Chapter 5
“Abargain is what we made,” Duncan said to her the next morning when they were already off for England in their carriage. Malcolm had accompanied them.
She had not been particularly chatty that morning, her mind filled with all manner of worry.
First of all, she had agreed to a marriage. But second, she hoped with everything that she had that this was the best decision for her sisters.
“But let me explain to you more clearly,” he went on, though he did not look at her directly for long. “There would be expectations, of course.”
“Are you going to tell me what they are?” she asked, feeling tired. “What do you expect of me, as your… prospective wife?”
The words felt so strange in her mouth, but perhaps in time she would come to accept them.
“This marriage will be for convenience,” he said without mincing his words. Charity’s stomach tightened. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but surely, she did not like how cold he appeared to be about the matter.
“What does that mean for me?”
“It means you’ll be given what you require. You’ll have anything you want,” he said, “within reason.”
“Within reason,” Charity nodded, feeling a bit ill.
“You’ll not be treated as a prisoner,” he went on.
“And what is off-limits?” Charity’s heart beat faster, suspicious now.
“Me,” Duncan spoke without looking at her.
Charity felt a strange flicker in her chest, surprise, perhaps, that he would say it so plainly. Duncan didn’t pretend for a second.
“So,” Charity said slowly, “I may have anything I want except you.”
Huh. She was not overly romantic, but had never expected this out of a marriage. But knowing her luck, it was not surprising.
“That’s a crude way to put it.”
“It’s the way you said it,” she shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m making it clear where you stand so you don’t build expectations,” Duncan replied curtly.
“Very well,” she said. “Clear boundaries.”
Convenience. An heir. Protection.
“Aye,” Duncan nodded once, as if satisfied.
“And in return,” Charity pressed, “you protect me from anything. And my sisters.”
Duncan’s gaze returned to her, “Anything. As long as you’re under my protection, no one touches you without consequence.”
Charity’s stomach eased slightly, relief creeping in despite her efforts to remain guarded.
That was the entire point, right?
“All right, then you should know what you’re riding into.”
“Tell me.”
Charity took a breath and began.
“My sisters are Augusta and Matilda,” she said. “Augusta is sharp and stubborn and has disliked my uncle Edward since childhood. Matilda is quieter, but don’t mistake quiet for weak. She sees more than people assume. They’ve been living at our father’s estate near York since our parents died.”
Charity continued.
“My uncle Edward is a Viscount, but he lives beyond his means. He has charm and connections and very little cash. He came to us at the end of our mourning period and told me he intended to arrange my marriage to Robert, so the inheritance stays close. Of course, I have told you this before, but in case you forgot. Robert is… obedient,” she said carefully.
“And you do not think he’s involved in what happened to you.”
“I cannot be certain,” she sighed. “But the real person to look after is my uncle. He may pretend to welcome your protection while looking for ways around it, and then attempt to isolate my sisters from me if he can.”
“He won’t isolate anyone while I’m present,” Duncan said harshly.
“That brings me to what I need from you,” she said. “When we arrive, I want you to leave my uncle to me.”
“Explain.”
“If you step in too early, he will make it into something that it is not. We must be strategic,” she sighed. “If I speak first, I can make it as plain as possible. I am leaving. I am under your protection. My sisters are coming with me. He is not to interfere.”
“And if he does interfere?” Duncan said.
“Then you step in. But please, not before.”
“It will depend on his behavior,” Duncan said at last. “If your uncle behaves with civility and sense, you speak, and I listen. If he crosses a line, I will not stand by while an English viscount thinks he can threaten what is under my protection.”
“Under your protection,” she echoed. The words alone sent a shiver down her spine.
“Aye,” Duncan said.
“I don’t belong to you.” Charity was suddenly having trouble speaking.
“You do now.”
Charity’s lips pressed together. She didn’t argue again, because arguing would only feed the heat already in her face.
Instead, she nodded once, as if accepting a compromise she hadn’t fully agreed to.
And as they rode on, the road stretching toward England, she kept her eyes forward.
Whatever Duncan was, he was the one thing standing between her sisters and Edward’s hands.
And if he insisted on calling her his to make that protection real…
Charity hated how her cheeks warmed again at the memory of the word.
Well, there was nothing that she could do about the matter.
“Careful now, mind the step.”
Charity had barely shifted forward before Malcolm’s hand appeared in the carriage doorway. She was so tired her bones felt hollow, as if the road had rattled the strength out of her hour by hour. The inn’s lantern light spilled across the yard as they had stopped to rest for the night.
She reached for him on instinct, then stopped when he noticed that Duncan had stepped forward.
Without saying a word, he simply replaced Malcolm. One gloved hand braced against the carriage frame while his other settled at Charity’s elbow.
“I said I can manage,” Charity muttered.
“Aye,” Malcolm said from somewhere behind Duncan. She could almost hear the grin in his voice.
“Step down,” he said, or rather commanded.
He had a point. Charity did not trust herself not to fall, and so she swallowed her pride, gathered her skirts, and let him guide her down. The yard tilted for half a second as she stepped forward, and Duncan’s hand tightened instantly, steadying her without a word.
Malcolm made a soft sound that might have been a cough.
“Do you find this amusing?” She turned her head sharply.
“I didnae say anythin',” Malcolm’s eyes were bright with mischief. “Our dukes are usually fond of delegatin’ kindness.”
Charity felt heat crawl up her neck. She tugged her arm out of Duncan’s grasp the moment she was steady enough to do it.
“I need sleep,” she announced, hoping that no one else noticed that she had turned as red as a tomato.
Duncan started toward the inn without comment. The innkeeper looked up, startled, when Duncan stepped in.
“My lord,” the innkeeper breathed, “Your Grace….”
Charity’s fatigue momentarily gave way to a dull irritation. Of course, people would fall over backwards to please the duke. She hated such behavior and found it to be extremely insincere.
“Rooms,” Duncan spoke without ceremony.
The innkeeper bobbed again.
“Of course, Your Grace. Of course. We…ah…we’re grateful for your patronage.”
“Rooms,” Duncan repeated, and there was less patience in it. She almost laughed at that, and wondered if she and Duncan shared the same distaste. She knew that a lot of men loved this sort of treatment, her uncle being one of them.
The innkeeper swallowed, and his eyes darted over Duncan’s shoulder, taking in Malcolm and then Charity. Upon seeing her, his expression faltered into something like confusion.
The innkeeper cleared his throat.
“We have… ah,” he began, sweating. “We have difficulty tonight, Your Grace. There’s…there’s been a coach delayed, and a merchant party, and I…”
“How many rooms do you have?” Duncan said, picking up on what the keeper was trying to convey. He was not a stupid man, Charity noted with some pride. And he was a respected man.
Surely, both of those things were good traits for a husband?
“One,” he said weakly. “One room left.”
“One room,” Charity repeated, crisp. “That won’t do.”
The innkeeper looked at her as though he had not expected the woman to speak.
“Miss…my lady….”
“I am not sharing a room,” she said at once. Duncan’s head turned toward her.
“We’re sharing a room,” he said.
“This is improper,” Charity said, keeping her voice low because half the room was already glancing in their direction. “We can take two rooms and put someone else out.”
“We’re not putting anyone out,” Duncan replied, and there was finality in it. “One room, and Malcolm will guard the door.”
The innkeeper hovered, “Your Grace… if…if it helps, the room has a couch. A small one, but….”
“Fine,” she said, already beginning to walk. “Then I will take that."
Duncan followed her. Upstairs, the hall smelled of damp wood and old soap. Their footsteps creaked on the boards. They passed two doors, then another. At the end of the hall, the innkeeper fumbled with a key and shoved a door open.
“One room,” he announced again, unnecessarily, as if he wanted to make sure everyone understood the situation.
Charity stepped inside first, and the room was not as small as she’d expected, but it was undeniably one room. A single bed and a small couch by the window. She crossed the room towards it, as if to claim the space.
“There,” she said crisply. “That’s settled.”
Duncan shut the door behind them. Malcolm lingered outside, appearing as his usual cheerful self. Now that they were alone, Charity felt herself spiraling slightly.
It was scandalous enough to share a room. Let alone….
Her cheeks warmed again. Charity turned away quickly and focused on unfastening her cloak. If she kept her hands busy, perhaps her mind would stop spiraling.
Duncan moved across the room and began removing his coat. He did it efficiently, no fuss. He set it over a chair, then loosened his cravat.
“You’re taking the bed,” he told her after a moment.
“That is absurd, and there is no need,” she said. “You will take the bed, and I will take the couch.”
“You’re exhausted,” Duncan looked at her with slow patience.
“So are you,” Charity snapped.
“I’m not recovering from poison,” Duncan replied, rolling his eyes slightly. “You can argue, or you can sleep in comfort.”