My Cruel Sister Laughed That No One Would Choose Me — Then The Duke Destroyed Her Entire Life
Part 1
The worn velvet of my vanity stool offered the only comfort in my drafty bedroom as I traced its frayed edges.
Downstairs, our townhouse vibrated with the frantic energy of maids pressing imported silks for my older sister.
Mirrors throughout the main floors reflected Megan’s undisputed perfection.
Our father had poured the absolute last of his dwindling fortunes into ensuring her success this season.
Creditors pounded on our heavy oak doors twice a week.
They were held at bay only by the promise that Megan would secure a titled match before the ball concluded.
I existed entirely as an afterthought, burdened with unruly chestnut hair and eyes the color of strong tea.
Whenever guests arrived, I instinctively blended into the heavy damask curtains.
I haunted my own life, watching my sister orchestrate the room with calculated grace.
Tension reached a sickening peak on the late afternoon of the grand ball.
A sympathetic housemaid had spent three sleepless nights secretly altering a gown for me.
Carefully stepping into the fragile garment, I felt a rare spark of hope flutter in my chest.
Footfalls echoed loudly on the wooden floorboards outside my room as Megan swept through the doorway without knocking.
She paused, her sharp blue eyes scanning me from head to toe.
Silence stretched tightly between us as I held my breath.
Laughter suddenly erupted from her painted lips, hitting me like a physical blow.
My mother’s old rags cannot hide your complete lack of charm, you have no title and absolutely no beauty.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent them from falling.
She scoffed that a gutter rat could not eclipse a diamond, warning me not to ruin her prospects.
Stay in the corners, keep your head down, because mark my words, no one will choose you.
I carefully smoothed the skirts of my lilac gown, determining I would not stay home and weep.
I would attend the ball and retain my final shred of dignity.
A thousand crystal chandeliers dripped with wax over the sprawling dance floor.
I immediately retreated toward the potted palms bordering the eastern wall just as commanded.
Conversations nearby suddenly halted as a strange, palpable hush rolled across the massive ballroom.
Standing at the top of the marble staircase was Craig, the incredibly wealthy and feared Duke of Ashbury.
He rarely attended social functions, possessing an immense fortune and a terrifyingly handsome figure.
Megan immediately abandoned her suitors, pinching her own cheeks to summon a rosy flush.
Descending the marble steps, the Duke ignored the frantic bowing of the lesser gentry.
Megan stepped forward gracefully as he reached the final stair, offering a perfect sweeping curtsy.
The Duke paused, looking down at her with an utterly unreadable expression.
Without uttering a single syllable in response, he stepped neatly around her as if she were an inconvenient piece of furniture.
Megan’s face flushed a deep, ugly crimson, her carefully constructed facade shattering completely.
Striding purposefully across the center of the ballroom, the Duke ignored the parting crowd.
His path was a perfectly straight line leading directly toward the eastern wall.
Panic seized my chest as I pressed myself harder against the cold plaster wall behind the potted palm.
Stopping directly in front of me, his large frame completely blocked my view of the bewildered ballroom.
He spoke my name, his deep, resonant baritone sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
I told him I believed he was mistaken, that my sister was the one standing near the stairs.
He replied that he was entirely aware of who my sister was and where she currently stood.
He crossed it to find the woman who spent an hour yesterday afternoon arguing with a bookseller over the mistranslation of Homer’s Odyssey.
Shock paralyzed my vocal cords.
He stepped half a pace closer, offering his large gloved hand.
He declared that this waltz was promised to him.
Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand directly into his.
He guided me firmly out from behind the potted palms and into the center of the brightly lit dance floor.
As his arm encircled my waist, pulling me flush against him, I allowed myself one brief glance toward the staircase.
Megan stood rigidly among her shattered court, her face pale and twisted with a mixture of fury and disbelief.
He stated intelligence was the rarest commodity in London, and yesterday he had listened to me speak with fierce, unbridled passion.
No one had ever spoken to me with such raw, unfiltered honesty.
While a fragile connection blossomed on the dance floor, a thoroughly poisonous plot incubated near the grand staircase.
Humiliation burned like acid in Megan’s veins.
Scanning the crowded room with calculating desperation, she spotted Dan, the ruthless financier who held our father’s crushing debts.
A cruel idea crystallized in her mind as she approached him.
She told him our father was utterly ruined, but there was a solution that avoided public scandal.
She offered a tight, alluring smile and told him to marry me, to take me as payment for the debt.
Dan stroked his chin, a predatory gleam illuminating his dark eyes as he observed me waltzing with the Duke.
Before the Duke could offer his arm to escort me from the floor, a loud voice shattered the polite applause.
Dan marched onto the edge of the dance floor, dragging my visibly sweating father by the elbow.
He announced loudly that my father owed him twenty thousand pounds, and his estate was entirely bankrupt.
Loud gasps rippled through the assembled aristocracy as tears of agonizing mortification pricked my eyes.
Since my father could not pay in gold, Dan declared he would accept a marriage contract in lieu of payment.
My own father handed over the marriage contract to a ruthless monster, trading my life to settle his gambling debts while the entire ballroom watched.
