Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
How could Marie answer such a question?
She wished to remain married only if Charles did, but she couldn’t bear the guilt that would come if he stayed with her out of obligation rather than his own desire.
“Please be honest,” Charles said softly. “We have already made our vows, so you may rest assured I will remain faithful to you until the end.”
A lump grew in Marie’s throat. This was the sort of man she’d always wanted to marry. Selfless, honorable, kind. If only Heaven had allowed her the opportunity to meet him under different circumstances, ones that didn’t include a forced arrangement and an accidental marriage.
But the time for tears had passed. She cleared her throat and pulled on that stoic personality of which Father so approved.
“I am certain we can both agree that neither of us wish to shackle the other in this marriage.”
He nodded. “Yes, that is just how I feel.”
“Then,” she continued, “perhaps we might agree to maintain true to our vows and try a little harder to become friends until Mr. Page writes to you and reveals whatever future awaits us.”
Charles appeared to mull over the information. “I suppose that is the most logical solution. But do you think we are capable of that? Being friends, I mean.”
She tipped her head from side to side, as if weighing the options. “Only time will tell. If I were a gambling woman, which I am not, I would say we are far less likely to drive each other mad now.”
“Speak for yourself.”
He winked at her again, and her stomach dipped with pleasure. If she wished to escape this marriage unscathed, a wink from her husband—who very well could turn out to be not her husband—should not affect her in such a way.
In truth, even agreeing to be friends with Charles was quite risky.
He straightened on the bench, resting his hands on his thighs.
“Well, let us begin anew, then.” He stood with his back to her, drew a deep breath that raised his broad shoulders in a movement quite like a barge upon the sea, then turned around to face her once again.
His eyes fell on her, and he took a startled step back, holding his gloves in his hands.
“Oh, forgive me. I did not see you there. Though, I do not know how I could have missed your beauty.”
Marie beamed, though she tried not to. Was this how he would have spoken to her had they met in a more natural manner? She might have scoffed at the ridiculous words, though most likely she would have blushed to high heaven and accepted the compliment with grace.
But they were no longer strangers. And she could behave any way she wished.
She pulled on a frown. “Would you truly speak that way to a woman you just met, Charles?”
He shushed her. “Do not break the illusion,” he whispered from the side of his mouth. “Now, may I have your name, Miss...”
Marie grinned. “I am Miss...” She paused, this time with a genuine frown. “Oh, I do not know what name to give you.”
“Heavens. Are you unwell? Shall I call for a physician? One should typically know one’s own name.”
She gave a humored smile. “I am in earnest, Charles. Am I to call myself Miss Oakley, or shall I remain Mrs. Shepherd until...if the annulment occurs?”
He pursed his lips in thought. “Very well. You have found another flaw in my little game. Let us simply pick up from where we are right now, yes?”
“That will be far easier,” she agreed.
A stronger wind rustled the trees above them, holding a distinct chill that had not been there before.
Charles drew his eyes to the skies east, and Marie followed suit, finding darker clouds mingled with the white.
“I suppose we ought to return before the rain begins,” Charles said.
He extended his hand to her, and Marie eyed it for a single moment. She had never accepted his help before—her pride had always prevented her—but seeing as how they were friends now...
She reached forward, sliding her fingers into his hand and instantly regretting her decision to do so.
She had kissed the man already, for heaven’s sake.
And yet, in some ways, this moment felt more intimate.
Perhaps it was due to the fact that she could see his features clearer than she had the night of the ball or because of the way he now watched her—with warmth and a softness of which she didn’t know he was capable.
His brown eyes were slightly lighter than she’d first thought, like the color of freshly turned dirt.
He helped her to stand, his thumb resting gently on her knuckles before he tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm. The fabric was warm beneath her hand, though she didn’t rest fully upon him. Any further touch would do untold things to her already stuttering heart.
“So. Marie,” Charles began as they left the church behind and crossed beneath the lych gate. “You have a lovely name. French, is it not?”
The crisp scent of his cologne drifted beneath her nose. “Yes. My great grandmother was French. Mother adored her, so she’d always wished to call her own daughter by the name.”
He nodded. “My brother received his name in a like manner. Mother heard the name Tristan when she was on holiday in Wales before he and I were born and fell in love with it. Though it took her longer to concoct my own name.”
The Shepherds obviously hadn’t intended Marie to marry the second-born twin. Mrs. Shepherd had always said Charles and Marie were far better suited. “You are just the woman for my Charles—a steady presence, a guiding voice home.”
Was Marie suited for Charles?
“What of your name’s meaning?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She rested her hand a little more on his arm.
“Well,” she replied, “that depends on who you ask. Some say it means ‘star of the sea.’”
“Lovely.”
“Yes. Much better than the other.”
“Which is...?”
She hesitated. “‘Sea of bitterness.’”
He stifled a chuckle. “I can see why you prefer the former.”
“Hmm,” she mumbled. “I suppose you will be inclined to tease me about that now.”
“No,” he said, leading her down the lane with an easy stride. “I haven’t a leg to stand on when it comes to the meaning of names.”
“Why? What does yours mean?”
“You’ll find it quite ironic. Charles means, ‘free man.’”
Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “That is ironic. It would appear that your parents have been duping you all along.”
He laughed. “Indeed, they have. Although, Tristan’s name means ‘sad,’ and they couldn’t have chosen a word less fitting for my brother.”
“Do you two get along well?” she asked.
“Better than well. We spent every day together as children and visit as often as we can now we are adults. It is difficult being away from each other when we are, but I suppose we all have to grow up someday.” He gave a small smile.
“Well, I had to grow up. I may be older, but Tristan was always the more steady and mature of the two of us.”
“I should like to see you both together one day,” she said. “See how you measure up.”
He chuckled, those smile lines around his lips and eyes that she’d seen hinted at over the last couple of days finally apparent.
“I don’t know how I feel about you two coming together now,” he said. “You might swiftly discover you married the wrong brother.”
Marie doubted she could ever think such a thing, for the Charles Mrs. Shepherd had promised had finally arrived, and an annulment from the gentleman was becoming less and less appealing.
The following morning, instead of lingering in her room or gawking at Charles from the window—again—Marie made the deliberate decision to leave her room for breakfast.
She knew very likely that Charles would not be there, as he would no doubt be on his usual morning walk. But when she arrived in the dining area, she spotted him already seated at the breakfast table—and fully dressed, which she found only marginally disappointing.
Had he chosen to remain indoors due to their conversation yesterday? Warmth stirred in her center.
As her footsteps softly padded into the room, Charles looked up from his plate in surprise, then stood. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning. Are you to join me for breakfast?”
“If you’ll have me.”
“Of course.” He waited for her to sit down before taking his seat, as well. His eyes lingered on her as she placed her napkin across her lap. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did,” she replied. “And you?”
“As well as I have been able to on that miniscule bed.”
She thanked the footman as he placed a cup of tea before her. She felt Charles’s eyes on her still as she stirred a cube of sugar into the steaming liquid.
Was he waiting for eye contact? She could look up at him...but she rather liked his attention being fixed on her. She didn’t want a glance from her to end it prematurely.
Thunder boomed outside, and she nearly started at the unexpected sound. She hadn’t even been aware of a storm raging outside, despite the plinking of rain against the glass.
Charles’s attention finally shifted from her to the window.
That was why he was indoors. Because of the rain. Not because of her.
She chided her false hope and pulled her declining spirits back up. She shouldn’t be wanting such things anyway.
“No walk today, then?” she asked.
“Not in this downpour.” He seemed distracted for a moment, then faced her, his shoulders squaring. “But I’m sure we can find something here with which to occupy our attentions.”
We. He’d said we.
“Unless you’d prefer to remain in your bedchamber again?”
She was surprised to discover that his words weren’t dripping with provocation. Instead, vulnerability draped over them—as if he was worried she would stay in her room all day.
“I’ll stay down here,” she said as calmly as possible, though her insides buzzed with joy. “If you can behave yourself.”
He took a bite of his toast and winked as he chewed. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Shepherd.”