Page 24 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

My insides are like a ball of lead, sitting heavy inside as my cousin makes his way to the door. “Goodnight, sweet cousin,” he coos. “I trust that you will sleep soundly now that all of this is in hand.”

But how can I? None of this is right. Somehow, I must make the duke see reason. He doesn’t want to marry me, and I don’t want to marry him. Hang convention. Hang the rules. Surely he and I can come up with something. Right?

Turning to the dowager duchess, I place my fingers on my temple. “Pray allow me to go rest somewhere. Tonight has been so exhausting. My head is aching. Shall we plan tomorrow?”

She gives my free hand a squeeze, her eyes soft and sympathetic. “I understand. And do not fear, Joseph is a kind soul. You could do far worse for a husband.”

My lips tremble at her kind gesture, but I hold myself in check. “You must believe I had nothing to do with this.”

“Whether I believe you or not does nothing to rectify the situation, I’m afraid. You were caught in a state of undress with him. Whether he was assisting you or causing the situation, it will make no matter.”

“Yes, but-”

“Rest easy, child. I hold you no ill will. It takes two to make a situation. Not just you. This is all just an unfortunate circumstance that we must make the best of. Though between you and me, I dare say he would not have been led to the altar without such an interference, and I need grandbabies.”

Heat licks up the sides of my face as the dowager mother squints her eyes at me, looking at me from head to toe. “I suppose I shall endeavor to give it my best effort?”

With that, she tips her head back and laughs until tears gather at the corners of her eyes. “That too, takes two to accomplish. The burden will not be on you alone.”

Again, another blush heats my face. I know enough about animal anatomy and husbandry to have a vague idea of what is required, but having an intellectual knowledge and an intimate one are two different things. Shaking her head, she pats my hand and gives me a soft smile. “Go and rest. The next few days will be froth with excitement.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I long to cry out after her as she turns and leaves the room, but I dare not make a sound.

There’s already been far too much damage done with the looseness of my tongue. I don’t wish to add any more to my tally. Instead, I follow her out and drift over to a separate drawing room, desperate to be alone for a bit while I gather my thoughts. There must be something I can do to prevent this.

It’s clear that Foxford does not wish to marry me, and I certainly don’t wish to marry him. As I traverse the hall, heading to the room at the furthest end, far away from the merriment that still takes place in the ballroom, I begin to formulate a plan. All I need is for Foxford to agree with me and call this wedding off.

There’s no reason why this shouldn’t work. He’s a smart man, so no doubt he’d be able to put a spin on this, where we both come out unscathed. And if not, maybe he’ll buy me passage to the Americas or something. That way, I can start over.

Excitement flutters in my stomach as I pace about, my mind whirring into action. I rub at my scalp, not caring a bit I’m messing up the exquisite coiffure that the maid took her time crafting. With each minute loosening of my tresses, I can think that much more clearly.

My fingers flutter at the waist of my dress, my mind taking a different turn. He is so insistent on keeping these new clothes at his house. But why? What does he think I’ll do to them if they’re not in his eye line at all times?

Part of me, however, has to admit I’m grateful they can’t disappear while they’re under his watchful gaze. Asher can’t just dispose of them without giving me any warning. Knowing my cousin, these would have also been sold to cover Father’s debts.

I fiddle with my fingers as I take another turn about the hallway. Perhaps I’m just being selfish, and I should have preemptively sold these. That way, we could have been done with all creditors hounding my cousin. Knowing these debts exist not only causes immense anxiety, but they also keep reminding me that my father was not as perfect as I thought he was.

It was further proof that the mighty, generous man I knew was indeed fallible. Unbidden, tears prick my eyes as emotion overwhelms me. I cannot even begin to count how many times I’ve cried since Father died, and though I keep thinking this time will be the last, it never is.

I tug at my hair, the only thing within reach I can do something about. As my fingers rake through the strands, I bite my lip to keep myself from crying out. At this point, I don’t exactly care what people think of my state. I was already attacked. Surely some mussed-up hair isn’t some big scandal.

And so, I take down the rest of the curls, my fingers snagging every few moments. What I want, more than anything right now, is this bite of pain, something to anchor me back to the present where I can think clearly and not be bogged down by memories that need to stay dead. And so, with each yank of my fingers, I put my mind toward the pain, drawing it inside, exhaling and inhaling in measured gasps.

It gives me time to breathe, time to think… Time to formulate what’s sure to be the worst idea I’ve ever had. And yet, I’m sure I’ll come to regret it if I don’t try. Striding back down the hall, I seek out one of the many servant girls that race back and forth, seeing to the party.

“Wait!” I cry out, catching her attention.

She glances back at the others for a moment, as if to make sure she won’t get in trouble for pausing in her duties. “Yes, My Lady? How may I assist you?” Her gaze drifts about my face, no doubt shocked at the state of my hair; however, she thankfully remains silent.

“I’m sure you’ve heard tales of how I am to be the new duchess soon. Would you be so kind as to tell me where the new sleeping quarters would be? I’ve barely been able to explore the house, and I’m merely curious.”

I hold my breath in the silence that looms between us. Will she see through my ruse? A small smile quirks up the side of her lips, but I cannot ascertain the reason for the mirth dancing in her eyes. Leaning low, she spells out the directions for me as if imparting a great secret.

Twinkle in her eyes, she curtsies again and slips to join the others. With a soft smile on my lips, I slip back out into the hall, ascending the stairs to where his room must reside. This plan is madness. And yet, I cannot think of another solution.

Though I cannot be sure when he’ll be in his room, he must go there at some point. And I’ll be waiting. This time, he will hear me out. I refuse to go down without so much as a fuss or fight.

From the top of the stairs, I can still hear the music from the ball, and it astounds me that these people can continue to dance about, making merry, as two lives are now permanently altered. Do they not care? Do they not worry that a madman is loose and could possibly do the same to them, or worse?