneath her white linen cap. Tatiana self-consciously smoothed the

skirt of her cornflower blue gown.

"I

was just...admiring the view," she offered meekly.

Ariana's

sharp gaze drifted toward the window. "It's time you stopped wasting time

on such fancies. You know Father would not approve."

Even

after all these years, Ariana remained a loyal follower of their father's

restrictive rules. She had embraced her role as mistress of Beaumont Manor and

saw no reason to yearn for anything more.

"I'm

sorry, you're right," Tatiana murmured, turning from the window. She knew

Ariana meant well in steering her toward more productive pursuits.

Tatiana

turned back to the window, lost again in bittersweet daydreams, when Ariana

spoke again.

“I’m

afraid I have some rather unfortunate news. Father informed me he has arranged

for you to be betrothed to the eldest Mancini son.”

Tatiana

whipped around, eyes wide. “What? No! Father cannot just marry me off without

so much as asking my opinion.”

Ariana

sighed. “You know very well he can. It is your duty as a daughter of the

Beaumont family. This match will bring greater prestige and fortune to our

house. You would do well to accept your fate gracefully, as I have accepted

mine as future mistress of the manor.”

Tatiana

fumed, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. How dare they barter her away

like chattel! She would not be chained to some man she barely knew, no matter

her father’s wishes.

Just

then, the bedchamber door opened, and three maidservants entered. The eldest,

Mrs. Bertram, stepped forward.

“Pardon

the intrusion, Miss Tatiana. But your father has instructed us to help you

prepare for the Orthavian bathing rite.”

Tatiana

scowled. The ceremonial cleansing was meant to purify a bride-to-be’s body

before marriage. She wanted no part of such traditions - not when her father

was forcing her into this betrothal.

But

she knew the maids were only following orders. With a resigned sigh, she waved

them over to the adjoining washroom.

Mrs.

Bertram directed the two younger maids to ready the ornate tub and begin

heating the water. Tatiana stood rigidly, watching their preparations. She

cared little for their fussing and primping. This whole ritual felt like

another way to strip her of what little freedom she had.

At

last, the bath was prepared with aromatic oils and flower petals strewn across

the surface. The maids stood waiting to aid Tatiana in disrobing.

“I

can manage myself, thank you,” she said tersely, turning her back to them so

she could unbutton her gown.

“But

Miss, we are supposed to help bathe you thoroughly as part of the ritual,” one

of the younger maids protested.

Tatiana

whirled around, eyes flashing. “I am fully capable of bathing alone! I neither

need nor want your assistance.”

The

maid shrank back at her mistress’s tone. Tatiana felt a twinge of guilt but

refused to back down. This was her last stand before she was married off and

truly lost control of her fate.

Once

fully undressed, Tatiana stepped into the fragrant bath, letting out an

involuntary sigh as the warmth enveloped her. She took her time, savoring this

rare moment of peace and solitude.

A

gentle cough interrupted her reverie. Mrs. Bertram stood solemnly by the tub’s

edge.

“Begging

your pardon, miss. But it is tradition for the maids to wash the body of the

bride-to-be while reciting blessings for her future union.”

Tatiana’s

jaw tensed. Even now, they would not grant her a few minutes of autonomy.

“Please,

Miss Tatiana,” the older woman implored. “Allow us to complete the ritual so we

do not face punishment. And so, you may enter your marriage with a purified

body.”

Tatiana

met the woman’s earnest gaze. She had no desire to bring trouble to the

servants for her own defiance. With a resigned nod, she relinquished, leaning

back so the maids could lather soap over her hair. As their fingers massaged

her scalp, the women sang old wedding hymns passed down for generations.

Mrs.

Bertram squeezed her shoulder reassuringly as she sent the younger women to

fetch towels.  “It is a grave wrong for

one as lowly as me to doubt the innocence of a Beaumont, Mrs. Tatiana. But alas,

the holy scriptures demand it.”

"I

have yet to know a man in the most intimate of ways," Tatiana recited in a

dull voice.

"Excellent!"

she exclaimed with a clap. "Miss Tatiana, you will make a truly splendid

bride.

The

maids worked with practiced efficiency. One dipped a long-handled loofah in a

bowl of fragrant water, gently scrubbing Tatiana’s arms and torso. The other,

hands nimble and reverent, cleaned her feet, whispering blessings of fertility

with each stroke. The scent of rosewater and jasmine hung heavy in the air,

masking the nervous sweat prickling on Tatiana's skin.

Mrs.

Bertram, her face etched with a solemn expression, stood guard by the tub. Her

eyes, however, held a flicker of sympathy that Tatiana dared not acknowledge.

The rhythmic chanting of the hymns grew louder, punctuated by the splash of

water and the soft squeak of the loofah.

As

the maids moved on to Tatiana’s back, the older woman spoke again, her voice

barely a murmur. “The moonflower petals, Miss Tatiana, a symbol of new

beginnings and purity.” She reached into the water, gingerly picking up a large

white bloom and placing it over Tatiana’s heart. It felt cool and surprisingly

heavy against her skin.

Suddenly,

a sharp rapping echoed from the bathroom door, startling everyone. The younger

maid jumped, her hand accidentally sending a spray of water across the room.

“Apologies

for the intrusion,” came a gruff voice from outside. “Lord Beaumont requests

Miss Tatiana’s presence downstairs. Urgent business.”

A

cold dread coiled in Tatiana’s stomach. Urgent business? What could possibly be

so urgent it couldn’t wait until after the ritual? She stole a glance at Mrs.

Bertram, whose face was a mask of worry.

“Tell

Lord Beaumont we cannot be disturbed,” Mrs. Bertram instructed, her voice

surprisingly firm. “The purification ritual for the bride is a sacred tradition

that cannot be interrupted.”

Another

hesitant beat of silence followed before the voice replied, “With all due

respect, Mrs. Bertram, the matter pertains to Miss Tatiana’s dowry. It seems

there may be a slight…discrepancy.”

Tatiana’s

breath hitched. Her dowry? This couldn’t be happening.

“Please,

inform Lord Beaumont that Miss Tatiana will attend to him as soon as the ritual

is complete,” Mrs. Bertram pressed, her voice tight with controlled anger.

A

final, “Very well,” came through the door, followed by retreating footsteps.

Silence descended once more, heavy with tension. The chanting of the maids had

faltered, replaced by nervous glances exchanged between them.

Tatiana

closed her eyes, the moonflower petal feeling like a weight upon her chest.

What kind of discrepancy could there be? Had something gone wrong with the land

her father had promised?

Looking

at Mrs. Bertram’s grim face, Tatiana knew postponing the inevitable was

pointless. “Tell Lord Beaumont I’ll be down shortly,” she said, her voice

hoarse.

The

older woman nodded, a flicker of sadness passing through her eyes. The fragrant

water, once a source of solace, now felt like a prison. As the maids helped her

out of the tub, wrapping her in a soft linen sheet, Tatiana couldn’t help but

feel a dark premonition settle over her.