The Criswell's Curse

“Earl Hillgarden, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Ophelia bobbed her head to Patricia’s father as he arrived in his carriage. His appearance was a lot older than what she had previously expected: his brown eyes appeared tired, already carrying the burden of age alongside his hair, whose color began to fade, embracing white and gray.

“You flatter me, Lady Ophelia. I am the one who is honored to have deserved your trust for such a special event.” The Earl politely replied after bowing.

He appeared to be licking the young lady’s boots as she was from the Criswell’s lineage, the one family he needed to consider. And yet, seeing her polite smile, her graceful stance, he couldn’t help but feel suspicious. Wasn’t she far too perfect, far too... unrealistic?

For the vassals of the Criswell’s house, Ophelia’s treatment wasn’t a secret. They knew how she had been exiled in Alvin’s mansion for years, how her illness was a simple lie to prevent any prospect partners from approaching the Duke’s fortune. Even then, these were speculations as none had a glimpse of her; simply relying on information from the servants’ conversations. Not a single noble tried to deny the whispers forming in high society; none tried to help her in any shape or form out of fear and neglect.

And yet, the fifteen-year-old girl who knew nothing of the world, of etiquette, stood in front of him, graceful as the wind, kind as a flower. According to the servants, they locked her in her room, like a caged beast, ever since her birth so how could a person like that attain such eloquence with just one social appearance?

After being informed of the event, the Earl investigated the girls’ past. From some former employees’ point of view, they showed her complete neglect. She didn’t know how to read, how to write, how to dance. She lacked any type of education, any type of teachings.

He glanced at the entourage standing behind her. Not a single handmaid nor lady-in-waiting, only servants hired from the Wharton’s duchy. It was common knowledge that royalty and daughters of Dukes could ask for two ladies-in-waiting, both women from similar aging but from other noble houses that would serve as companions and sometimes, servants. That was the position Holly and Patricia so eagerly wished to take for themselves, as that meant they would be following Amanda to every social event, yet the blood-haired girl was so egocentric and cruel she kept them around like dogs, as if they weren’t humans at all.

As the Earl continued to observe her attentively, Ophelia understood she had met a rather interesting foe. He was careful, cautious, not easily tricked by facades or bound by sudden bursts of emotions.

Devlin Hillgarden. A man who was born a commoner yet attained his title through heavy monetary contributions to the crown. Most of the high nobility, including the Criswell’s, despised him since he didn’t possess the rightful blood of a noble. Even then, this man didn’t care.

According to words floating in the wind, the Earl was born out of wedlock on a small farm in the Evan’s duchy. Somehow, he had a lucky investment who gave him an extensive fortune. He had a knack for business, knowing when to enter and when to leave, barely having any losses in his bets. Besides this more accurate rumor, other gossips turned darker, heavier. Some said he kidnapped a noble child, blackmailing them to enter the blue-bloods; others simply believe he had an affair with an older widow, who ended up dying and leaving her entire fortune to him in her will; some even thought the Devil himself sent him, striving to disrupt the natural order of the world, of the ones blessed by God.

Of course, no one knew for sure what had happened, but where mystery existed, gossips were bound to appear, and where there was fire, there was fuel.

The Earl was now a social figure, a martyr, some may say, for the low-born who aspired to attain his power, his type of status. The lower classes favored him since he had been the first commoner to attain the title of Earl, beating the few Barons scattered here and there. In fact, his influence ran so deep, one word from him could ostracize a man and, in the worst-case scenario, their business.

“Father!” Patricia ran from the tables, a wide smile stamped on her lips. Her arms open, quickly hugging the man who’d brought her into this world. “I am so glad you could make it!”

“Of course, my dear. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He kindly smiled at his daughter, patting her blushed cheeks. Moments later, his attention shifted to his servants. “Make sure you work diligently and don’t stain our family’s name.”

“Our prestigious guests have arrived.” A young butler appeared, trying to catch his breath from the hasty run his body had just undergone.

“I shall take my leave then. Lady Patricia.” Ophelia smiled politely before turning her feet and walking towards the big entrance, followed by Devlin. They both stopped in front of the thick gates while a vast line of several carriages patiently awaited.

Finally, the game was about to begin.