Chapter 6
The weeks following the lake incident and being chosen as the Duke of Huntington’s bride were a blur. Madeline never expected to be properly wooed, but she thought there would at least be some communication before the ceremony.
Alas, she was mistaken. The Duke of Huntington was as good as a phantom.
He did not send flowers or love notes. He did not offer romantic carriage rides, either.
Instead, he seemed prepared to make the arrangement completely contractual.
Madeline spent the days leading up to the event oscillating between hope and dread.
When the wait was finally over, she did not know what to think.
The heavy doors of the chapel were now open, ready for her to enter and walk the aisles of lilies and stone.
“Steady, my girl,” Lord Marlow whispered. His voice was steady, but his arm trembled beneath hers. Everyone else would see a sharp-looking man in his eighties wearing his dress uniform. His eyes darted here and there, as if expecting an attack from somewhere. “We march on according to orders!”
Madeline forced a smile, but her cheeks felt like lead.
The despair was quickly replaced by anxiety as they finally walked down the aisle.
She kept her gaze on her tiny bouquet of nosegays and white roses.
All the details in the wedding were arranged by a man she had never even met.
A few steps from the altar, she let herself raise her eyes to see if her duke would be old.
The air was suddenly pulled from her lungs.
The Duke of Huntington was certainly not an old man. Instead, he was a young man with a sharp jawline and the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. And she had seen those eyes before. That chiseled face.
It is him!
Madeline’s knees felt weak, but she was proud of the fact that she was able to hold on to the gasp about to escape her lips.
In contrast, the Duke of Huntington barely moved except for a muscle in his jaw.
His gaze swept over her. There was no sign of warmth or attraction.
Instead, she saw assessment. She was also quite certain there had been a brief flash of recognition.
The ceremony quickly proceeded as planned.
“I, Kenneth Spruce, take thee, Madeline Quinten, to be my wedded wife.”
Those were words that Madeline wished to hear all her life. Only not quite in that setting. The duke’s voice was effortlessly clear and loud, resonating within every fiber of Madeline’s being.
Madeline’s eyes were steady on the altar. She used it as a beacon of hope and a means to distract herself from what was happening. Her fingers trembled around her bouquet of flowers.
Still, she could not breathe.
She had wished for him, but not exactly him.
She wanted a version of him who was not rude.
However, there were things about him that she could not deny: the sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, and chiseled features.
No, the Duke of Huntington was not wizened and eighty.
Instead, he was the man who insulted her before draping a coat over her chilled shoulders.
This was the Duke of Huntington?
Perhaps he was so dour that nobody would want to marry him despite his wealth, title, and appearance.
“I, Madeline Quinten...” she murmured, choking at the end. She had to do this. She could not be the cause of yet another shameful scandal.
Then, she looked at the groom and saw the same horror she felt reflected in his eyes. He did not want to marry her either. The man was expecting the woman who wrote the letter, the one who knew how to be an efficient duchess without all the emotions. He probably guessed what she was really like.
“...take thee, Kenneth Spruce, as my lawfully wedded husband,” she finished, gasping at the end as if she had to roll a boulder up a hill. She tilted her chin up defiantly like a schoolchild who had just recited a whole poem.
They were declared husband and wife. As they turned to leave the admittedly lovely chapel, Madeline had her smile in place.
It felt heavy on her cheeks this time, not natural as it should be.
As it used to be. Their movement was followed by the eyes of the ton.
Whispers followed them. Eyes turned to one side, directing her to where her father could not even wait the day after her wedding to soak himself in gin.
Harleigh Quinten attended his daughter’s wedding, but his mind was certainly not there.
Instead of cowering, Madeline smiled at everyone, keeping her neck long and elegant.
It might not be a real smile, but it was defiant enough.
The breakfast was held at the Marlow estate. Everything felt forced, at least to Madeline’s view. The house was not even big enough for a ducal wedding, but her grandmama managed to make the setting elegant.
It was Madeline’s first opportunity to speak with her grandmother and her sisters after she discovered who she was marrying. Her hand clutched her glass of lemonade for support, knuckles turning white.
“You look majestic, Madeline,” Selina gushed in awe, as she clutched at her older sister’s sleeve.
Madeline could not remember the last time she had worn anything so fine and expensive.
She had to mend bits and pieces of her gowns for the last few years.
So, she had to admit that having a stunning gown for her wedding was a gift in itself, and it was a generous one from her husband, but it would not be a total distraction from the man with his clenched jaw and glaring eyes.
“Really?” she asked her sister, grinning genuinely this time.
“Yes! They are staring at you, Maddy,” Selina murmured, her cheeks rosy with pride.
“Oh, no. It is not me they are looking at, Selina,” she corrected, keeping her tone light and her face jovial.
“They are staring at the Duke’s wealth and the fact that he rarely graces these events.
A shame, because he also has a great presence.
People are merely curious about who he has ended up marrying, especially after the marriage advertisement. ”
“So, you think they would rather watch a statue over a beauty like my sister?” Portia muttered, giving an uncharacteristic lopsided grin.
She kept her voice low, undoubtedly to keep their grandmother from hearing.
She glanced at where Kenneth stood with a glass of untouched wine.
“Does your new husband even know how to smile? Of course, you do not know yet, but somehow, I cannot imagine him looking less surly than that.”
“He has many responsibilities, Portia. I suppose it is why he could not even find it in his heart to look for a wife himself,” Madeline said, keeping a smile on her face.
She knew people were watching them. People did not need to know that her heart felt heavy in her chest, and she did not want her family to worry about her either.
Cathy, their eldest and only other married sister, approached. Her eyes were on Madeline’s face, not on her dress and not even on the Huntington diamonds gracing her neck that had the ton in a frenzy.
“Maddy,” she murmured. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, everything is wonderful. Do you like my gown? It was a gift from my husband.”
“Maddy. You do not have to pretend with me. You have your usual smile, but it does not reach your eyes. Tell me what is wrong.”
Madeline chuckled. It sounded odd even to her ears. “I... I am simply overwhelmed and tired, Cathy. It is my big day! I never thought this would happen. I am very fortunate!”
“But good fortune does not always mean true happiness,” Cathy retorted, raising an eyebrow.
The Duchess of Baxter was the tallest woman at the reception.
These days, she was no longer ashamed of the fact.
“Something is wrong. I know I am not a good example. I married Tristan to weather a scandal. Still, I did not think I smiled as much as you did now. Do you need to pretend?”
“I do not know him,” Madeline admitted. “However, he is handsome, young, and wealthy. How many young women can say that they have had the opportunity to marry so well? He is duty-bound, which is already a good start, compared to some men who... who...”
She faltered. Cathy gave her a gentle smile. They both knew who Madeline was referring to. The sound of tittering in the background clued her into the presence of that same person. She swore she could smell the faint, cloying scent of brandy.
“Papa is looking for his cigars,” Cathy whispered, her eyes on the ceiling as if it carried all their salvation. “Or just like with any other occasion, he must have hidden a bottle somewhere.”
Madeline clenched her jaw. She had been so determined to focus on the boon that the marriage brought them that she almost forgot that her father, Harleigh, might just be the biggest threat to a fragile happiness.
“I will find happiness in this marriage, Cathy,” she insisted. “A duty-bound duke would help me reach that.”
While Cathy did not look convinced, her elder sister gave her a nod of understanding. Madeline squeezed her hand, and then she let herself look back at the bustling room, where even people she had not interacted with before were mingling with her family.
It was all because of this marriage. She had made the right choice by not arguing with her grandmother.
Or had she?
In his own corner of the room, Kenneth felt the walls closing in on him. After having met his bride and her family, he could not help but feel that he had walked into a trap.
It is my fault for not verifying this myself before the wedding.
He watched his brother, Malcolm, sway a little but, fortunately, remain standing, and, unfortunately, head toward Harleigh Quinten near the refreshment table.
Were those two hiding their own bottles?
He could remember being specific about not serving anything with alcoholic spirits for his wedding breakfast.