Page 19 of The Duke Who Claimed Her

She was a fool, and she would never be free. And her father, as had been the case for as long as she could remember, always got what he wanted. Her marriage was not an escape, but a different type of prison, and her father still held the keys.

Chapter Seven

The wedding day arrived, and while Arabella had not known what to expect, she could say with certainty that it was not what she had imagined.

She woke up to the sound of rain lashing against the windows of her room. When she forced herself from bed and threw back the curtains, she sighed with dread to see that a storm had come in overnight. There were black clouds, torrential wind, and rain that fell so thick that she could hardly see further than a few feet.

The morning was spent getting ready.

She supposed that was expected, at least. She had maids to help her. They chatted merrily, smiling, acting as if the day were a special one. But the cheer was forced, the happiness was faked, and Arabella simply stood there as her outfit was selected, donned, and touched up so that she looked every inch the bride.

When she was ready, she stood before the mirror, taking herself in one last time. Her gown was green, the same one she had worn when the Duke saved her. Her auburn hair was styled in ringlets. Her makeup was minimal, while her cheeks were brushed with rouge to match her hair and the red jewelry she wore. Though she indeed looked beautiful, it was hard to feel any joy.

I am alone now, and I feel I will be for some time to come.

All the while, her father’s warning echoed in her head. She had spent the week so convinced that today would be the start of something new, as if marriage to the Duke might bring her the type of freedom that she had so long desired. But that simply was not the case.

Never mind that she hardly knew her husband. Never mind that he had married her mainly so she could help raise his nephew. The fact was that she was alone in this; nobody cared about her beyond how she might be used. Worse still, there was no one she could talk to about it.

The rain fell heavily outside. The wind howled. And Arabella stood alone, helpless, and desperate to be saved once again. Only this time, she knew that such a thing would not happen. Her fate was sealed.

The ceremony was to take place in the same abbey where the Duke had found her the previous week. Not too far from her father’s estate. Once Arabella was ready, she rode with her father to its location.

He said nothing to her on the entire trip. No well wishes. No more warnings. But he watched her the entire time, a smirk on his lips, and a look in his eyes that reminded her of their conversation the previous night. Oh, how she wanted to stand up to him. How she wanted to appear brave and happy, to give the appearance of a woman reborn. But that look… She knew it well, and she wilted under it like a flower denied light.

The ceremony was meant to be a small affair, which was fine since Arabella had few friends and no one she particularly wanted to see there. The rain still poured heavily when the carriage came to a stop in the small glade, and her father cursed it as he stepped out and extended his hand to her.

“No surprises this time, Arabella,” he warned her, as if any of this was his fault. “Do not dare embarrass me.”

“I would not dream of it, Father,” she said meekly as she took his hand.

“Good.”

The interior of the abbey was plain and lacked decorations; nothing indicated that this was a wedding ceremony. There were two dozen guests seated along the pews, and not a single one smiled, beamed, or shed tears as Arabella entered.

She saw the Duke immediately.

He stood tall and proud at the altar. Dressed in a dark suit, hands folded in front of him, he did not smile when he saw her. He showed no sign of relief, nothing on his face to give her confidence. Instead, he looked resigned, almost bored, as if he just wanted this to end.

As Arabella started down the aisle, she watched the Duke closely. She searched his handsome face and looked for his gray eyes. While he had his reasons, she wished he would acknowledge her with a look that showed he was grateful and that she had nothing to fear.

But he turned as she started her approach, his expression hard, his mood apathetic and disinterested.

This is a good thing. This is the right thing. This is not a mistake.

Arabella repeated those words in her head as she walked toward the altar. At least, his presence was a good sign. When she saw the Dowager in the front row, she smiled at her, needing someone there to remind her this was not the end. But even the Dowager looked more resigned than happy, and Arabella’s heart sank.

“Sorry, we are late,” Arabella said in a whisper when she reached the altar and stood across from the Duke. “The weather…”

He frowned at the comment. “It is fine. Let us get this over with.”

She winced and looked away, aware of how distant his words felt. Then again, what else could she expect? She knew he was not marrying her for love or romance. She understood what he wanted. And since she was still trying to prove herself capable, there was a good chance he was just as uncertain about this marriage as she was.

So, the ceremony began, and its tone perfectly matched Arabella’s mood.

In truth, she hardly noticed it at all. She watched the ceremony unfold as if she were separate from her own body. Words were spoken. Agreements were made. The Duke stood stiff and silent the whole time. If there was romance, it was not present in that small abbey.

And then they were announced man and wife…