A Touch of Shadow: The Duke's Obsession

Chapter 17: The Tea

"Your foresight is truly unmatched, my lady," Charlotte said with practiced grace, bowing her head low, her voice laced with admiration that bordered on reverence.

Yvaine Emberlyn did not smile. Her gaze sharpened instead, cool and deliberate, as though already several steps ahead of everyone else.

"Go and contact the two men my father left in my charge," she instructed, her tone calm but leaving no room for disobedience. "Have them wait at the charity hall tomorrow. I will meet them there and give my orders personally."

Charlotte straightened at once, her posture obedient and precise. "As you command, my lady."

The following morning dawned pale and quiet.

Just after Caelith Emberlyn had finished her breakfast, while the last traces of steam still curled faintly from her tea, a senior maid from Old Madam Valehart’s household arrived at her courtyard.

Her expression was solemn, her steps measured.

"The Old Madam requests your presence in the main hall."

The words were formal, but the weight behind them was unmistakable.

Though Caelith did not know the reason for the summons, a faint unease stirred within her chest. Still, she showed none of it. Rising gracefully, she smoothed the folds of her robe and made her way toward the main hall without hesitation.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavy.

Old Madam Valehart sat in the seat of honor, her posture upright despite her age, her presence commanding the room like an immovable pillar. Beside her stood Yvaine, composed and demure, her hands folded neatly before her as though she were the very picture of filial devotion.

"Your granddaughter-in-law greets you, Grandmother," Caelith said, bowing deeply, her voice steady and respectful.

Old Madam Valehart lifted her gaze slowly, her eyes sharp despite the years.

"At yesterday’s flower-viewing banquet at the Marquise Yonathan estate..." she began, her tone measured but cold. "You did something quite improper. Do you know your fault?"

A slight furrow appeared between Caelith’s brows, more from confusion than guilt.

"I do not know in what way I have erred, my lady," she replied evenly.

The old madam’s expression hardened.

"Yvaine informs me that you left in haste, causing the ladies of other noble households to whisper behind your back," she said sternly. "They now say that the Lady of the Valehart household lacks proper decorum. Our family holds its reputation above all else. As the heir’s wife, every word you speak and every action you take reflects upon this house. How could you behave with such carelessness?"

Before Caelith could respond, Yvaine stepped forward slightly, her voice soft, almost reluctant—yet carefully measured.

"I had no wish to trouble Grandmother with such a matter..." she said, lowering her gaze modestly. "But the ladies present would not let it rest. They questioned me again and again. They said that you, as the rightful Lady Valehart, departed so abruptly that it seemed as though you disdained the Marquise Yonathan’s hospitality. When Grandmother pressed me, I did not dare conceal the truth..."

Her words were gentle, but each one fell with calculated precision.

"My cousin must be mistaken," Caelith replied, her tone calm and unwavering. "When I took my leave, I had already informed the heir."

"You will not argue further!"

Old Madam Valehart’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and final.

"This matter is your fault. You have caused the household to lose face!" she declared. "The charity hall at the Moon Temple is a place of purity and discipline. Today, you will go there and copy the Holy Book, so that you may reflect properly upon your mistakes."

The judgment was absolute.

Caelith knew well that once the old matriarch had made her decision, no amount of reasoning would change it. To resist would only invite harsher consequences.

She lowered her head in quiet submission.

"Yes, Madam."

At her side, a fleeting glimmer of satisfaction flashed through Yvaine’s eyes—gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of gentle concern.

"My sister has not been in good health," she said softly, as though reluctant to speak. "Perhaps, this once, she could be spared?"

"Rules come before sentiment," Old Madam Valehart replied coldly, unmoved. "There can be no favoritism."

"There is no need for my sister to plead on my behalf," Caelith said, her voice calm, almost serene. "I will go at once."

Without waiting for dismissal, she turned and left the hall, her steps steady, her back straight.

Back in her courtyard, Caelith wasted no time.

"Dolly, prepare the writing materials," she instructed.

Her voice remained composed, but there was a quiet resolve beneath it.

Then, without delay, she entered the waiting carriage and set out for the charity hall at the Moon Temple.

Dolly, however, could no longer contain herself. Her face flushed with indignation, her hands clenched tightly at her sides as she watched her mistress depart.

"It is clearly Miss Yvaine stirring up trouble on purpose! How could the Old Madam believe her so easily?"

"There is no use speaking of it," Caelith replied, leaning back against the carriage wall. "Copying scriptures at the charity hall may at least grant me a measure of quiet."

Half an hour later, the carriage arrived at the Moon Temple.

The charity hall was serene and sparsely populated, its stillness imbued with the solemnity of a sacred place. A monk received Caelith and led her through the courtyard into a quiet chamber at the rear.

"Madam, you may copy the scripture here."

Caelith thanked the abbot with proper decorum. Dolly arranged the writing implements—quill, ink, paper, and brushes—upon the desk, and Caelith began transcribing the sacred text.

By midday, a young novice monk entered quietly, bearing a tray of tea. Caelith accepted the cup and took a small, measured sip.

She had only just set the cup down when a voice sounded from outside, calling for Dolly. It was said that a patron in the front courtyard recognized her and wished to see her.

Dolly glanced at Caelith.

"If someone is looking for you, go and see them," Caelith said casually.

"Yes, my lady."

Once Dolly left, Caelith was alone in the chamber.

She returned to her seat before the desk—but suddenly, a strange heat stirred in her abdomen. Her limbs grew weak, her strength ebbing away as if drained by some unseen force.

Her heart sank.

The tea.

There was something wrong with the tea.

Bracing herself against the edge of the desk, she tried to rise, but dizziness overtook her. Her vision blurred.

With trembling hands, she hurriedly took out a small medicinal incense pellet she carried with her. She placed it in her mouth and bit down hard. A sharp, bitter taste spread instantly across her tongue.

The weakness in her limbs eased slightly—but only just. Her body still felt heavy, unsteady.

Who had done this?

Could it truly be... her cousin Yvaine?

At that very moment, Yvaine’s voice sounded clearly from outside the door:

"Go in. And remember—be thorough. Leave no trace behind."