Chapter 3
Three
The chapel was small, but it carried a weight of history. It was the sort of place where quick weddings among the ton would be held: dignified but private.
“I am not prepared for this, Ivy,” Madeline whispered, her fingers twisting together. Her sister had never seen her this nervous before.
Ivy felt helpless. While her sister was the one who was about to be shoved into a marriage she did not want, she was partly hidden behind her younger sister’s taller figure, and she was ashamed of it.
“It will be alright,” she whispered back, wishing that last night’s investigative exploration had resulted in better news to tell her sister.
The chapel was damp and musty, not quite the scene one would expect of a romantic wedding. Ivy believed that it was a terrible sign, like one of the descriptive scenes from a gothic novel, instead.
Perhaps she should also explore more of philosophy, because she was beginning to wonder how life could deal something like this to a sweet girl like Madeline.
“Stop fretting,” Lady Hartwell said to Madeline, fussing at the edges of her daughter’s sleeve. Her fingers hovered over the lace as if they had magic that could make them look even better than they already were. “You look beautiful.”
And she did. Ivy could appreciate her sister’s youthful beauty, the elegant, swan neck, and slender figure.
The world had often told her that was what indicated beauty in all terms, and that she was the opposite of it—short, dumpy, and ironically prone to clinging to the walls like ivy.
Lord Hartwell stood at a distance, pulling at his cravat and breathing hard.
“Guilt and anxiety,” thought Ivy.
It seemed that the Duke of Everleigh always knew when to make an entrance. Soon, the Hartwells were graced with the presence of the tall, broad-shouldered and handsome man who had the infuriating readability of a murky pool in an abandoned estate.
Such a man should be pleased with life, but somehow his lips were turned downward as he scanned the chapel.
His eyes found Madeline, an easy figure to notice. Instead of a smile or even a self-satisfied smirk—or perhaps a nod at the very least—he frowned.
“Where is the elder Miss Hartwell?” he demanded with cold precision.
A tense silence followed his question. One question revealed that he knew about the deception.
From what she could see, Ivy knew that her parents simply accepted that the duke was powerful enough to retrieve such information on his own.
There had been no possible opportunity that they could see for their older daughter to talk to him.
Reactions differed. Madeline visibly retreated.
Lady Hartwell’s fingers tightened around the fabric of her gown, while her husband cleared his throat as if ready to defend their honor.
Of course. Even then, Ivy could see that he was merely trying to smile.
His lips trembled. She almost felt sorry for him.
“Y-your Grace—,” he began, as he attempted to appease the glowering duke.
Maximilian Blackbourne raised a hand, silencing Lord Hartwell with that small, commanding gesture.
“Where is she?”
Ivy felt like her parents had been right all along. She was in the room, right behind Madeline, and he had not noticed her.
“I am here,” she declared in a soft voice. “I have been right here all along.”
Ivy knew that there was no escape, with the duke armed with the knowledge that she had handed to him last night.
Her parents’ scheming would not undo the passing of such knowledge.
She stepped forward while hearing a panicked sound escaping her mother.
It was too late for her to hold her older daughter back.
“Ah, Miss Hartwell. Precisely why I was asking. I should have asked the question when I first came to your drawing room because your family seemed content to make me believe Miss Madeline was older,” the duke said in his cold, inexpressive voice.
Then, he did something that made Ivy tremble. He scanned her from head to toe, studying her intently like he must have done with his philosophy books. All the while, his face did not change in expression.
“There is nothing wrong with the real Miss Hartwell,” he declared, stunning Ivy with his cold declaration and his seemingly detached ways even when saying something that could possibly offend others.
What she could appreciate, though, was the finality in his tone, like he did not expect anyone to argue with him. There was an undercurrent of a threat there, as well. No further discussion would be tolerated. Somehow, it made Ivy’s heart flutter in a strange way.
She reminded herself that while she appreciated being defended by someone else, that was not the purpose. It felt like the duke merely wanted to show that he was right, and that nobody could deny that.
“Your Grace,” Lady Hartwell began. Her face was pale and Ivy could swear she saw beads on sweat on her temples. “You need not—”
The duke turned to her with a glower. He was focused on Ivy’s mother and she realized that it didn’t feel comfortable to be under this man’s intimidating gaze.
“What do I not need, madam?” His choice of words and his tone were both meant to make people shrink back like her mother was doing.
“Your Grace, my husband is right. You don’t have to follow the contract to the letter. You can have our younger daughter if you wish to. You can make a conscious choice between them,” she said, almost meekly. Only Ivy could still see the flare of pride in her eyes.
“Enough of that.”
Ivy heard her mother’s breath hitch and saw her father rub his temples. The tension reached new heights. While the duke might not have yelled, his voice carried an undeniable command.
Admiration could not help but rise in Ivy’s chest. Yes, she was embarrassed for her family, but what she did somehow made her felt special. Not beautiful, but special was something better.
Then, the duke’s eyes locked onto hers. She could not breathe. The man’s eyes were weapons. When he exhaled, it was impatient. It was like he held his breath for some reason.
“I needed a bride,” he grumbled.
Ivy crashed right back to earth. The duke would not give her flattery and reassurance. No. It would feel too much for him. He was simply obeying a contract that was drawn by his grandfather and hers.
Still, he managed to stir something within her. Someone who could silence her parents had her respect. It was not something she wanted to admit to the world, but there it was.
When the duke turned on his heel, Ivy knew that she must follow. It was an instinctual reaction, so different from anything she was used to. She was used to overthinking before acting.
When she stepped forward, though, her mother reached for her wrist. The grip was tight. The message was clear, but her mother still gave her a piece of her mind.
“Please understand, Ivy,” her mother whispered harshly. “We did it because we wanted to secure the Duke of Everleigh’s favor. It is not easy with him. He is hard to read, and we thought it best to present Madeline.”
Of course. Madeline was the one everyone thought of when they wanted someone beautiful. On the other hand, Ivy was the one that the Hartwells treated like a secret. She was fortunate enough she did not get locked up in an attic.
All that her mother said was already clear to her. She was not the sort to bring in powerful connections, and she was not even the boy her father had hoped for.
“I—I am sorry, I-Ivy,” Madeline whispered, her green eyes wet with unshed tears. “I—I know you also dreamed of true love.”
Ivy did not respond, not with words anyway. The sisters simply looked at each other before Ivy slipped away from her mother’s grasp to join the duke. She was stepping into an unknown future, escaping one prison to possibly willingly slip into another.
The ceremony was brief, but that was expected.
It was a rushed wedding, with a special license.
However, Ivy did not expect it to feel so impersonal.
It was like two people reciting words they were not too familiar with.
It was what she had always been afraid of: arranged marriages. She’d at least saved Madeline from one.
The vows were spoken. With each word, Ivy felt the noose tighten around her neck. The duke, Maximilian, took her hand. Even that gesture was part of the whole ritual. It was cold and impersonal, but his grip was firm. They stood next to each other, not close enough to touch.
His tall figure was even more intimidating next to her short one. Ivy thought idly of how her sister and the duke had looked beautiful together when strolling the gardens of Tolliver House, her home.
“I do,” he said, startling her with those two special words that should not be coming from this man, or anyone.
She’d thought she’d rather die a spinster than marry someone who did not love her, but here they were.
The two words sounded like a signature under a business contract, which was not that far from the truth.
When their eyes met for a moment, Ivy did catch a flicker of something else behind the stoic man’s eyes. It was so faint that it was probably all her imagination.
Ivy made herself focus on that flicker. If there could be something there, a shred of humanity, then the marriage would not be as bleak as she'd first thought it would be. Maybe something else could be salvaged.
They left the chapel as husband and wife.
Outside, the wind caught her makeshift veil, originally fitted for Madeline, lifting it a little before it settled.
It seemed like a sign of things to come.
Something had rattled the quiet but lonely life of Ivy Hartwell.
She glanced at her new husband’s profile.
It was sharp, as ever, and as expected, he did not look at her.
Then again, Maximilian Blackbourne was not the type of man who would look at anyone.
For now, Ivy could content herself with the thought that her new life wouldn’t be much different from her old one—bleak but steady and predictable.
At that time, she still did not know how wrong she was.
Because for all that had happened, she still did not know why the Duke was insistent he marry. Or why he'd avoided going through the process of picking his own wife.