Page 35 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

Truthfully, it’s how I feel.

Empty.

Fragile.

Made only to be seen and nothing more.

Gone is the excitement I felt last night as Cynthia and I made plans. In fact, the more I think about it in the cold light of day, the more ridiculous it all seems. Besides, what could the women benefit from a drawing anyhow?

Even as I looked at the one Cynthia possesses, it still didn’t explain the intricacies to me. And if I didn’t already have a working knowledge of animals, I’d be even more in the dark. So no, I don’t suppose a drawing here or there would do anything but spark my future husband’s ire.

Reaching down, I finger the ring on my left hand, noting the blue stones set within. The last thing I want to do is make him angry at me. Because despite the friction between us, he still manages to do something nice now and then, like gifting me with this pretty ring. He didn’t have to do it. He could have just gone with a simple band for the ceremony.

That and the fact that the stones match my eyes hasn’t gone amiss either. I wonder if it was intentional or simply something that caught his eye. Heaving a sigh, I glance back at my reflection in the mirror. Someone that buys a ring based on eye color is not the sort of man to threaten romantic pursuits the day before a wedding.

Deep down, I know our marriage is ill-fated, but part of me, some nonsensical, sentimental part, hoped we could somehow find a common ground. But in the sobering moments of clarity, I can see it for what it is. A disaster.

Glancing up at the corner of the mirror, I watch the reflection of the dowager duchess as she waltzes into the room, her smile wide and dazzling. It seems she does not share the same compulsions as her son and can thus welcome me into the family with open arms. I’ll be honest. I expected her congeniality to fade during the moments we were away from the duke, but she’s stood by my side, steadfast, a companion of sorts.

I give her the best smile I can muster before turning my attention back to the gown. If nothing else, I have to applaud Foxford for his tastes, seeing as none of the clothes I wear were items I picked out. I merely stood there for my measurements and went about my way.

It feels wrong, in a way, to be celebrating a marriage I’ve had absolutely no hand in. Sure, I’ve chimed in when asked specific questions such as colors and types of flowers, but I’ve left all the buying and planning to the duke’s mother. I didn’t want to start the marriage off even worse by ordering something wrong, or somehow going over his blessed budget.

The fact he cannot seem to grasp the concept that I’m frugal, one to not spend what is not needed, is astounding. And yet, every time I turn around, he’s fussing over money. It’s a horrid thing I have no use for, and yet I’m constantly reprimanded. Unless I’m completely misunderstanding his constant talk of money and what I am to spend and not allowed to touch...

None of this makes any sense. Just like the fact I’m being forced to marry someone when my real assailant goes free boggles the mind. Based on what I’ve been told by the dowager duchess, even if such a man was produced, it wouldn’t stop this wedding. Not only is it for my honor, but the duke’s as well. He would do whatever it took to keep himself in good standing with the Ton, even if I was the collateral.

But I suppose it’s done now with no chance of going back to that night. Still though, it’s possible now that I’m to be the duke’s wife, I’ll be far safer than when I was allowed to roam free. It’s a prison that comes with benefits, and I must remind myself of that.

Glancing out the window, I sigh as I look at the frost-bitten ground, wondering just how far I’ll make it if I decide to run. Now that the dowager mother is here, any remaining chance of bolting has now fled. She doesn’t appear to be inclined to leave until it’s time to head to the chapel. In fact, she’s now taken over my mirror, looking at her reflection to ensure not a hair is out of place.

Not that she needs to worry. She’s absolutely resplendent, a paragon of how I would like to be when I’m her age. Her soft smile is a comfort of sorts, and if I close my eyes and take in a breath, I can pretend she’s my own mother here to see me prepared for my wedding day.

“You look so gloomy for one about to wed a most eligible bachelor. Come, what has you so downtrodden?”

Shoring my emotions, I plaster on a false smile and drift closer to her. “I have so many things on my mind. That’s all.”

“Anything I can assist with? The chapel is a vision, if that’s what you’re worried about. I would have shown it to you yesterday, but Joseph’s friends stormed the house, demanding they take him away. Ahh. Young men. So fickle. So in want of an adventure.”

“I’m sure it’s absolutely lovely.”

Her lips dip into a frown as she waves the maid out of the room. “You may speak freely, child. In truth, you’ve shown no interest in the affair. Granted, I love a good soirée and was thrilled to plan your nuptials. But I had wondered at your lack of enthusiasm.”

“I adore you, Madame-” she gives me a stern look. “Mother,” I amend. “I just can’t find it in me to be happy when the groom would rather stick me in the stocks as opposed to marrying me.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” she cries, resting a hand on her chest. “My son may not be the most gregarious at times. After all, as a duke, he is prone to his moods. All of them are. And as an Alpha, well, it’s in their nature to be temperamental. But that’s what’s so good about being an omega. We are their match. The calm to their tempests.”

The dowager duchess leans over and brushes her lips across my cheek before pulling back and continuing. “You are a lovely girl. Despite how you came to be enmeshed with my son. My only regret is that your attacker isn’t dangling from a hangman’s noose for what he did to you.”

“It would be the perfect wedding gift,” I murmur. “But it probably wouldn’t stop this wedding, would it?”

“Can I ask why you’re so dead set on not joining your name with Joseph’s? Trust me, you could do far worse.”

“I thought I’d marry for love. I-”

“Stop this. Stop it right now. True love matches are exceedingly rare, my husband and I being the exception and not the rule. And dare I say, I’m not sure if I believe anyone when they say they’re truly in love. Not nowadays. It was simpler when I was married, or at least so it seemed. But now, so many other factors go into a marriage. Yes, love can be a great uniter, but more importantly, how do you work together? How do you manage quarrels?”

My mind races back to that night where Foxford took me into the depths of his house, tying me down in his secret room. If that’s how he settles arguments, I suppose I could do far worse than a whack of his hand against my bum. The fact that part of me actually enjoyed it… well, that can remain my little secret.