Chapter 14
Charity could not stop thinking about Duncan the next morning, and it annoyed her more than she wanted to admit, since she had gone to bed angry with him, had woken up still angry, and yet none of that changed the fact that his face kept returning to her mind every few minutes while she sat at the breakfast table pretending to listen to her sisters.
She kept telling herself that she was only thinking of the argument, but that was not the whole truth. The part she did not want to examine too closely was the part where she just wanted him to kiss her.
It was all mixed together in her mind, and she hated that she could not separate one feeling from the other.
She looked up when the dining room door opened, and her stomach dropped before she could stop herself, but it was only a maid bringing more tea.
Duncan still had not come.
Charity lowered her eyes to her plate and cut into a piece of toast she had no real appetite for.
Across from her, Augusta watched her for a long moment, and Charity knew that look well. Augusta reached for the jam, spread it across her bread with unnecessary care before speaking.
“Are you waiting for him? You keep staring at the door every time it opens,” there was a hint of lightheartedness in her tone that had not been there for a while.
“I am not staring at the door,” Charity looked up too quickly.
“You’ve looked at it four times since I sat down, and I only sat down five minutes ago. Please. Let’s not lie to ourselves here,” Augusta lifted her brows.
“I was not looking for anyone in particular,” Charity felt heat rise in her face and reached for her teacup.
“Do you miss him already?” Augusta leaned back a little, clearly pleased with herself.
“Miss who?” Charity nearly choked on her tea.
“Your husband-to-be, obviously,” Augusta gave her a look that was almost offended by the question.
“Augusta,” Charity said, and she could hear the warning in her own voice, but it only made Augusta more pleased. “I…. please, do not be silly.”
“I am not being silly,” Augusta replied, and she spoke with more confidence now that she had seen Charity blush. “I’m asking a very simple question. I think I deserve credit for being observant.”
“You are enjoying this far too much.” Charity looked down at her plate again, entirely aware that she was blushing and entirely unable to stop it.
“I am enjoying it exactly the right amount,” Augusta said, and there was laughter in her voice now, though it was softer than it might have been a few days ago.
“You have spent weeks speaking to me like I am a child and refusing to tell me anything, so yes, let me be pleased when I can figure out some things on my own.”
Before Charity could answer, Matilda leaned forward in her chair with the eager, open expression of a child who had no interest in subtlety.
“I think he is nice,” Matilda said, and she said it as if she were contributing something important. “He looks scary at first, and he talks like he is angry even when he is not, but he gave me his coat, and he walked us back, letting me hold his hand. I think that means he is nice.”
“You think he is nice,” Charity turned to look at her, startled enough that she forgot her embarrassment for a second. Even though Matilda was very young, Charity realized that her opinion mattered to her a great deal.
“Yes, I do,” Matilda nodded with certainty. “I believe he grows on you, once you can look past his grumpy self.”
“That is a very generous way of describing him,” Augusta snorted softly.
“Well, he was nice to us,” Matilda looked at Augusta and frowned.
Augusta hesitated, and Charity noticed the hesitation at once. Augusta usually had an answer ready, even when she was wrong. She fiddled with her spoon for a second, then said, with visible reluctance, “He was… decent.”
“I’m surprised you’re saying this,” Charity stared at her. Of all of them, Augusta was the hardest one to please.
“Oh, please, don’t look so shocked,” Augusta glanced up, caught the surprise on Charity’s face, and looked annoyed by it immediately. “I am still not saying I trust him completely, but he could have dragged us back and he… is perhaps not the monster that I thought that he was.”
“And he gave me his coat,” Matilda nodded quickly.
“So you both like him now,” Charity said, sitting back slightly, trying to make sense of the strange turn the conversation had taken. “After everything you said before?”
“I did not say I like him in the way you are making it sound,” Augusta said, defensively, “I said I think he was fair last night, which counts for something.”
That was as close to Augusta admitting that she liked someone as she would ever get. Charity knew that this was a huge confession.
“I like him,” Matilda lifted her hand, innocently.
Charity laughed before she could stop herself, and the sound surprised all three of them for a second. It was small and brief, but it changed the mood enough that Charity felt some of the tightness leave her chest.
Then the dining room door opened again, and all three of them looked up.
It was another servant.
More disappointment. The duke was not here, still. Charity looked away first, irritated with herself for still checking. She reached for her tea again, only to realize it had gone lukewarm.
“He still isn’t coming, is he?” Augusta said, and there was less teasing in her tone now and more curiosity. “Do you know where he is?”
“No,” Charity said.
“Did you have a fight?” Matilda looked between them.
Charity almost choked on her tea again.
“We did not…” Charity began, then stopped, since lying badly to an eight-year-old was pointless. “We spoke last night.”
“That sounds like yes,” Augusta leaned in. “Trouble in your marriage, already?”
“You have become far too bold in the last twelve hours,” Charity gave her a look of reproach.
“You told me to speak plainly, and now I am speaking plainly, so this is really your fault,” Augusta lifted one shoulder.
“If you did have a fight, you can say sorry, and then he can say sorry, and then everyone can eat breakfast tomorrow,” Matilda, still determined to help, said.
“That is not usually how adults do things,” Augusta turned to her.
“It should be,” Matilda frowned. Ah. To have the innocence of childhood again, it was enough to brighten Charity up considerably.
“That is very sensible,” Charity looked at Matilda, smiling.
“I know,” Matilda said, satisfied.
The smile faded a little as Charity looked down at her plate again.
The wedding was soon. She had been pushing the thought away for days, handling one crisis at a time, but the most important day of her life was inching forward.
Soon.
“What is it?” Augusta seemed to catch the shift in her expression. “Oh, don’t start acting strange again, please.”
“The wedding,” Charity hesitated, but decided that it was best to be honest.
“Can I have ribbons?” Matilda straightened. “Oh, I’m so excited about it.”
“I haven’t thought through all of it yet,” Charity rubbed her fingers together in her lap, a habit that had replaced touching her necklace for the moment.
“You haven’t thought through the wedding,” Augusta stared at her.
“I have thought through it,” Charity said, then corrected herself with a small exhale. “Well, as much as time has allowed me.” The whole thing did come together very hastily.
“Are you nervous?”
Charity looked at her, then at Matilda, and saw no judgment there, only curiosity and concern.
“Yes,” Charity said. “I am nervous.”
“Is it since you don’t know what dress you’re wearing, or is it the married part?” Matilda asked, very seriously. Augusta laughed outright this time, and even Charity smiled.
“The married part,” Charity said. “Though now that you mention it, the dress is also a problem.”
“Well, the dress can be solved, but the married part…” Augusta reached for another piece of toast and spoke while breaking it in half. She paused and looked at Charity with unusual care. “The married part may still be frightening, but it is less frightening now that I don’t think he is cruel.”
“Then it will be fine,” Matilda nodded, like that settled everything.
“It may not be fine immediately,” Augusta looked at Matilda, then back at Charity, and said, sounding older than her years for a moment, “but that does not mean it will be terrible.”
Charity looked at her sister and felt a complicated pull of pride and sadness and gratitude. Augusta was still angry with her. She had every right to be, but she was trying.
“So now you are the one speaking like the older sister,” Charity said quietly. “How have you grown up this fast?”
“Someone has to,” Augusta gave her a look. “You seem to be too smitten to do anything, and clearly you are still looking for him to walk through that door.”
“Oh, not this again,” Charity groaned softly and covered part of her face with one hand.
“Does that mean you do miss him?” Matilda brightened.
“Eat your breakfast,” Charity said, though she was smiling despite herself.
Matilda grinned and obeyed, at least for a few seconds. Charity looked at the door one more time before she could stop herself.
It remained closed.
Where was he?
Duncan stayed away from the breakfast room on purpose.
He had tried to work and failed at it in a way that irritated him, since he had gone over the same page twice without taking in a word. Every time he forced his attention back to the papers on his desk, his mind returned to Charity in his study the night before, angry and flushed.
God. How badly he had wanted to kiss her at that moment. He swore under his breath and pushed the papers aside.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Duncan said.
Malcolm stepped in, shut the door, and looked at him for one long second before lifting a brow.
“Aye, I can come back later if yer busy?”
“If you’ve come in to be entertaining, leave,” Duncan replied, a bit briskly.
“I came to ask if ye still want the steward after noon,” Malcolm said, moving farther into the room and sitting without invitation. “But since ye missed breakfast and look like ye slept badly, I’d say the steward can wait a moment.”
“You take far too much interest in my mornings,” Duncan gave him a flat look.
“Only noticin' your expression, which is worried,” Malcolm said. “That usually means trouble.”
Duncan leaned back in his chair, then said, in the plainest version of the truth, “I found the girls outside last night trying to leave, and I brought them back.”
“Leave the castle?” Malcolm’s brows rose.
“Aye.”
“And Charity was pleased, I suppose?”
“What do you think?” Duncan looked at him. “She was not happy and came to my study after.”
“Was it a very serious conversation? Has she called off yer weddin'?”
Duncan’s expression shut down at once, and he realized that something that he did not even want to joke about.
“Do not start prying.”
“I’m nae pryin',” Malcolm said. “I’m tryin' to work out if I tell ye to stay out of her way till ye’ve got yourself in hand.”
Duncan was quiet for a moment, then said, “I called her ungrateful.”
“Aye. That’ll do it.”
Duncan stood and moved away from the desk, too restless to stay still. “She stood there telling me I had no right to step in after I brought her sisters back safely, and I lost patience.”
Malcolm watched him cross to the hearth. “So ye're avoidin' her now?”
Duncan glared at him.
“Ye’re hiding in here,” Malcolm said plainly. “Call it what ye like.”
“This marriage is an arrangement. It has a purpose, and the purpose is plain enough. Stability, that is what it is.”
Malcolm said nothing, which made Duncan continue.
“It is not meant to become…” Duncan stopped, jaw tight, then started again with more control. “I will not make it harder than it already is by forgetting that.”
Malcolm’s expression changed. “Right, so that’s the matter.”
“You know nothing about the matter,” Duncan turned toward him with a hard look.
“I know what ye just told me,” Malcolm said, and his voice stayed steady. “Ye’re remindin' yourself what the marriage is for, which means some part of you is pullin' in another direction, and ye daenae trust that part.”
Duncan’s silence was sharp enough to count as a warning.
“I’m nae askin' for details. I’m sayin' I understand now why ye’re keeping yer distance,” Malcolm lifted a hand slightly.
Duncan looked back toward the fire. “Good. Then leave it alone.”
Malcolm was quiet for a second, then said, “I’ll leave yer pride alone, if that helps, but I’ll say this much: if ye avoid her entirely, she’ll think ye’re punishin' her for last night, and if she thinks that, ye're only goin' to argue.”
Duncan said nothing.
“And if what ye’re tryin' to do is keep this marriage practical,” Malcolm went on, “then ye’ll need to speak to her like a man with sense, nae vanish and hope the thing sorts itself out.”
“I know.”
“Do ye?”
Duncan gave him a hard look.
Malcolm nodded once, accepting the look for what it was, and moved to the door. “I’ll send the steward after noon, and I’ll also tell the staff ye’re busy, not brooding, though I cannae promise they’ll believe me.”
“Get out,” Duncan said, but there was less bite in it now. Malcolm left, and the room went quiet again.
Duncan stayed where he was, lost in his thoughts again.
It was a marriage of convenience.
It was not meant to make him want things he had no business wanting, especially not in the middle of an argument with the woman he was supposed to marry for practical reasons.
He swore under his breath, frustrated all over again, and reached for the papers on his desk even though he already knew he would not read a single line.
What was she doing to him?