Chapter 11
“Oh, Camelia, imagine you as a duchess!” Margaret giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she fumbled a stitch. “Will you wear a tiara every day and order us about like royal subjects?”
Camelia sat in the sunlit parlor, her needle gliding through the fabric as she embroidered a delicate rose. Her sisters were seated beside her, their laughter filling the room like a bright melody.
Her lips stretched into a grin, her cheeks warming. “Hardly, Margaret. I’ll be far too busy keeping His Grace from glowering at everyone.”
Iris snorted, her stern gaze fixed on her precise needlework. “You’ll need more than charm to manage that man. The Duke’s got a reputation for being dark, brooding, and not easily tamed. You’re marrying a storm, Camelia.”
“A storm with very broad shoulders,” Margaret quipped, dodging Iris’s sharp elbow. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed, Iris! Camelia, do tell us, will he sweep you off to some grand ballroom for your first dance as husband and wife?”
Camelia laughed, shaking her head. “I suspect he’d rather avoid ballrooms altogether. But I’ll convince him to host one just for you, Margaret.”
“Good luck with that,” Iris said dryly, though a rare smile tugged at her lips. “He does not seem one for frivolity. You’ll need to be clever to keep up with him. A duchess must be steel beneath silk.”
Camelia knew that Iris always spoke from her own experience, and she cherished every piece of advice.
“Oh, Iris, must you always be so serious?” Margaret groaned, tossing a spool of thread at her. “Let Camelia enjoy her wedding dreams! I bet His Grace will be utterly besotted, staring at her like she’s the only star in the sky.”
Camelia’s heart fluttered at the thought, her needle pausing as she imagined Raph’s intense gaze. “I hope I can make him happy,” she said softly, and instantly regretted speaking her mind.
Iris and Margaret paused their needlework, their gazes settling on her with knowing smiles that hinted at shared secrets and unspoken endearments.
The door creaked open, and their father stepped into the room, his kind eyes crinkling at the sight of them.
“What’s this I hear about a bride-to-be?” he asked, his voice warm as he settled into an armchair. “My girls, you’re a vision, all laughter and light.”
“Papa, we’re plotting Camelia’s triumph as a duchess!” Margaret declared, her grin infectious.
Lord Lempster chuckled, his gaze softening as it landed on Camelia. “Your mother would be proud, my dear. She had a fire in her, just like you three. A light that lit up any room. Camelia, I’ve no doubt you’ll shine as a duchess, just as she would have known you would.”
Camelia’s throat tightened, and her sisters’ laughter quieted into tender smiles. She reached for Iris’s hand on one side and Margaret’s on the other, their warmth anchoring her.
This marriage is more for them than for me.
“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered, her heart swelling with love for her family.
But the weight of her impending marriage, along with the daunting responsibilities of a duchess, a mother, and a wife, pressed heavily upon her. A tide of apprehension threatened to shatter her resolve.
She sat rigidly on the edge of her chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her heart pounding as she tried to focus on the embroidery again.
Tomorrow. The wedding is tomorrow.
The thought churned in her mind.
Why did I agree to this? Why does he want me?
Her fingers fumbled with the needle, and it slipped as she recalled Raph’s dark gaze in the library, his whispered promises of consequences and discipline. The heat of his breath on her ear and so close to her lips that it made her shiver.
The door to the study suddenly swung open, and the Duke strode in unannounced, as if summoned by her thoughts. His presence commanded the room as if he owned it.
He might as well.
Camelia noted the way her father straightened in his chair and the way her sisters’ eyes widened. Margaret, ever the bold one, set her needlework aside, while Iris fidgeted with her shawl, her expression wary.
Their father rose to greet him, his expression a mix of gratitude and exhaustion.
“Your Grace,” he said, his tone formal but always warm. “We weren’t expecting you today. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
The Duke’s eyes flicked to Camelia—a brief, intense look that sent a shiver down her spine.
He’s here to remind me of my place.
“I come with news, Lord Lempster,” he announced, his voice steady and authoritative. “The debt to Lord Montague is paid in full. He will not bother your family again.”
Camelia dropped her needle into her lap.
Paid? Just like that?
“You… you settled it?” she asked with disbelief. “All of it? So quickly?”
“Every penny. My solicitor ensured Lord Montague had no grounds to contest. Your family is under my protection now, as I promised.”
He fulfilled his promise even before the wedding?
Camelia felt grateful to the Duke.
But at what cost to me?
“Thank you, Your Grace,” her father said sincerely. “We’re… grateful.”
Margaret, lounging on the settee, sat up abruptly, her eyes sparkling with her usual unfiltered curiosity.
“Wait a moment! If the debt’s paid, then Camelia doesn’t have to marry you anymore, does she? That was the whole point, wasn’t it? To save us from Lord Montague. Although I do hope she chooses to marry a duke.”
Camelia’s heart stopped. Her eyes darted to the Duke for an answer.
Margaret, you fool!
She opened her mouth to protest, but the Duke’s voice cut her off.
“There was never a contract forcing Lady Camelia to marry me,” he said calmly. His piercing blue eyes slid to Margaret, then back to Camelia, pinning her in place. “But I expect her to fulfill her duty. I will be waiting for her at the altar tomorrow.”
Duty?
Camelia’s mind reeled.
“My duty.” Her voice was smaller than she had intended. She cleared her throat. “You paid the debt, Your Grace, so I will keep my end of the deal.”
His lips twitched, a faint smirk that both infuriated and unsettled her. “As I expected, Lady Camelia. I’m glad you haven’t forgotten.”
Her pulse quickened at the memory of his closeness in the library and the near kiss that still haunted her dreams.
“I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “But I didn’t expect you to settle the debt so quickly.” Her voice carried a hint of suspicion.
Her father cleared his throat. “Camelia, His Grace has done us a great service. The debt is cleared, and Lord Montague is no longer a threat. You must consider what this marriage means for all of us.”
“Yes, I know what it means, Father,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
But it is all happening so soon.
“Your Grace,” Lord Lempster called. “Please allow me to walk you out?”
The Duke nodded in approval, and they left the drawing room.
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging over them like a storm cloud. Then, abruptly, Iris and Margaret burst into giggles, shattering the tension.
Camelia couldn’t help it; a reluctant smile tugged at her lips, and soon she was laughing with them, the sound bubbling up despite the chaos in her heart.
“Oh, Camelia!” Margaret gasped between giggles, clutching her sides. “Did you see his face? He’s terrifying, but also so handsome! I wish his manners were a bit more… refined.”
“He’s insufferable, talking like I’m a… project!”
“He’s got his work cut out for him. You’re about as tame as a wildcat! I wager he’ll be the one begging for mercy by your wedding night,” Iris said nonchalantly.
Margaret snorted, leaning forward with a wicked grin. “‘Fulfill your duty,’ indeed!”
They’re relentless, but they’re not entirely wrong. That look in his eyes…
“He’s not like that! Or… I don’t know what he’s like! Stop making it worse!”
Iris covered her mouth to muffle her laughter. “He did have a certain… intensity. I swear, when he said he’d wait for you at the altar, I half-expected him to sweep you off your feet right then and there. Do you think he has a romantic side, Camelia? Or is he just terrifying?”
“Terrifying,” Camelia muttered, though her heart raced at the memory of his dark gaze, the way he had almost unraveled her in the library and alley.
Why does he affect me so?
“He’s a tyrant, and you two are no help at all!”
“But Camelia, how did you win a duke over? You must teach me, so I never end up with a Montague again!” Margaret huffed.
“I didn’t win him over,” Camelia said with a chuckle, her cheeks burning. “He just… decided this. I don’t even know why!”
Iris tilted her head. “Oh, I think you do. He looks at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t wait to solve. I bet he’s smitten, even if he hides it behind all that talk of duty.”
Camelia scoffed, though her heart skipped a beat.
Smitten? No, it’s control he wants, not affection.
“You’ve been reading too many novels, Iris. He’s… he’s complicated. That’s all I’ll say.”
Her heart raced as she stared at the door where Raph had disappeared.
He’s saved us, but at what cost? And why does he look at me like that? Like he sees right through me?
The memory of his voice, his promise to wait for her at the altar, sent a shiver through her.
Tomorrow, I will become his wife. But what does that really mean?
Camelia suddenly sat up straight. She had to tell him.