Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The words remained around Charles, a dead weight amidst the jolly music and happy chatter of the ballroom. He had been about to extend a certain level of understanding toward the man—no one could fault a father for looking after his daughter.
But the realization that Charles was expected to have children with a perfect stranger rushed over him with the heat of a thousand candelabras. He couldn’t even stomach the idea. Such a responsibility ought to be done between a loving husband and wife, not...whatever he and Marie were.
Mr. Oakley left his side soon after the music ended, advising Charles to dance with his new bride before the night wore out, but Charles ignored him. He lasted a full twelve seconds before his eyes wandered toward Marie across the room again.
She was speaking with her previous dance partner—and a new gentleman who no doubt would become her next. She looked between them, throwing back her head and laughing at something the taller gentleman said.
Charles couldn’t hear her laughter, but he could certainly imagine it. Grating, probably. Aggravating, too.
She proceeded to lay a hand on each of the gentlemen’s forearms as she no doubt returned a joke of her own, and Charles scowled. He may not be in love with her, but they owed each other more loyalty than that.
She certainly didn’t seem to think so. Was that why she hadn’t married—because she loved flirting too greatly to be fettered by a husband? She’d gallivanted for too long and was now no longer amiable.
Her eyes abruptly connected with his, as if she’d heard his critiques, and shock struck through his stomach. He pulled his gaze away, but it was too late. He’d been caught staring.
He slipped behind a group of gentlemen near the outskirts of the ballroom, but to his regret, Marie appeared at his side a moment later.
“There you are,” she said, slightly breathless, no doubt exerted by the pleasure she was receiving, dancing with every gentleman in the room.
She glanced around him at the plant he’d covered half his body with and the wall he’d been leaning against, then eyed him with a funny look. “Have you been hiding here all night?”
“I was not hiding.”
“Then what exactly have you been doing? Holding up the wall? Watering the plants?”
Amusement glittered in her dark eyes. For someone who had seemed incapable of looking at him before, she now apparently would not drop her gaze for anything.
Still, he refused to allow her to be in control of the conversation. Not when she was the one embarrassing them both this evening.
“I was merely attempting to exude decorum. Perhaps then others might know one of us in this relationship possesses the ability to do so.”
Instead of scowling at him like he’d hoped, Marie merely grinned and faced the room. “If you believe sulking in the back of a ballroom is more polite than dancing, you are not as gentlemanly as your mother believes.”
Wasn’t that the truth. Mother had made her feelings about him clear during her scolding earlier today. Had Marie overheard that, as well?
Heat rushed to his face. Before he could deliver a retort, an elderly woman stopped before them with a smile on her wrinkled lips.
“Good evening, Miss Oakley.” She paused. “Oh, I suppose I ought to say Mrs. Shepherd now.”
Marie shared the woman’s light chuckle. “Yes, indeed. That will take some getting used to, I daresay. Mrs. Lewis, have you met my husband, Mr. Charles Shepherd?”
They exchanged pleasantries, and Charles pulled a polite smile onto his lips. It felt forced, like it did not belong where he placed it.
“I was pleased to hear of your marriage,” Mrs. Lewis continued. “But I was disappointed not to witness it myself.”
“Oh, yes,” Marie said, tilting her head to the side with sorrow in her eyes. “I am terribly sorry. We desired a quiet affair. My wonderful father obtained a special license for us, and it all happened rather swiftly.”
“Hmm,” Mrs. Lewis mused with a wistful smile. “The youthful do hate to wait for the banns to be read when young and in love.”
“Indeed,” Marie agreed.
Charles’s stomach roiled. How she lied so easily. Granted, her words hadn’t been exactly untrue. She and both sets of parents had desired a quiet affair, and Mr. Oakley had obtained a special license.
But still, he could not join in, remaining silent until Mrs. Lewis departed.
“You are terrible at this playacting,” Marie murmured the moment they were alone. “Though, I admit, I am unsurprised.”
“And you are excellent at it,” he retorted. “And I admit I am also unsurprised.”
She peered up at him, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Do you have a partner for this next dance?” she asked.
“I do not.”
“Would you like one?”
His stomach dipped. Was she asking him? Why did that prospect simultaneously thrill him and fill him with dread?
“You could always ask your wife to dance,” she finished.
Images of her dancing that evening flashed through his mind. “Have you not a line of gentlemen already pleading for the opportunity?”
“I do,” she said flippantly. “But I thought I’d give you a chance to compete with them.”
That was precisely her problem. She was under the impression that he wished to compete for her attention. Little did she know he didn’t even wish for her attention at all.
Still, he had a duty to perform. He’d managed to escape Mother and Father thus far, but he knew if the night ended without them seeing him dance with Marie, he would receive yet another scolding.
“I will dance with you, should you wish it,” he said with a heavy sigh that he hoped revealed just exactly how much of a burden it would be to do so.
“How very generous. Just for that, I shall promise not to bore you to death with my lifelessness.”
She was clearly attempting to cause his guilt to fire up once again, and blast it, if her words hadn’t produced the desired effect.
Charles was not one to care much about anything—aside from his friends and their adventures.
He used to care too much about everything, and his life had almost been destroyed by it.
Since then, and rather unfortunately, he’d learned to cope by masking any guilt he felt due to his apparent apathy by simply leaning into retaliation instead of retreat.
“On second thought,” he said, “I think I’ll forgo the dance altogether and leave.”
His threat was empty, just as it had been in the carriage earlier that morning.
Apparently, Marie knew it, as well. She smiled at him, knowingly.
“I thought you might. Well, you have made your appearance, and while your attempt was embarrassingly lackluster, I cannot fault you for it. Enjoy your ride home in solitude. Oh, and do not wait up for me. I intend to enjoy myself to the fullest this evening. Goodnight, Mr. Shepherd.”
She began to saunter away, but Charles forced himself to remain steady. “You have everything worked out for yourself, do you not?”
She paused, turning around to face him. Most of the crowd advanced toward the dance floor, music signaling the beginning of “A Trip to the Clouds.”
A couple walked by, and Marie nodded in greeting with a kind smile before drawing a step closer to Charles. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice low so other passersby might not hear them.
He followed suit. “Your life. You have somehow managed to sort all the issues out so you have every happiness. You have a husband when you had no hope of obtaining one and a future when you had no hope of securing one. You have two parents who supported your intentions from the start, and now two new parents who dote on you at every turn.”
Her smile lessened as he continued, and his courage took heart.
“And, having obtained everything you wished, you are now allowed to enjoy an errant existence of flirting and freedom. You’ve somehow managed all of the security with none of the loyalty. I tip my hat to you, madam.”
Her eyes were as hard and dark as coal. “I do wonder if your parents are aware of how senseless their son is.”
“And I wonder if your parents are aware of how treacherous their daughter is.”
“I did not trick you into this marriage,” she spat out, her voice raising before she checked it. “And as much as you like to believe otherwise, I do not have every happiness.” She gave him a look up and down. “Especially now.”
Finally, Charles had coaxed the real Marie from her hiding place. That knowledge satisfied him so greatly, he couldn’t help but provoke her further.
“How could you not be happy?” he retorted.
“You are secured for life. You have a husband who was raised a gentleman, and as such, he will provide you with all of life’s basic necessities.
He will ensure you are well cared for and bring you to balls to stand by in silence as you flirt your way around Surrey. ”
He’d hoped she’d hang her head in shame, perhaps even boast a blush, but when a satisfied smile reached her lips, his confidence faltered.
“You were watching me, then?” she asked.
Blast. “It is difficult not to notice one’s wife behaving like a spectacle.”
“Oh, so I am a spectacle now? What a relief, as I thought I had less personality than—what was it again? Oh, that is right—a handkerchief.”
He cringed. Hearing his own words out loud managed to unseat his stubborn pride for a moment, replacing it with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and guilt.
He’d been raised better than to even entertain such criticisms about a woman, let alone voice them.
No matter what Marie had done, no one deserved such unkindness.
And yet, did he deserve the unkindness shown to him by his own parents?
He stamped the emotions down within him, unwilling to harbor the unwelcome, vulnerable feeling a moment longer.
“I’m sorry you overheard my words from earlier,” he began, “but you should not have been listening to them to begin with.”
“Is that your idea of an apology?”
“Forgive me. I cannot lie as well as you,” he said.
No hint of a smile touched Marie’s lips any longer. The next dance had already begun, the excited chatter drowned out by the countless feet tapping the dance steps against the floor.
Charles was only vaguely aware of the fact that he still remained in the ballroom, consumed instead by Marie’s calculating gaze.
“I might have believed you before,” she said. “That you were incapable of lying. But this evening, just as I suspected, your true character has been revealed. You were merely performing before, just like the rest of us.”
“Was I?”
“Yes. Not only have you deceived your parents into thinking you are a gentleman, but you have also convinced yourself that your charm and status are enough to make a woman happy in an unwanted arranged marriage—simply because it is a marriage with you. But let me assure you, Charles Shepherd. You are the last man I would have ever chosen for myself.”
Her words cut past his pride, slicing through his insecurities and piercing the truth. She was right. About everything.
“I see past your performance,” she continued, drawing a step closer to him, her voice dangerously low. “I see who you truly are—a spiteful scoundrel hidden behind fine clothing and polite words. You, Charles Shepherd, are nothing more than a child.”
She spun around to leave, but that final word sealed up his wound, released Charles’s pride from its maimed cage, and filled him with anger. He reached out, catching her wrist.
With a fierce scowl, she whirled around to face him. “Let me go.”
“Or what?” he countered.
She glanced around them with a wary eye. “I shall tell my father. Or your mother.”
“What can they do?” He pulled her toward him, and she stumbled forward a step. “You are legally mine now, remember?”
Disgust crossed her features. With a swift toss of her head, she motioned to his fingers around her wrist. “I belong to no one. And you swore to feign a happy marriage.”
“Who is to say I am not holding you out of joy?”
“Your hardened gaze would suggest otherwise, sir. Let me go.”
Charles fought with his conscience. He did not wish to harm her—indeed, if she wrenched free, he would certainly release her—but he was so furious, so livid, his fingers refused to lessen their hold.
She was but two years his senior. How dare she call him a child?
You have behaved like a child today, Charles.
That inner doubting voice slithered through his thoughts and pressed him to maintain his hold of her.
“I will not let you go, Marie,” he said. “For you have accused me of being a child, and I am minded to prove you otherwise.”
She scoffed. “How ever will you manage that?”
He forced his breathing to remain level. “By reminding you that I am a true gentleman. And true gentlemen always keep their word.” He stared down at her. “As you said, I have promised to maintain the appearance of a happy marriage, so I think I’ll do just that.”
Uncertainty flickered in her expression. “How?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted his hold of her wrist to grasp her hand instead, then with abrupt movements, he progressed through the ballroom, pulling her swiftly behind him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, plastering a smile on her lips as she nodded at the curious glances from the people they walked by.
“I am doing what husbands do.”
“And what is that?”
“Spending time alone with my wife.”