Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Hours later, the carriage pulled to a stop before the smallest cottage Charles had ever laid eyes on.
“Woewood Cottage?” Marie asked, her eyes moving across the two-storied house. “This is where we are staying?”
“Are you surprised? Of course this is where they wish us to spend the next fortnight together.” He lowered his breath, mumbling to himself. “We hardly have the space to breathe our own air here.”
With off-white bricks and a roof in shambles, the edifice had clearly seen better days, though the small, white door and red-bordered windows lent a certain charm to the overall feel.
Pink and red rose bushes with their early blooms shone brightly in front of the two lower windows, and strands of ivy crawled to the three windows on the second floor.
There could not be much of a dining area with such limited space, nor could there be above three or four rooms—which Charles knew was precisely the point.
Instead of sending them on an actual bridal tour visiting relatives and viewing beautiful locations throughout England, their parents had chosen to send him and Marie to the smallest home in the country—no doubt another attempt to solidify their union.
Mother and Father were never subtle. It was a wonder Charles and Tristan had turned out so well.
Charles followed Marie as they took themselves on a tour through the house, which was even smaller than it had appeared on the outside.
With rooms that flowed into one another, the cottage’s layout was fairly standard—though the dining area only had room for four seatings and the sitting room barely had space for three chairs.
“It is quite small,” Marie said in a soft voice as they peeked into the kitchen on the main level of the house. “But at least it is clean.”
Charles eyed the corridor walls draped with spare webs at the edges. “Depends on your definition of clean.”
“Frightened of spiders, are you?” she asked over her shoulder. “Worry not. I am no stranger to trapping them for my mother. I’d be happy to provide my delicate husband with the same courtesy.”
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you all the same for your generous offer.”
Charles could handle a little spider now and again, but the worst of the matter was when they climbed the stairs—stairs that were barely wide enough to fit one person at a time—and reached the bedchambers.
Each door was closed apart from the first room at the start of the corridor. Together, they made their way toward it, both of them leaning halfway into the room and peering at the two trunks resting side by side near the bed.
His and Marie’s trunks...placed in the same room. No doubt this was another request from Mother.
In the same moment he glanced at Marie, she glanced at him, and her expression said it all.
She did not approve.
He didn’t pay too much attention to her expression, however, for the small doorframe they stood within brought them nearly as close to each other as the fountain had. Their eyes dropped to each other’s mouths simultaneously, but Marie looked away first.
“One room will not do,” she said. “Especially if we are to seek an annulment.”
He watched her in silence.
She must have taken his lack of response as confusion rather than what it was—a desperate attempt to stop himself from replaying their kiss in his mind over and over again.
“Correct me if I am mistaken,” she began, “but I was under the impression that for a couple to seek an annulment, they must remain...apart.”
“I believe you are correct,” he said softly.
Energy sparked between them as their eyes met again, and Charles’s breathing shallowed.
“Will that be too difficult for you?” she asked.
He barely registered her words. All he could think about was having just one more look at her lips. That was all he needed. One look, and he’d be satiated.
And yet, when he glanced again at those perfect, rosy lips and traced the gentle slopes and curves with his eyes, he knew in that moment, his desire for her would never be quenched until he could drink from those lips again.
“Charles,” she repeated sternly, “will that be too difficult for you?”
“Not for me,” he lied. “You?”
“Not a chance.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Are you certain? You are the one who kissed me if you recall.”
Her eyes flicked between his, then finally, she looked away. “I assure you, that was a moment of weakness and fury that will not be repeated. At any rate, I think it wise if we do not share a room”—she motioned to the small bed barely suitable for one person—“or that.”
He entered the room, pushing aside images of holding Marie in his arms as they fell asleep together. It would be necessary to hold her, after all, in so small a bed.
“I’ll have mine moved directly.” He glanced to the wardrobe. “And the clothing of mine they have no doubt placed within there, as well. I only hope they’ve already prepared another room.”
“I can check for spiders first, if you’d feel safer.”
He rang the servant’s bell near the bed, then turned to face her. She remained in the doorway, her eyes upon him with an expression comparable to when they’d first met—calculating but otherwise entirely imperceptible.
Was she uncomfortable with him standing in her room?
That had to be it. She’d agreed to the annulment, after all.
Her desire for their relationship to remain platonic was obvious.
Charles, of course, was willing to oblige, despite his level of attraction to her.
He’d meant what he’d said before. He wouldn’t do anything to injure her.
A fleeting thought flickered through his mind.
If he followed through with the annulment, would he be back in the running for losing the bet?
Or was his marriage, short as it was, enough to secure a win?
He was fine either way, but he knew alerting his friends of any marriage would put them into a frenzy.
Perhaps Charles would pull a page out of Mother’s book and do a little matchmaking himself, then.
Thomas and Andrew might already be married, and Rowan was promised to another.
But Ambrose Hartley—good, ole, overplanning Rosie—might find Marie humorous.
Perhaps even sullen Leonard would enjoy her company.
And yet, the mere thought of Marie being wrapped in the arms of any of his school friends, sharing her kisses with them and bestowing warm smiles upon them, filled his stomach with that same jealous frustration that had encompassed him at the ball.
“I ought to be out of here soon enough,” he reassured her—and himself—as he moved to stand beside his trunk.
She made no response, her petite figure remaining resolutely in the doorframe.
Her form and posture were always flawless, but in her dark blue traveling clothes, she was regality itself.
A few dark curls had come loose during their carriage ride and now trailed down one of her shoulders.
He fought the urge to close the distance between them to see if the strands were as smooth as they appeared.
An awkward silence filled the space between them, and the absence of any servant’s footsteps became more and more obvious.
“Does the bell not work?” she asked, motioning to the strip of fabric draped near the wall.
He tried again, but after no response, he sighed. Marie obviously wished for him to leave the intimacy of her room and would not relax until he did so. But who knew how long they’d be waiting?
“I’ll just take care of it myself,” he muttered, moving to the trunks again as he removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves.
Finally, he hoisted his trunk onto his shoulder, then made to leave the room, but Marie was still standing in the doorway, her eyes on his forearms.
For the first time since he’d met her, he could read her expression. Clear as the skies that morning, approval and admiration shone in her eyes as she watched him handle the trunk.
His chest opened, and his shoulders straightened of their own accord. That same feeling that stirred within him during their kiss returned, and suddenly, the weight of the trunk was insignificant.
These sorts of feelings were not entirely unexpected—after all, he’d already admitted to finding Marie attractive. But if they were to seek an annulment, if he was truly wishing to end their union, he certainly shouldn’t be dwelling on them...or wishing for more.
“Pardon,” he said, motioning to the door.
She blinked once, then stepped aside with reddened cheeks.
All Charles could do was hide his smile as he left the room.
Marie, once again, did not sleep well that night, or the night after that. This was, in part, due to the flimsy nature of her bed, as she feared one sudden roll might render her flat on the floor.
What made matters worse, however, were the veritably paper-thin walls within the cottage.
Charles had found the room next to Marie’s prepared, so he’d settled there, but with every movement he made, she could hear his footsteps, the whining of the chair near his desk, and the creaking of his bed.
She never heard voices, however, only his movements, but it made matters very difficult to not imagine him pacing about his room, dressing for bed, and climbing beneath his covers.
Their first full day at Woewood, she only left her room to join him for church.
The two of them slipped in at the back, then left before a word could be spoken to either of them.
When they returned, Marie retreated directly to her room, and there she remained for the entirety of the day, not having the energy or desire to deal with her husband—or the constant reminder of how attracted to him she was.
After sunrise on the second day, she heard him roll out of his bed and watched him leave the cottage on what she could only assume was a morning walk.
Hoping to eat without him and anxious for a view beyond her four walls, she dressed and slipped from her room to take her breakfast downstairs at a leisurely pace.