My Bratty Wife
Chapter 155 - Hundred And Fifty Five

Chapter 155: Chapter Hundred And Fifty Five

Few Days Before Cassandra’s Death

"Cassandra," Countess Helene called out, her voice echoing through the grand hallway as she entered Cassandra’s room.

"I’m here, Countess," Cassandra replied meekly, her voice low. She stood by the window, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her gaze fixed on the floor.

Countess Helene surveyed Cassandra with a look of open disgust. "Doris," she barked, turning to Cassandra’s maid, "Apply more makeup to her face. I don’t want to be seeing those... blemishes. It disgusts me." She gestured dismissively towards Cassandra’s face, her nose wrinkling.

Cassandra bowed her head low, her cheeks flushing slightly beneath the scrutiny.

Doris stepped forward. "Certainly, Countess." She glanced sympathetically at Cassandra.

Cassandra kept her head bowed, her long, curly auburn hair falling forward to partially obscure her face. "I’m sorry, Countess," she whispered, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"You should be," Countess Helene snapped. "And don’t forget your veil. That’s what I came to tell you. You’re not to be seen without it today. We wouldn’t want to offend our host with your... unfortunate appearance." With a final glare, she turned and left the room, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor, her expensive silk dress rustling around her.

Cassandra turned to Doris, her eyes filled with a quiet sadness. "Let’s do what Countess Helene wants, Doris. I don’t want you to be in trouble because of me."

Doris offered a reassuring smile. "Of course, Lady Cassandra. It won’t take long." She picked up a powder puff and began to gently dab at Cassandra’s face, covering the faint freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. "I’m so happy about your engagement today," she said softly, trying to inject a note of cheer into her voice.

Cassandra just stared at her reflection in the mirror, her expression lifeless. "At least... at least they don’t use a whip, right, Doris?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Doris’s smile faltered slightly, but she quickly recovered. "No, my lady," she said, her voice firm. "You’ll be treated with respect. The grand Duke is nothing like... this." She didn’t need to name Countess Helene. They both understood.

Doris styled Cassandra’s hair and helped her with her veil, a heavy, dark fabric that obscured most of her face. It was a symbol of her supposed ’unfortunate appearance’, a constant reminder of her place in the household.

"You will be free from this family soon," Doris said, her eyes sparkling with hope. "And you won’t have to wear this veil anymore."

Cassandra let out a small, hesitant smile, the first genuine smile she’d shown all morning. It was a fragile thing, born of a tiny spark of hope. "That would be...nice," she whispered. "No veil, no whip, no hate, no father, no Countess Helene."

Doris squeezed Cassandra’s hand gently. "No Countess Helene," she echoed, her voice filled with warmth. "You’ll have your own home, your own life. You’ll be free to be yourself."

Cassandra looked at Doris, a hint of hope beginning to glimmer in her eyes. "Do you really think so?" she asked quietly.

Doris nodded firmly. "I do, my lady. This will be a new beginning for you."

"I hope you’re right, Doris," Cassandra whispered, her gaze drifting back to her reflection in the mirror. She looked at the veil that covered her face, a symbol of her oppression, and then at her own eyes, which seemed to hold a flicker of hope. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining a life free from the Countess’s cruelty, a life where she could finally be herself. A life... without a veil.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Lady Cassandra," a servant called from the hallway, "It’s time. Everyone is at the courtyard."

Cassandra took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She looked at Doris, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and a flicker of anticipation.

Doris gave her a reassuring nod. "Go on, my lady," she whispered. "I’m right behind you."

Cassandra took a shaky breath, trying to compose herself. She smoothed down the folds of her dress, her hands trembling slightly. With a small, hesitant step, she walked towards the door and out into the hallway.

The courtyard was bustling with activity. Servants scurried about, loading luggage into waiting carriages. Count Edmund stood near the lead carriage, his face grim and unreadable. Countess Helene was supervising the proceedings, her voice sharp and critical as she barked orders at the servants. Isabella stood beside her mother, her expression a mixture of excitement and... something else. Something that looked suspiciously like sympathy, Cassandra thought fleetingly.

Cassandra approached the carriage, her footsteps slow and hesitant. She kept her head bowed, avoiding eye contact with her family.

"Well, there you are, Cassandra," Countess Helene said, her voice dripping with thinly veiled disdain. "About time. Don’t just stand there gawking. Get in."

Cassandra mumbled a quiet, "Yes, Countess," and climbed into the carriage.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Count Edmund sat in one corner, his gaze fixed out the window, his face a mask of displeasure. Countess Helene occupied the opposite corner, her lips pursed in disapproval. Isabella sat beside her mother, her eyes flitting between Cassandra and her parents.

Isabella leaned forward slightly, a tentative smile on her face. "Cassandra," she began softly, "I was just wondering..."

"Isabella!" Countess Helene interrupted sharply, her eyes flashing a warning. "Don’t bother your sister. She’s probably tired and doesn’t want to talk."

Isabella’s smile faltered. She glanced at Cassandra, her expression apologetic. "I just wanted to..." she started again, her voice low.

"Isabella!" Countess Helene’s voice was now laced with a warning. "I said, don’t bother her. And that’s quite enough from you."

Isabella shrank back in her seat, her cheeks flushed. She looked at Cassandra again, her eyes filled with a silent message of apology.

Count Edmund finally spoke, his voice cold and authoritative. "Cassandra," he said, his gaze never leaving the window, "you will remain quiet during our stay in Carleton. Do you understand? Not a single word unless you are spoken to directly."

Cassandra’s heart sank. She knew better than to disobey her father. "Okay, Father," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The carriage lurched forward, the wheels rumbling over the cobblestones.

Cassandra sat quietly in her corner, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the floor. She didn’t dare look at her family. She knew that any glance in their direction would be met with either cold indifference or open hostility.

The journey to Carleton stretched out, long and agonizing. The silence in the carriage was oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves and the occasional sigh from Countess Helene. Cassandra remained silent, her mind swirling with fear and uncertainty.

She thought about her upcoming marriage, a marriage she had no say in, a marriage arranged solely to benefit her family. She thought about the man she was to marry, a man she had never met, a man who could very well be just as cruel as her stepmother and uncaring as her father.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sounds of the carriage, trying to escape the suffocating atmosphere. She longed for the quiet solitude of her room, even though it was a room filled with fear and loneliness. At least there, she was away from the constant scrutiny, the constant criticism, the constant reminders of her worthlessness.