Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Marie stared at her reflection in the drawing room window that evening.
With only the fire in the hearth and a few spare candles lit nearby, she couldn’t see beyond much of her outline, but having already examined her features in her bedchamber’s looking glass earlier, she’d been more than pleased with her lady’s maid’s efforts tonight.
Jane had outdone herself, which was exactly what Marie had requested. Her dark green gown accentuated her figure in all the right places, and her gold and emerald necklace and earrings highlighted the hollow of her throat and her dainty ears.
Her hair was a true masterpiece, as well, her black curls stacked high and glinting with her every movement.
A golden-colored ribbon embroidered with shimmering beads had been weaved throughout her locks with delicate intricacy, and a light brushing of subtle pink had been added to her lips and cheekbones.
To any outsider, she appeared every inch the blushing, glowing bride. Which was perfect, really. It was just what she needed to give her enough confidence to complete her plan for that evening.
She turned away from the window and faced the doorway expectantly, standing in the empty room with a quiet regality.
She’d been rehearsing her behavior and actions for the last few hours now and was more than ready to face her husband.
Despicable man that he was.
A few short minutes later, Charles appeared on his own, nearly coming to a skidding halt in the doorway when he realized Marie was alone.
His eyes scanned the length of her, and pleasure pulled at her stomach at the clear approval in his expression. He remained silent, standing in the doorway.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
He hesitated a moment longer, blinked, then shook his head in silence. Entering the room, he headed in the opposite direction of her and toward the hearth.
All the while, Marie maintained a steady gaze. Charles looked dashing tonight. Pomaded hair, high collar, breeches that accentuated his muscular legs, and a green waistcoat that matched her gown. Whether that was a coincidence or Mrs. Shepherd’s doing, Marie couldn’t be sure.
“You must be looking forward to this evening,” he said after a moment, his back to her.
“I am. I find balls a perfect way to discover more about a person.”
“One would imagine talking would suffice in that regard,” he returned.
“Conversing is unreliable.”
Her clipped words pulled his attention toward her. “How so?”
“Any person can speak whatever they wish, whether they mean it or not.” Her eyes honed in. “Actions reveal far more.”
“Cannot actions be feigned, as well?” he countered.
“Not for long. In the end, a person always reveals who he or she is on the inside by their actions.”
Shadows danced across his rigid cheekbones as he studied her, and a fleeting thought occurred about how this was their first time alone together. She’d certainly pictured the moment differently.
“So how do you come to learn more about a person at a ball, then?” he asked, his expression revealing that he had no intention of believing her either way.
Clearly, he thought he was in control of the conversation.
Childish Charlie, indeed.
“Sooner or later,” she replied, “as the night wears on and propriety and politeness wane, the drink becomes stronger and the tired eyes become weaker, a person reveals his true character. How he treats others during those late hours is very telling.”
He tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “And are you hoping to learn more tonight about me? Or for me to discover more about you?”
She gave an enigmatic smile. “I suppose we shall simply have to wait and see.”
His confident stance wavered only slightly at her pointed gaze, giving her further courage.
“Either way, I can assure you, Charles, tonight at the ball, you will discover that you have not married a lifeless woman after all.”
She let the words dangle heavily between them. A flicker of alarm within his dark eyes shone first, then it shifted to embarrassment before he looked abruptly away without a word.
Satisfaction filled every inch of her. He knew that she knew.
Not a moment later, Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd joined them in the drawing room, complimenting Marie’s appearance.
“Is your wife not utterly stunning, Charles?” Mrs. Shepherd said.
He peered down at his pocket watch, then tucked it away. “We had better be off. We oughtn’t be late.”
“Now who is anxious to go to the ball?” Mr. Shepherd teased.
“He no doubt cannot wait to dance with his wife,” Mrs. Shepherd said with a grin and a wink in Marie’s direction.
“Not at all,” Charles said gruffly. “I am simply ready to be done with this whole debacle. I do not relish the idea of lying tonight. Though, I suppose some of us do not have qualms over such deception.”
He looked in Marie’s direction, though he did not meet her eyes. He’d found his voice, then, had he? Well, Marie would make certain he’d lose it again before the night was over.
“It is enjoyable to playact at times,” she said with an innocent smile. “If I do well tonight, I think I might attempt to join a pantomime in London next.”
Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd laughed, but Charles left the room, his shoulders stiff and unmoving.
“He’ll warm up eventually,” Mrs. Shepherd reassured her with a whisper as they filed out of the drawing room.
Marie nodded, though she held her tongue.
The Shepherds were either in denial or completely oblivious—if not a bit of both.
After Charles’s temper tantrum that afternoon, they had to be fully aware of his feelings about the marriage.
But she wasn’t going to be the one to crush their reality by telling them how much she despised him right back.
No, tonight, she would be the perfect daughter-in-law, the perfect wife, and the perfect example of being filled with so much life, she could not contain it.
And Childish Charlie was going to hate it.
Charles stood on the outskirts of the ballroom, attempting invisibility amidst the crowds. He’d done a fine job of it thus far, having only danced a handful of times and succeeding in remaining hidden for the rest.
Still, this whole affair was beginning to wear on him. How much longer was he expected to feign merriment?
For as long as your wife demands.
His eyes tracked her as she danced down the set with her happy, smiling partner. He could have described every gentleman she’d danced with tonight in the same regard, for they all appeared delighted to be dancing with Marie.
Of course, she hadn’t had a single spare moment to dance with her own husband. Indeed, she had not even glanced in Charles’s direction once.
Not that he was complaining. Or jealous. That would mean he wanted her attention on himself, which he didn’t. Walking into the ballroom together, forcing a smile with her on his arm, had been dreadful. Anything further would push him over the edge.
He was simply filled with indignation that she could be so happy with every other gentleman but Charles, and frankly, he did not approve of her behavior.
Were they not supposed to be putting on the appearance of a happy marriage? He was attempting to fulfill his duty—why was she not hers? Especially when she’d bragged about it so fully before they married.
Bitterness swirled within him—a bitterness that could rival his friend Leonard’s. Leonard was persistently annoyed with his lot in life. Charles had always thought it humorous, but now, on the other side of it, the feeling was unnerving.
That woman. He would never again receive a single moment of peace being married to her. He couldn’t even speak with his parents without her meddling.
At the thought of her overhearing his words, his whole body ran hot. He’d tried to feel better by telling himself that it was her fault. She’d been prying in on a private conversation.
But no matter how he spun the matter, he was in the wrong. He never should have stated such cruel things about anyone—let alone a woman he’d vowed to honor only hours before.
His parents had given him a sound tongue lashing after his words, and he’d taken it in stride, for he deserved every scolding word from them and himself. He was thoroughly and rightfully ashamed.
And yet, did any husband deserve this treatment—being forced to remain at a ball in the back corners of the room while his new wife enjoyed the company of every single gentleman in attendance, apart from the one she tricked into marrying?
Her rosy cheeks, bright eyes, and bouncing black curls spoke measures to how greatly she enjoyed the attention she was receiving. Her glee was apparent, as was each of her companion’s when she laughed with them, took their arm, and devoted all of her focus on each gentleman in turn.
Charles’s jaw tightened, and he forced his eyes away, only to have them return swiftly of their own accord, as if they could not help but dwell on her disloyalty.
She clapped in time with the music and the other dancers, then spun in a circle around her partner before facing the man with more delight than ever before. The gentleman she danced with was tall and fair with blue eyes that watched Marie as if she wasn’t married.
Charles’s blood boiled. She had to be doing this on purpose. She’d experienced his cruelty and was now exacting her revenge by proving him wrong.
And she was proving him wrong. He’d claimed she was lifeless, and now, she was the life of the party. He’d claimed her to have less personality than a handkerchief, and now, she exuded character as she laughed, made her partners grin, and engaged in focused conversation despite their dancing.
And yet, Charles concluded that he was right in at least one regard—Marie really was as deceptive as he’d claimed.
What other explanation was there for her frequently changing personality?
And what other reason could explain why she hadn’t been married?
Everyone seemed to love her, so what had led her and her parents to ultimately seek an arranged marriage?
Mother had said Marie had simply never found anyone to love. Or was the truth of the matter that she had never found anyone to love her?
With her erratic behavior, Charles was beginning to believe the latter.
“Taking a moment of respite?”
Charles nearly jumped at Mr. Oakley’s voice, having no notion that he’d come to stand beside him.
“I do not blame you,” Mr. Oakley said without awaiting Charles’s response. “Anyone would need rest after the day you’ve had.”
Charles held his tongue. Were they to feign friendship now? Was Charles supposed to simply ignore everything that had occurred between them? He already knew he could not—would not.
“I find I must do so during social matters, as well,” Mr. Oakley continued. He nodded politely to another gentleman and lady as they walked. “It was good of you to come tonight. Despite the rigors of the day.”
Charles clasped his hands behind him. He didn’t think he was in danger of reaching out to throttle the man, but better to be safe than sorry.
“I did not have much of a choice, did I?” Charles murmured.
Mr. Oakley cast him a sidelong glance, then sighed. “I should like to have a pleasant relationship with my son-in-law after all of this, so I shall begin anew and apologize for how matters escalated this morning—and for how you came to discover the arrangement. It must have been quite the shock.”
Understatement of the year. Even still, Charles was minded to accept the apology. He felt more understood by this man than his own parents at this rate.
Still, his heart refused to be softened. “Thank you, sir,” he said stiffly.
“I hope you know,” Mr. Oakley continued, “had my daughter’s future not been at stake, I never would have pressed for the marriage to continue.” He paused. “I do not relish the idea of my child being married to a gentleman who does not wish to be married to her.”
They fell silent, watching the dancers as they neared the end of the song. Charles didn’t watch the dancers—plural—as much as he watched one dancer.
Marie’s very nature seemed so innocent, so sincere. She was magnetic. But he knew better, and he wouldn’t be deceived.
“She is a beauty,” Mr. Oakley said with a nod in Marie’s direction.
Mr. Oakley would be disappointed if he thought Charles had been admiring her as much as Charles had been judging her.
“You must be wondering why she has remained unmarried.”
Charles pressed his lips tighter together. “I admit, the thought has crossed my mind.”
“As it would any man. While I have no direct answer for you, allow me to assure you that it was not due to any scandal. Her reputation is spotless—ask any individual here.”
Charles didn’t need to. He’d seen the approval already. He may not have known very many people there, but the Oakleys obviously did. Indeed, the entire room seemed to love the Oakley family as a whole. No wonder her father was adamant her reputation remain unscathed.
A draught of doubt tried to snuff out the flames of his pride, and he struggled to keep it lit. Had all of Society misjudged Marie...or had only Charles?
He brushed the thought aside. All these people loving the Oakleys still did not explain why Marie was single. Had been single.
“We allowed the years to pass us by,” Mr. Oakley continued, as if reading Charles’s thoughts.
“She spent a great deal of time with us, accompanied us wherever we traveled, and we enjoyed every second of it. But before we knew it, she had moved beyond the age of eligibility. Soon enough, interest—not in her as a person, but in her as a young wife—severely dropped.”
Charles could believe that. Men loved impressionable, moldable young women. But he was more inclined to support the explanation that Marie was simply unlikeable. That reason leant him far less empathy for her.
“She is highly accomplished,” Mr. Oakley said. “And she will make you a very fine wife, I am certain of it. I only pray you will understand one day why this has all occurred. I’m sure you will...when you have children of your own.”