Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The wedding day arrived, and while Arabella had not known what to expect, she could say with certainty that it was not what she had imagined.
She woke up to the sound of rain lashing against the windows of her room.
When she forced herself from bed and threw back the curtains, she sighed with dread to see that a storm had come in overnight.
There were black clouds, torrential wind, and rain that fell so thick that she could hardly see further than a few feet.
The morning was spent getting ready.
She supposed that was expected, at least. She had maids to help her.
They chatted merrily, smiling, acting as if the day were a special one.
But the cheer was forced, the happiness was faked, and Arabella simply stood there as her outfit was selected, donned, and touched up so that she looked every inch the bride.
When she was ready, she stood before the mirror, taking herself in one last time.
Her gown was green, the same one she had worn when the Duke saved her.
Her auburn hair was styled in ringlets. Her makeup was minimal, while her cheeks were brushed with rouge to match her hair and the red jewelry she wore.
Though she indeed looked beautiful, it was hard to feel any joy.
I am alone now, and I feel I will be for some time to come.
All the while, her father’s warning echoed in her head. She had spent the week so convinced that today would be the start of something new, as if marriage to the Duke might bring her the type of freedom that she had so long desired. But that simply was not the case.
Never mind that she hardly knew her husband. Never mind that he had married her mainly so she could help raise his nephew. The fact was that she was alone in this; nobody cared about her beyond how she might be used. Worse still, there was no one she could talk to about it.
The rain fell heavily outside. The wind howled. And Arabella stood alone, helpless, and desperate to be saved once again. Only this time, she knew that such a thing would not happen. Her fate was sealed.
The ceremony was to take place in the same abbey where the Duke had found her the previous week. Not too far from her father’s estate. Once Arabella was ready, she rode with her father to its location.
He said nothing to her on the entire trip.
No well wishes. No more warnings. But he watched her the entire time, a smirk on his lips, and a look in his eyes that reminded her of their conversation the previous night.
Oh, how she wanted to stand up to him. How she wanted to appear brave and happy, to give the appearance of a woman reborn.
But that look… She knew it well, and she wilted under it like a flower denied light.
The ceremony was meant to be a small affair, which was fine since Arabella had few friends and no one she particularly wanted to see there. The rain still poured heavily when the carriage came to a stop in the small glade, and her father cursed it as he stepped out and extended his hand to her.
“No surprises this time, Arabella,” he warned her, as if any of this was his fault. “Do not dare embarrass me.”
“I would not dream of it, Father,” she said meekly as she took his hand.
“Good.”
The interior of the abbey was plain and lacked decorations; nothing indicated that this was a wedding ceremony. There were two dozen guests seated along the pews, and not a single one smiled, beamed, or shed tears as Arabella entered.
She saw the Duke immediately.
He stood tall and proud at the altar. Dressed in a dark suit, hands folded in front of him, he did not smile when he saw her. He showed no sign of relief, nothing on his face to give her confidence. Instead, he looked resigned, almost bored, as if he just wanted this to end.
As Arabella started down the aisle, she watched the Duke closely. She searched his handsome face and looked for his gray eyes. While he had his reasons, she wished he would acknowledge her with a look that showed he was grateful and that she had nothing to fear.
But he turned as she started her approach, his expression hard, his mood apathetic and disinterested.
This is a good thing. This is the right thing. This is not a mistake.
Arabella repeated those words in her head as she walked toward the altar.
At least, his presence was a good sign. When she saw the Dowager in the front row, she smiled at her, needing someone there to remind her this was not the end.
But even the Dowager looked more resigned than happy, and Arabella’s heart sank.
“Sorry, we are late,” Arabella said in a whisper when she reached the altar and stood across from the Duke. “The weather…”
He frowned at the comment. “It is fine. Let us get this over with.”
She winced and looked away, aware of how distant his words felt.
Then again, what else could she expect? She knew he was not marrying her for love or romance.
She understood what he wanted. And since she was still trying to prove herself capable, there was a good chance he was just as uncertain about this marriage as she was.
So, the ceremony began, and its tone perfectly matched Arabella’s mood.
In truth, she hardly noticed it at all. She watched the ceremony unfold as if she were separate from her own body. Words were spoken. Agreements were made. The Duke stood stiff and silent the whole time. If there was romance, it was not present in that small abbey.
And then they were announced man and wife…
Arabella was brought back into the room as a silence settled over them. Breaths were held. Eyes widened. Suddenly, she began to shake, nerves overtaking her body. Slowly, she dared to lift her gaze and meet the Duke’s eyes.
He wore a frown. His jaw was set. She doubted that he meant to kiss her, but when that idea planted itself in her mind… Would he dare? Does he want to?
Her eyes flicked to his lips. Her breath caught in her throat.
While there was nothing romantic about their marriage, she wondered for a brief moment if such a state of being might be found.
If the Duke did kiss her, and if she kissed him back, might it break the spell of sorrow that she had been held in all day?
Would it prove that he might care about her?
The Duke took her by the hands. They were cold, stiff, and awkward. He did not grip her tightly, nor did he offer comfort. He neither smiled nor looked at her. And Arabella’s heart sank—the final confirmation of what this marriage was about to become.
Things moved quickly after that.
The Dowager was up and approaching them, kissing her cousin on the cheek and smiling as if this was the most wonderful day. The crowd gradually stood and moved forward, clapping and offering congratulations. But few singled out Arabella directly, and she felt like little more than a prop.
“I think it is time we return to my estate,” the Dowager announced so that all could hear. “Before this weather takes a turn for the worse. If that is even possible.”
By that point, the Duke had let go of Arabella’s hands and was already walking down the aisle. As he moved away, Arabella turned to see her father watching, and he could not have looked more proud.
“I hope you are happy, Arabella. His Grace certainly appears so.”
My father is either not seeing the same man that I am, or he is a little too pleased with how morbid the Duke’s expression is.
Happy was not the word that Arabella would use to describe how the Duke looked, which further highlighted to her the trap that she was slowly walking into. One that she could no longer escape.
It was done. Her fate was sealed, and Arabella knew for the first time without question that she had made a terrible mistake. Worse still, it was too late to do anything about it.
Glastonbury Manor looked different from when Arabella had last seen it.
Back then, there had been a sense of hope that came with her effort to get a glimpse of the house.
She did not know what to expect from her upcoming marriage, but she believed it could not be any worse than what she was leaving behind.
As the carriage neared the manor this time, it was difficult to see her new home as anything but the prison she was now sure it would be.
The time of day was late, as the breakfast had gone on longer than expected.
Not because the Duke and she were having such a wonderful time, but because she got the distinct sense that he did not want to leave.
He sat by her side, did his duty, but he did not talk to her, nor did he assure her that all would be well and that she had nothing to fear.
The manor sat in a state of impending darkness.
The storm had passed, but the dark clouds still hung thick and heavy, leaving no light to be seen.
It reared up on the small hill, its tall walls imposing and warning.
Arabella’s stomach twisted, her body trembled, and she could do little more than stare as her face paled.
“It has been a long day.” They were the first words that the Duke had spoken to her all day. “Rest is what we both need, I think.”
“Rest?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“If you are hungry, I can have the staff make you something. All you need to do is ask.”
Arabella was not hungry; she was terrified. The Duke had already explained what this marriage was, but it offered her little real comfort. In fact, she was beginning to suspect she had been lied to.
After all, he had given her the appearance of choice. And that appearance had done much to give her confidence and a belief that she was making the right decision. For a time there, she had truly believed that the Duke meant right by her, that she could even trust him…
Now, he was so cold and so distant that she struggled to ignore her father’s warning: that the Duke was worse than he seemed, and that she had willingly fallen into his trap.
“I am not hungry…” She bowed her head pathetically. “But thank you.”