Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“ W hat the devil?” Henry muttered, his voice thick with sleep, rolling over and burying his head in the pillow.
Adam, mouth set in a tight, disapproving line, yanked the heavy velvet curtains open, sunlight flooding the room and startling Henry awake. He stood over his brother, his imposing figure casting a broad shadow; his face carved into a stern expression.
“Get up,” he ordered. “We are leaving.”
Henry groaned again and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Leaving? Where are we going? And why are you glaring at me like I owe you money?”
The duke’s jaw clenched, eyes dark. “We are going to my wedding,” Adam replied curtly.
Henry’s eyes widened in shock. “Your wedding? What? When? I had no idea you were even courting someone, let alone getting married!”
Adam remained silent, his expression unyielding.
Henry, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, continued to bombard Adam with questions.
“So…who is the lucky lady, then? Is she beautiful? Is she rich? Does she play any instruments? I imagine it would be wonderful to finally have someone play that old piano?—”
Adam’s patience was wearing thin. He couldn’t stand the incessant chatter anymore.
“You will meet her soon enough. “Just get dressed,” he snapped, his tone sharp and impatient.
He turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
As he headed down the hallway, Adam heard Henry speaking to his valet, a portly man named Jenkins, who began the arduous task of dressing his unruly master.
“What in the devil’s name is going on, Jenkins?” Henry asked.
Jenkins, a seasoned servant, simply replied, “If I knew, sir, I would be telling you. But as it stands, I am just as confused as you are.”
A few moments later, Adam was already in the carriage, his mind racing.
He had to admit, he was somewhat surprised by his own decision to marry.
It had been a hasty choice, forced upon him by circumstances beyond his control. But he had made his decision, and he would see it through.
I wonder if that niece of Lord Claridge ’ s is as horrified by this arrangement as I am, Adam mused. Then he recalled all the desperate mothers parading their daughters in front of him at every opportunity.
Or perhaps she is part of the earl ’ s scheme.
When Henry finally emerged from the townhouse, he looked somewhat presentable, though his hair was still slightly disheveled and his eyes were bloodshot. Adam eyed him critically.
“You look like a drowned rat,” he remarked.
Henry rolled his eyes. “I did my best.”
The carriage ride to the chapel was a torturous affair. Rosaline sat ramrod straight, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery as they left the country and returned to town.
The once familiar streets of London now seemed alien, a stark contrast to the life she had once known.
Her aunt, willingly oblivious to her niece’s distress, prattled on about the importance of this union.
“For heaven’s sake, stop sulking! This is the best you’ll ever do, and you should thank your lucky stars he is even willing,” she chided. “Not that you deserve a duke, after all you have put me through, and all your uncle and I have done for you.”
Rosaline’s heart clenched. She felt like a chess piece being moved across a grand board, her fate determined by others.
A forced marriage—how utterly pedestrian.
Her aunt’s words stung, a cruel reminder of her perceived imperfections. The scars that marred her body, a constant source of shame, were now a bargaining chip in her family’s game of power and prestige.
Despite the beautiful gown that the duke had sent, a gift likely meant to soften the blow and endear her new husband to Rosaline, the countess had insisted that Rosaline wear long gloves to conceal her scars.
The gown feels as off-balance as I do, Rosaline thought.
It was a small act of cruelty, but it spoke volumes about the way she was seen now.
Seeing Rosaline’s gaze fixed on the long gloves, Lady Claridge smirked.
“Covered head to toe so no one has to see those gruesome marks. The wonderful thing about a wedding is that we can even hide that shameful face of yours behind a veil. That poor duke of yours is in for the shock of his life when he tries to have an heir!” The countess cackled as the blood drained from Rosaline’s face.
Lord and Lady Claridge continued to fuss over her. “Remember, Rosaline, be charming, be submissive, and most importantly, be grateful,” her aunt admonished. “Treat him better than you ever treated us, you ungrateful creature.”
Rosaline forced a smile, though her heart was heavy. She knew that her fate was sealed.
She would become the Duchess of Oldstone, a title that would bring her wealth and status, but at what cost? She would be a prisoner in her own gilded cage, bound by the chains of duty and expectation, locked away by a recluse who would surely bind her to the same solitude, especially once he discovered the shame of her appearance.
As the carriage drew closer to the chapel, Rosaline’s anxiety grew. She could feel the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders, but a flicker of defiance ignited in her chest.
She had dreamed of a different life, a life filled with love and happiness, one where her intellect and wit were celebrated, not stifled. But now, it seemed that those dreams were forever out of reach.
She adjusted her gown, a small smirk playing on her lips.
A pity, really, she thought, that such a grand stage is set for such a mundane performance.
The carriage finally came to a halt, and the coachman opened the door. Rosaline stepped out, her posture straight and her head held high. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her expression remained composed.
The chapel was a magnificent structure, its Gothic architecture a stark contrast to the modern world.
As she walked up the steps, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of both dread and anticipation.
A fitting stage for a reluctant heroine.
The ceremony was a blur, a rushed affair with only a handful of witnesses. Rosaline’s aunt and uncle, the stoic duke, his younger brother—who looked baffled by the entire farce —and two solemn servants.
The priest’s words echoed in the chapel, their meaning lost in the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.
A forced marriage. A gilded cage. How very romantic.
As the final vows were exchanged, Rosaline felt a strange sense of detachment. She had mechanically uttered the words, her voice a mere whisper in the grand hall.
Her gaze, fixed on the stained-glass window, was a stark contrast to the joyous smiles of the others present.
The ceremony concluded, and the couple was ushered out of the chapel. Adam, the Duke of Oldstone, walked ahead, his steps deliberate and his expression unreadable—a man of few words, and even fewer emotions. A perfect match, then.
Rosaline followed, her head held high, her chin tilted slightly upward.
This is merely a chapter in my story, not the end.
She glanced back at her aunt and uncle, their faces etched with a mixture of relief and satisfaction. They had successfully brokered this union, securing their ties to the influence of the duke.
A pawn in their game, perhaps, but a pawn with a mind of her own.
Lord and Lady Claridge approached the newlyweds, their faces plastered with the widest of smiles.
“Congratulations, my dear,” her aunt gushed to Adam and Rosaline, her voice laced with false warmth. “You look absolutely radiant.”
Rosaline forced a smile in return, her heart sinking. She knew their words were empty, a facade to mask their true intentions.
She sighed, glancing at her new husband out of the corner of her eye.
Not only a duke, but not decrepitly old and certainly handsome.
He stood tall at her side, broad shoulders imposing at he watched the room, intense and stern.
So if he has his choice of a match, why did he agree to marry one of the three cursed ladies of the ton? She tilted her head slightly, a subtle show of defiance.
Genevieve had indeed married a duke herself, but that was an entirely different situation.
Lord Claridge cleared his throat.
“Your Grace,” he began, his voice low and serious. “Remember, my niece is a delicate flower. She requires gentle care and understanding.”
Adam’s blue eyes flickered with annoyance. “I do not need lecturing on my wife’s needs, Lord Claridge,” he replied, his voice sharp. “I shall discover them for myself.”
The tension in the chapel was palpable. Rosaline felt a surge of anger, but she quickly suppressed it. This was not the time to cause a scene. She had to play the part—the dutiful wife, the perfect duchess.
He wouldn’t even look at her, let alone speak to her.
What had transpired to bring about this union? Was he shown an old portrait of her—one without her scars—and duped into this? Was she to suffer his wrath for her uncle’s lies?
She straightened her spine, her chin lifting in silent rebellion. She would not be cowed by his indifference. She would show him that she was more than just a noble title. She was a woman of wit, intelligence, and resilience.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Claridge said smoothly, sweeping a bow that failed to hide his smug smile. “My apologies.”
What does my uncle know about my marriage that I do not? Rosaline mused, her brow furrowing as she stared at her uncle, her gaze sharp and unwavering.
He was hiding something, she could feel it.
She turned her attention to her new husband, her lips curving into a subtle smile.
The duke had dark hair that made his blue eyes appear electric. They were framed by a proud nose and a sharp jaw.
She narrowed her eyes as she continued trying to deduce what had led to this moment, only for him to glance over and catch her staring at him appraisingly.
His eyebrows rose in amusement.
A feisty one, isn ’ t she? Rosaline could almost hear the thought, and she couldn’t suppress a blush.
Perhaps he ’ s not as stoic as he appears.
His jaw was set, his expression both proud and guarded. A man of mystery, and one who clearly didn’t appreciate being studied.
Rosaline’s thoughts were interrupted by a young man approaching the couple, his face a blend of curiosity and unease.
“Congratulations, Adam, and Your Grace,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Rosaline smiled graciously, curtseying slightly. “I am so sorry, I believe that we have yet to be introduced?” She glanced at Adam, prompting him, but he only deepened his frown as he glared at his brother.
“My apologies.” The duke’s brother gave her a snake-charmer smile and swept a bow. “I am Henry Fitzwilliam, your husband’s younger—and better-looking—brother.”
Rosaline extended her gloved hand, fingers delicately poised, expecting Henry to bow over it.
She was surprised when her new brother-in-law went stiff, eyes widening.
Henry glanced from her hand to her face, and she saw the fear in his eyes.
Rosaline’s smile dimmed and she dropped her hand with a soft sigh, disappointment filling her chest.
“Do not upset my wife with your baseless belief in superstition, Henry,” Adam snarled at his brother.
Rosaline glanced at the duke in surprise, interested by the way his blue eyes shone.
Henry blinked, mouth slightly agape, glancing between his brother and Rosaline with clear confusion. He took a half step back, readjusting his grip on his champagne.
“I’m sorry, Adam, I?—”
“It isn’t me who deserves your apology.” Adam growled in a low voice, and Rosaline looked at him with nearly as much surprise as Henry.
Though Adam did not look at her—his face was set in harsh lines and focused on his brother—Rosaline could not help but marvel at being defended by the devastatingly handsome duke. Watching the muscle along his sharp, clenched jaw jump as those hard blue eyes glared in her defense made something flutter in Rosaline’s chest, and she gasped slightly, trying to catch her breath.
A moment too late to be polite, Rosaline tore her gaze away from her new husband to find Henry staring at her once again, trepidation on his face.
“He’s right, of course,” Henry sighed heavily, then endeavored a crooked, if fraught smile at Rosaline. “As my brother unfailingly is,” he added, and Rosaline felt a smile tug at her own lips again, one of the few real smiles she’d had on her wedding day.
“Please, accept my apology, and my sincere welcome into our family.” Henry extended his hand, and this time there was only a breath of hesitation before he bowed as he gently kissed her gloved knuckles.
He seems misguided, but sweet . Rosaline studied her new brother-in-law as she returned his bow with a curtsey.
“Thank you for your kind welcome, I hope we get to know each other beyond the surface.”
It was as much gratitude as she could give while letting him know that his superficiality had not been unnoticed.
To Rosaline’s surprise, Henry laughed at that, turning to his brother with a wide grin. “You have your work cut out for you with this one; I can tell already.”
Rosaline beamed at Henry, but when she turned to her new husband, his face was still set in that brooding, stoic mask.
A moment later, Adam signaled their departure. As Lord and Lady Claridge approached, their faces twisted into masks of disapproval, Rosaline couldn’t help but roll her eyes.
Here we go again, she thought, a wry smile playing on her lips.
“Rosaline,” Lady Claridge hissed, her voice a venomous whisper. “Remember your place. You are to remain invisible. Do not attract attention. Do not speak to anyone unless spoken to first. And for God’s sake, do not embarrass this family with your…eccentricities.”
Lord Claridge, his voice a low growl, added, “one misstep, one indiscretion, and you will regret it. We will not tolerate any behavior that brings shame upon the family name.”
Rosaline, though her smile faded slightly, still met their gaze. She knew their words were meant to intimidate, to crush her spirit. But she would not let them.
“I will do what is best.” Rosaline replied simply, which seemed to placate her aunt and uncle. As the carriage pulled away, a wave of melancholy washed over Rosaline.
My life has changed forever, she mused, her gaze drifting out the window.
She was no longer the spirited Rosaline Arnold, free to pursue her intellectual passions and dream of love.
Now, she was the Duchess of Oldstone, a title that carried with it a weight of expectation and responsibility.
Her husband, the enigmatic duke, remained a cipher, his thoughts and feelings a mystery.
Well, she thought, a defiant glint in her eye, I shall not be a mere ornament. I will carve my own path, regardless of the obstacles.