CHAPTER NINE
It all happened so quickly after the Kensington garden party, and within three days, a special license had been acquired, and Amelia, knowing the reality of what she needed to accept, still could not process the fact that she was about to become a duchess.
Descending the stairs on shaking legs, she entered the entrance hall. Her father would walk her into the drawing room where the intimate ceremony would begin. A ceremony where she would become the Duke of Blackthorn’s wife.
Her stomach was a mess of nerves, and she had barely slept. For how could she relax when she had forced him into such a predicament? She should have walked right out of the maze upon finding him there.
Eleanor moved towards her first, gathering her hands.
They had spoken in a quiet moment in the library only yesterday, where Amelia had wept over feeling as though she had tricked the duke.
After all, she had not spoken to him since the maze.
Breathe, she heard his voice in her head.
The way he had stood before her protectively.
They called him a beast and yet his thoughts had only been for her wellbeing.
And now this offer—him, shackling himself into marriage, with her, of all ladies.
“I am nervous,” she whispered to Eleanor, “and I fear I may burst into tears at any moment.”
“As nervous as you may be you look like a princess,” Eleanor said quietly, brushing back a curl that Lily had orchestrated for Amelia’s hair.
She had small, white flowers woven into the brown strands, just like she had that day at the garden party.
His Grace had picked a wedding dress for her, and it had been hastily altered for the quick ceremony. “And His Grace looks very dashing.”
“Is he unhappy?”
“Lord Owen claims one cannot tell, for he is so broody all the time.” Amelia attempted to smile at her lighthearted comment but it didn’t stick.
“Amelia, remember the man who danced with you at the Smith ball. Recall the man you said spoke with you about books in the maze. You have had to take such a drastic decision due to being discovered in an innocent position that has become speculation, but you are still you, and he is the same man you met in the first place.”
She tried to let Eleanor’s words settle her nerves, and she squeezed her hands, her breath shuddering. Nodding, Amelia moved onward, approaching her father, who beamed at her.
“Father, I am scared,” she confessed. For once, she had not been able to go to her mother, for she had said Amelia should not have been found in such a predicament if she was not willing to face the consequences.
Amelia knew her mother did not dislike her for this, knew it likely was not her fault, but she resented the thought that her eldest daughter’s marriage to a rumored cursed man was the product of scandal.
“Do not be,” her father assured her, leading her to the drawing room. “For you have a duke to await your hand in marriage, and soon, you shall be the Duchess of Blackthorn, and your father will be proud. No matter how this marriage came to be, I am proud.”
His eyes gleamed with the knowledge of becoming the in-laws of a duke, and she knew he was thinking of his own elevated status. Amelia bit her lip, forcing her gaze to remain outward and not on the floor, as they entered the drawing room.
The dowager duchess and her daughter stood on one side of the room with Lord Owen, who nodded to Amelia with a small but kind smile.
On the other side stood Clara and Elizabeth—Clara positively grinning with romantic ideas, and Elizabeth mirroring Amelia’s own worry—and their mother stood behind them, her face tight as she beheld Amelia.
Finally, she smiled at her, and Amelia wished to be held by her mama.
Nearer the door were the Fairfax family, and for a brief moment, Amelia could pretend as though everything was normal, that this was not rushed or done to smooth over scandal.
But then there was the Duke of Blackthorn, standing near the windows, half turned to watch Amelia enter. She could not understand the look on his face but their eyes met, and she felt a rush of both warmth and tears.
I have trapped him, she thought. I have trapped him forever and he shall hate me for it. He never wanted to be married or be in society in the first place.
But he nodded at her quietly, a small understanding passing that this was what they needed to do. She craved that connection she had felt in the maze, and when they had danced, but she could only feel her dread.
The officiant brought them both together, and Amelia knew that was it: there was no backing out. This was her new life now. As the officiant spoke through their religious vows, Amelia could not help but gaze out of the window, listening to the flat tone of his voice.
She swallowed, not able to stop thinking about if he resented her, if he blamed her, if he wished her to be as far from him as possible as they saw their obligation through.
“You may now say your own vows,” the officiant offered with a small smile, gesturing between them.
The duke nodded, turning to Amelia. Her heart raced as soon as his eyes locked onto hers, that same intensity with which he’d gazed at her during the Smith ball.
“Miss Hawthorne, I am a man of duty, and one of responsibility. From this day forth, I promise to protect you, to shelter you from any storm we may face. I cannot always promise to be a pleasent man, but I shall honour you, now and always.”
His vow was brief, and Amelia felt her own words shortened in response. She wished to speak about what they might find together, what they had already found in those stolen moments of the ball and garden party, but her tongue was leaden with upset.
“Your Grace, I promise to be a wife worthy of the title bestowed upon me. For every day we spend together, I hope to bring peace and clarity, and that I may prove myself every morning and every night. I shall not falter nor complain, and I will honour both you and your family in everything I do from this day forward.”
Her words felt stiff and unfeeling, and she cringed at his tight grimace as he took her hand, sliding her wedding band onto her ring finger. The cold of the ring was a grounding thing, a weight that told her: she was now the Duchess of Blackthorn.
The duke did not let go of her hand, instead held it for longer than necessary, even as Amelia was aware of all of the eyes on them. His own gaze met hers, and she felt it—that spark of connection, the jump of something between them, distanced by the rushed ceremony neither were ready for.
Bernadette stepped forward; her smile warmer than before but hesitant. “May I invite you all to join us in the dining hall for Their Graces’ wedding breakfast?”
Her focus lingered on the duke, as if she was still trying to unravel what secrets he hid, but soon turned away when the dowager duchess called for her to enter the hall together.
Amelia was left alone with her new husband—husband, Heavens, the title shuddered through her—and she did not quite know what to say.
“They say you are a seductress and that us being found at the maze was a ploy for you to be married into my family.” The duke’s voice was low, quiet, not quite accusing but not entirely not, either.
“It was not,” she whispered. “I only wanted a moment of peace, as did you. And now… now I fear I have brought you a lifetime of never believing it.”
He said nothing, only gazed back at her, his expression hard and unreadable. Nerves crawled through her stomach.
He offered her his arm. “Shall we, Duchess?”
The title struck her silent, leaving her only nodding, as he led her into the dining hall.
The wedding breakfast was already served on covered silver platters but nobody seemed to have touched anything yet, and Amelia had a suspicion that it was more the discomfort of the day rather than the politeness of waiting for the duke and her to arrive.
“A toast to the newlyweds!” Amelia’s father called out, standing, as did everybody else, and Amelia’s face burned beneath the attention. In her wedding dress she had not chosen, on the arm of a husband who did not want her, she took her seat, trying to not wither beneath all the changes.
The other guests called out, and wine was drunk, and plates were filled.
Again, Amelia noticed they were barely touched.
Next to her, the duke was a silent presence, his gaze fixed ahead.
He mostly spoke to his own mother when she addressed him, but everybody else he was curt with.
Feeling more and more awkward and out of place, Amelia felt herself lapsing into her own silence.
She could not help noticing how Lord Owen and Eleanor sat together, their faces bright with happiness as they spoke, as if they were the ones celebrating. Contrasting with the duke and her, Amelia felt a stab of jealousy as she turned her focus back to her husband.
“The food is excellent,” she said quietly. “The cook has done well, do you think?”
He blinked, as if not realizing she had spoken. Stiffening, he nodded. Amelia slumped, having hoped to coax him into speaking to her. But as if he realized that a moment too late, he cleared his throat.
“Will you miss the food?” he asked, gesturing at their plates. “I can assure you that the Blackthorn cook is very apt at her role.”
“I shall miss it, indeed, but I am certain the cook here can pass on any favourites of mine.”
She hoped he would ask her what they were but he only nodded, and Amelia was left to realize that she would be moving into the townhouse with the very man who seemed so reluctant to even look at her for longer than a moment.
In a moment of panic, she glanced towards her sisters. “I will miss them most,” she said, almost idly.
The duke followed her gaze. “You shall have my sister, and I assure you that she will fill your brain with so much nonsense that you will not have time to miss your sisters.” He cringed, as if realizing how his words sounded. “Forgive me, I did not mean to sound insensitive.”
“I understand,” she assured him quickly. “I look forward to knowing Lady Daphne better.”
And you, she thought, but did not dare say.
Around them, conversation flowed, but Amelia noticed the pitying glances they received.
In response, the duke’s jaw clenched so hard she thought he would break his teeth.
Her father attempted to draw him into conversation but the attempts soon tapered off, and even Lord Owen looked lost as to how to fix the situation.
There was no fixing it, though, and Amelia knew that as sure as anything.