Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“Charles,” Mr. Shepherd began, “you promised you would attend.”
“I know,” Charles said. “But a ball sounds rather dreary right now. And I’m exhausted from my travels. Perhaps I will simply take refuge in my bedchamber this evening and retire early.”
The Shepherds exchanged concerned glances. Marie caught his gaze, his eyes holding a challenge she couldn’t begin to understand. Was this his way of saying he wished to retire with her or without her?
She hoped it was the latter, for at this rate, there was nothing on this earth that would prompt her to keep her side of their bedchamber unlocked.
But not attending the ball that evening? She could certainly support that idea. She hadn’t wanted to go anyway. Lying to all in attendance about her supposed love for her new husband was becoming more and more unappealing by every turn of the carriage’s wheels.
Still, she would never hear the end of it if she didn’t make an appearance that evening. Father would be furious, and Mother and the Shepherds, disappointed.
“You must go, Charles,” Mrs. Shepherd said with a smile, clearly attempting a more cheerful approach than before. “This will be your first appearance as man and wife, a celebration.”
“That is just the thing, Mother. I do not feel as if there is much to celebrate.”
Marie’s tolerance of his childishness vanished. Of all the despicable ways to behave. The man was a complete reprobate.
“Charles, where are your manners?” Mother asked, shame in her tone.
“You are required to go, son,” Mr. Shepherd said next. “You gave your word.”
Charles moved his attention out the window, his jaw working ever harder. “Very well. If I must, I must. I will go to the ball, be on my best behavior, and ensure everyone believes our marriage to be one of love.” He glanced at Marie. “However difficult that may be.”
“I’m certain you’ll find the strength you need to carry on, son,” his father said threateningly.
Charles didn’t respond. Marie pretended not to notice Mrs. Shepherd’s apologetic smile in her direction. She was finished conversing. She was finished trying to get to know Charles and pretending to be happy with this arrangement.
All the Shepherds had said for months was how happy Marie would be with Charles, how much they had in common, and how wonderfully he would treat her.
Thus far, not a single one of their promises had been true. All Marie could think of was how terribly she’d been duped. And all for what? For their parents to get what they wished.
This marriage was not what she wanted. Not anymore.
Charles remained in the drawing room for a half hour after the carriage had arrived at Grendale, waiting for Mother and Father to join him for their customary cups of tea his parents always took after journeys.
They were showing Marie her new living quarters—and taking their sweet time doing so.
Charles supposed he could have joined them.
After all, his bedchamber would be new to him, too.
But if he had to spend another moment with that conniving, sneaking, lying Marie Oakley Shepherd, he was going to truly unbridle his tongue.
He paced the room back and forth, his boots thumping between the wooden flooring and the red rug in the center of the space.
He’d always felt quite comfortable in this room, its golden walls, white hearth, and red chairs warm and inviting.
But now, all he could think of was how this space was to be shared from this day forward with his wife, whom he could barely tolerate.
He fisted his hands, attempting to dispel any pent-up frustration as he rehearsed the words he’d say, all about how he’d been tricked into this marriage, how he and Marie had nothing in common, and—worse than anything—how she’d lied in the carriage.
“Charles?” Father said as he and Mother, sure enough, entered the room a moment later. “What are you doing here?”
“We thought you’d wished to rest,” Mother said.
“I do. But I must speak with you both first.”
His parents exchanged looks, as if to give one another strength.
“Very well,” Father said. “Sit with us, please.”
“I am happy to stand, thank you.”
Neither of them responded. Both were used to Charles’s desire to always be moving in some form or another.
His parents sat down, sighing deeply before facing him with weary looks and motioning for him to begin.
So Charles did. As soon as the tea had been delivered and the servants had departed, Charles released everything as calmly as he could—how injured he had been, how unfair the situation was, and how frustrated he was with the entire affair.
He expressed how they must not know him at all, for they never otherwise would have assumed his letter was in earnest—nor matched him to a female so unlike himself.
Throughout it all, his parents remained silent, which he was grateful for, as any defense on their part would have been rendered moot. This was, after all, entirely their doing.
“And then,” he continued, “to discover the woman is a liar? I cannot bear it.”
“Liar?” Mother interjected, speaking for the first time since he’d begun. “Marie is as honorable a woman as I have ever known.”
Charles scoffed. “Then what do you have to say about her words in the carriage? She obviously despises anything to do with adventures and being out of doors.”
“That is not what I heard,” Father said.
“Nor I,” Mother agreed.
“Then the two of you have been deceived,” Charles continued. “How often have you told me we are alike? And in what way are we alike?”
“She does enjoy being out of doors,” Mother insisted.
“And you both are trustworthy and honorable,” Father said.
Charles shook his head. His parents had obviously been charmed by the woman’s accomplishments so much that they could not see reality.
Marie had been lying clear as day about her love of the outdoors and adventuring—and the activities he’d mentioned. She had no desire other than to play her pianoforte and stitch indoors for the rest of her days, he was sure of it.
So how had she managed to lie her way into the hearts of his parents? Had she orchestrated this whole affair to trap Charles into marrying her since she couldn’t get married on her own?
“There is more to life than your adventures, son,” Mother said, setting her cup of tea down.
“I am well aware,” he stated. “Like family and friends—like Tristan, whom I shall now have to disappoint by canceling my hunting party with him.”
“Perhaps you could simply postpone it,” Mother suggested. “Spend two weeks with Marie on your bridal tour, then take her with you on your little trip.”
Charles ran his fingers through his hair. “She would be miserable, and would therefore make me miserable.”
“Perhaps she could learn to love the outdoors as greatly as you do,” Mother said.
“Stranger things have been known to happen,” Father agreed.
Charles huffed, frustration overcoming him again. “You are both missing the point. Did you not hear the fact that she was lying to me? Does this behavior not cause you alarm?”
“She did not lie,” Mother said, matching his exasperation. “She was merely stretching the truth so you might not be disappointed in her answers.”
“Stretching the truth is as good as lying,” Charles said. “Or must we ask Mr. Berryman his opinion on the matter?”
“You think he’d take your side in this?” Father said with a laugh, and Mother joined in.
Charles turned away, frowning. Father was right. The vicar had had it out for him from the start. No doubt he’d helped Marie with this entire affair, too.
“What am I to tell Tristan?” he asked pointedly.
“That you are married,” Mother said. “Otherwise you would be stretching the truth.”
Father hid his smile by taking a sip of his tea.
Charles shook his head, moving a few steps away and pacing the room once more. “Am I the only one with any sense around here? How am I to be married to a woman who isn’t truthful?”
“Oh, and you are so very truthful all the time?” Mother asked.
“I am, yes.”
“Really?” she pressed.
“Yes.”
She dropped her chin. “What about the letter you sent to me, confirming your desire to wed?”
Charles stared. “That-that was entirely different. Satirical.”
“Satire, truth-stretching,” Father began,” it is all one in the same.”
That settled it. Charles really was the only sane one left in this world. Did they not think he deserved an apology? Simple understanding? Compassion, even? Obviously, they did not. Obviously, they took Marie’s side in all of this.
Heavens above. Was he jealous of the woman now?
He held his hands on his head, as if to keep his thoughts from bursting out around him.
“I cannot imagine how you even came to choose her for me,” he said.
“Yes, she is gorgeous. As perfect as a portrait. I’ll credit you for that.
But I care not for that or for her many accomplishments as much as I care about how I am now shackled for the rest of my life with the last woman I ever would have chosen to marry. ”
Marie had thought what she’d needed was to be alone, to rest. But being within the confines of her new bedchamber with only her thoughts for companions—with Charles no doubt resting peacefully a mere door-width’s away—she could not find respite.
Instead of attempting to force herself to sleep, Marie left her chamber behind and went in search of Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd, as she always enjoyed their company.
She wandered down the corridor, reaching the bottom step of the grand staircase.
Grendale Manor was much larger than Westburn House and her family home in Somerset—the home they left in order to travel across England in an attempt to find Marie a husband.
How strange it was to imagine that one day, she would be mistress here.
Mistress with Charles as the master.
Childish Charlie.
She smiled to herself, heading toward the drawing room. She’d concocted the little name for him after reaching her bedchamber. It suited him rather well.
Her footsteps were soft as she reached the carpeted corridor leading toward the drawing room, and her ears perked as she heard voices coming from within.
Blast. Charles was not asleep in his bedchamber after all. He was arguing with his parents, by the sound of it.
Marie turned directly around, not wishing to intrude. But more than that, she knew listening to Charles’s grumbling would certainly not deliver the rest she so desired.
“A relationship between me and that woman does not stand a chance.”
Marie’s footsteps froze. She slowly turned to face the closed doorway of the drawing room, the voices slipping out beneath the crack at the bottom.
“She has clearly chosen to begin our marriage with deception,” Charles continued.
“Lying to me about what she does and does not like, boasting about her accomplishments, refusing to reveal who she truly is. It would not surprise me if I soon learned that she is the one who has orchestrated this entire affair.”
Marie frowned. Leave it to Childish Charlie to even concoct such a preposterous proposition. She would have told him earlier how desperately she had not wanted the marriage to occur, but she hadn’t wished to offend him.
Obviously, he did not share the same concern.
“She did nothing of the sort, Charles,” Mrs. Shepherd said, her voice sharper than Marie had ever heard. “This was my doing more than anyone’s, and with your father’s staunch approval, I moved forward. Marie did not express a single desire or inkling to marry you until after she read your letter.”
Marie raised a triumphant chin. What do you think about that, Childish Charlie?
“That blasted letter,” he growled. “Would that I had never written it. I should have known you’d take your imaginings and run wild with them. You’ve been badgering me for years to meet with her. Little did I know I’d have less in common with her than I do a debutante!”
“I don’t know, son,” his father piped in. “Debutantes can be quite demanding, too.”
Marie pressed a hand against her lips before a laugh could slip out. Silence followed, and she could only imagine the scowl on Charles’s features as his parents no doubt beamed with amusement.
“You will find what you have in common, Charles, in time,” Mrs. Shepherd said. “It may take work, but—”
“I do not wish to work to find what I have in common with my wife.” His voice lowered to the point where she could hear just a whisper of sorrow. “I wanted a marriage filled with love from the first day to the last.”
Marie’s heart twisted. The pain hidden beneath all of his sharp words was apparent. She had longed for the very same but had given up hope the moment she’d read Charles’s letter. Her parents had encouraged her to pursue the marriage, but ultimately, it had been her choice.
But Charles had been given very little choice at all—destroy a woman’s reputation or ruin his future. And he’d chosen her.
Humility softened her heart. He may be behaving like a child now, but he’d behaved as a man when it had counted most.
“You will find that love and that joy,” Mrs. Shepherd said. “I am confident of that, son.”
“You may be confident, but I am not. Of all the women in the world, you had to choose her—a woman who is as lifeless and dreary as her accomplishments. A woman with as much personality as a handkerchief.”
The compassion she felt before slipped from her grasp. She felt more the fool now than ever, having lent sympathy to the man who turned around and slapped her in the face with it.
The Shepherds instantly protested his words, but Marie did not wait to hear them. Her feet were already propelling her back to her bedchamber.
She had a mind to march straight back to the drawing room, demand an apology from Charles, and prove that he was wrong about her.
But she knew the pain she felt at his criticism would cause her to become a blubbering mess.
Even if she was a Shepherd now, she still had Oakley blood running through her, which meant she would maintain her dignity by refusing to ever cry in front of that so-called gentleman.
Instead, she would return to her bedchamber, make ready for the ball, and prepare mentally so she was ready to put on the performance of a lifetime.
Not for others, but for Charles.
She’d tried to be demure and polite, and he’d been bored.
She’d tried to let him know of her amiability, and he’d rejected her.
She’d tried to get along with him, and he’d accused her of lying.
And now, he said she was lifeless?
Well, Childish Charlie Shepherd had better secure his feet far into his stirrups. For if he wished for a wife who wasn’t lifeless and dreary, he was going to get one.