Page 36 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

Pausing, she grips my shoulder and gives me another great smile. This time, when I smile back, it’s far more genuine. “You have given me food for thought, Mother. I shall remember it as I walk down the aisle to join in matrimony with your son.”

“Very good.” Glancing at the clock, she gives me another smile and squeezes my hands. “It’s time!”

I nod and cast one more glance at my reflection, holding my tears back as I send up a prayer to my parents, begging them to be with me as I go through this trial. Though it feels wrong to do this without them, they have sent me an angel to care for me through Foxford’s mother. If nothing else, she will be both mother and father for me today.

* * *

The chapel is fairly covered in flowers, far more than I actually expect. I was sure the unexpected snow we had a few months back would have destroyed them, and yet, here they all are, as if blooming from the very wood itself. It’s breathtaking if I allow myself to dwell on it.

When the dowager mother mentioned it would be taken care of, this was not what I was expecting. In truth, none of this is what I wanted. I would have been more than fine with a simple dress, a fistful of hand-picked flowers, and a loving groom waiting for me. Instead, I have Foxford, though devilishly handsome in his attire, wearing the face of a man headed toward a noose instead of wedded bliss.

Anxiety crawls through my body like ants, only I’m unable to scratch, seeing as everyone is staring at me. I grip the bouquet even tighter, attempting to transfer my uneasiness into the stems. Taking a deep breath, I go through all the flowers I can see, naming both their common names and Latin ones.

Putting my mind to a task seems to help, and soon, I’m face-to-face with the man I swore I’d never marry. His eyes lock onto mine, arresting me, keeping me from making one last attempt to flee. There’s something lurking in those depths, something hot and ferocious, something that piques my curiosity.

No longer does he seem resigned to this fate. Instead, there’s almost a hint of expectation. But I could just be seeing what I wish to see and not what’s actually happening. I’m so desperate for this to end amicably that I’m probably seeing things that aren’t there.

Either way, it quells that need to run, at least for the moment. And so, as I am forced to recite my vows, I say them like a good girl, never putting up a fuss. I’m too desperate to find out what lurks behind such a heated expression. It’s the curiosity that will be the end of me. I just know it.

When he slips the silver band onto my finger, moving the engagement ring to the other hand, I know my fate is officially sealed. Things continue to move in a blur, as if I have no control over any of them. I’m just a spectator as we sign the appropriate forms and then head out into the chilly air, where the townsfolk toss petals into the sky in our wake.

So many people crowd us in. Whether they’re here to see us because they wish us well, or because they want to see the harridan that ‘trapped’ the untrappable duke, it doesn’t make a difference. They are all here to celebrate.

All of this should bring me joy. But it doesn’t. Nothing about this is right. What makes it worse is that hint of oil that captures my attention. I can smell it. And yet, every time I turn my head, to see if I can find the man it belongs to, it disappears within the scents wafting from the throngs of people.

Perhaps I am going mad. Either way, these morose feelings refuse to leave. The hopelessness clings to me even as we sit to devour our wedding breakfast. So much merriment. So much happiness. And yet, even as I sit among them all, I’m still so alone.

The rolls and meats taste like ash in my mouth. The wedding cake is far too sugary. But I follow the script that’s been handed to me. Making merry when all I want to do is cry. Such a cruel fate to be smart enough to know you’re trapped, yet helpless enough to not be allowed to break free.

“Come, my dear,” Foxford murmurs in my ear. “It is time for you to dress for us to make the journey home to Moorbury.”

Of course. Moorbury is my new home. Never again will I ever be allowed home to Harhurst Hall as anything other than a guest. For some reason, that guts me more than anything.

Giving him a soft nod, I head away from the party, glad to be free of the constraints of civility. Now, I’ll have a moment to myself where I can gather all my thoughts. Hopefully, by the time we take off to my new home, I’ll have my mood better in hand. No sense in starting off as mistress of a new house as a sulking wraith.

CHAPTER 18

Joseph

I walk to my study as the merriment continues, but it seems my new bride is all too eager to flee. She walks on ahead of me, her steps a touch too hurried for a duchess, and again, I realize just how much I’ll have to train her. It’s not just that she’s the daughter of an earl, and I’m a duke.

She’s been spoiled for all too long, and it colors every aspect of her life, including this one. How I long to just race after her and snatch her back, forcing her to move a bit slower, more languid. But to do so would bring undue scrutiny while no one is currently paying attention.

My lips curl up into a small smirk as I watch her tiny form take to the stairs, her feet clapping along the wood in her haste. No doubt she’s thinking the quicker she undresses, the sooner she can put her nose inside of a book. I’ll allow her that respite for now, but once we get to Moorbury, I’ll lock the damned library doors if I have to. I will not allow her love of the literary word to come between us or her duties.

The sooner she realizes that, the better. Shaking my head, I glance back over my shoulder, my nose catching just the faintest whiff of oil, as if several lamps are lit. But that’s impossible. With this much light coming through the windows, most of the oil lamps should be extinguished. Servants dart to and fro, muddying the scent with ones of their own until it disappears altogether.

It must be my mind. The vixen twisted and turned it so that I too am jumping at shadows when, more probably than not, no one is there, lying in wait. Pausing, I take a detour, turning to my library instead.

Long gone are any scents that might tell me anything, but that’s not exactly what I’m here for. Closing the door behind me, I shut my eyes and conjure up that night. If only I could find any scrap of evidence that she didn’t contrive this as a means to trap me. I’ve already cast suspicions on my friendship between Lord Middlehey and myself, so it would be nice to not have to worry about my wife.

Wife. The word stops me in my tracks. Wife. The enormity of that word as it crashes through my skull in an endless refrain fills me with both anticipation and dread. The only bright spot in all of this is I will now have free rein to do all the dirty, depraved things that have been swirling through my head.

I never considered what I’d do after marriage, seeing as I was determined to be a bachelor for as long as I could. Part of me always thought I’d keep a mistress at my beck and call, or at least continue to frequent The Rose and Thorne. It doesn’t matter that my parents were somewhat of a love match and my father kept no other women, paid or otherwise. Teresa and I are not the same.

In the beginning, she was just a treasure seeker, a ruiner of fortunes, a maddening vixen set to vex my friend and me, but nothing more. However, she has now become an investment. And I plan to call her arrears into account. The positive thing is that the money I’ve paid out for her debts, this wedding, and all her clothes are far less than what I’ve paid out at The Rose and Thorne.

So by keeping this maddening harridan, I’ll no longer have to pay for female company unless I desire it. She will take on that role now. No longer will she be just a wife, the mate to a duke. She will become so much more, debased until she can pay her debt to me, but the day of her freedom will never come.