Chapter Nine
If Emilia had ever allowed herself to dream of her wedding day, it would not have come close to the fairytale unfolding before her now. The duke’s townhome was immaculate. Even without the formal, thought-out decorations, it was more beautiful than any cathedral Emilia could have imagined.
The hall where the ceremony was held was lined with a plush, deep burgundy carpet. Marble columns stood beneath the painted ceilings, while gold accents and gilded mirrors filled the room with a brilliance reflected from the candlelight.
Due to the still frigid temperatures that plagued London during the first week of February, there were no flowers yet in bloom, but Lady Charlotte had gathered silk roses from all over the house and filled the room with them.
If Emilia had been standing here for reasons other than her own compromising circumstances, and the special license the duke had secured for a swift and private wedding, she may have felt the moment’s beauty more deeply.
It had only been a week since the day the duke had stormed into the Moorfield’s drawing room. The lady’s maid he had employed for her had already moved all of her belongings into her rooms here at Kenswick House. Emilia has simply blinked and opened her eyes to an entirely new life.
She looked up at the duke, whose attention was fully on the clergyman. The only other people in the room were her aunt and uncle, Lady Charlotte, and Lord and Lady Blackburn.
Lousia had refused to speak to her since the night of the incident. Her cousin blamed Emilia entirely for the turn of events, particularly the fact that the rumors attached to their household had delayed her entrance into society for another year.
Despite how quickly the duke had obtained their special license, the whispers were already multiplying.
He had expressed hope that the less of a spectacle they made, the sooner they could reenter society as though nothing had happened.
The Ton would go on as if nothing at all had changed, eager to bestow their attention on whatever poor unsuspecting person was ill-fortunate enough to catch their eye.
But Emilia’s life was forever and permanently altered.
“I, Nathaniel, take thee, Emilia, to my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward…”
The sound of the duke’s voice pulled Emilia from her thoughts, the weight of every word slowing down the beat of her heart until she could feel nothing but his hand in hers.
“...for better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. To love and to cherish, till death us do part…”
His voice never faltered. Each word was spoken with a steady determination that should not have been possible while pledging one's life to a complete stranger.
“...with this ring I thee wed. With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow…”
Emilia squeezed her eyes shut. The breath rushed from her lungs, and her feet nearly gave way beneath her. The duke’s hold on her hand instantly tightened, and she felt the soft stroke of his thumb against her palm.
“...and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
He was not looking at her, but the strength of his presence held her steady until her breath slowly returned.
She was married.
Or at least, she assumed she was. The rest of the ceremony was a blur, but she must have performed her part correctly because the vicar pronounced them husband and wife.
The duke settled her hand into the crook of his arm and led her to the dining room, where the servants had prepared a wedding breakfast. It was a formality he had offered to forgo, but Emilia was grateful for the distraction of company.
It was not that she found the duke’s company at all unpleasant, but the sooner they were left alone, the sooner she would have to face the fact that her husband was nearly a perfect stranger.
She took a sip of tea to try to settle the churning feeling in her stomach.
She knew nothing at all about the man that she married—besides the fact that he had saved her twice, was the only person who had ever been able to intimidate her uncle, and yet had the ability to calm her cascading nerves with the simple brush of his hand.
He was an enigma, one that she now had the rest of her life to figure out. From what she had seen of him so far, it may take that long. For a man who spoke so plainly, he was undeniably guarded.
He conversed easily with Lord and Lady Blackburn, his eyes brightened whenever he spoke to his sister, and he handled her aunt and uncle with enough civility to be respectable without being mistaken as warm.
While his attention remained fully on their guests, he never once left Emilia’s side.
She could feel him watching her from the corner of his eye.
Emilia forced an awkward smile through the well-wishes and congratulations, until they were left standing alone in the empty dining room.
“Have you had a chance to settle into your rooms?” Her husband asked, breaking the silence.
“Not entirely,” Emilia answered truthfully.
The duke nodded. They had never had a normal conversation before—not one that wasn’t surrounded by near-death experience or life-altering scandal.
He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I suspect you would like a chance to rest and finish settling in. I will not keep you.” He bowed, quickly, and turned to leave the room before she could respond.
“I will see you this evening, Emilia,” he said as he slipped out the door.
Emilia was quite certain he meant he would see her at dinner, but suddenly she realized she had no idea what he expected the rest of the evening to hold.
∞∞∞
It was well past one in the morning. Nathaniel knew that from how low the fire had fallen in the hearth in his study. His valet had come to check on him hours ago. Nathaniel told him he could retire for the evening, but he had fed the fire before he left—it had long since burned low.
Nathaniel hadn’t glanced at the clock sitting on the mantel since he sat down, not because he was particularly engrossed in his work; he simply preferred not to know exactly how long he had been hiding, attempting to come to terms with his new reality.
He was married.
He had a wife.
There was a time long ago when he had once imagined this day, looking forward with a naive sense of anticipation. But now that it had arrived, he was completely unsure of what to do with it—and with the wife who was still a complete mystery to him.
Nathaniel liked to believe he had a talent for reading people—when you held a position like his, it made your life incredibly difficult if you didn’t.
People tried to take advantage of a duke, especially one who came into the title and responsibility so young.
But Emilia was a language he had not yet learned how to read.
All of the information was there, he just simply couldn’t piece together what it meant.
The day they had met on the Thames, she was quick and fiery; at the Beckley ball, she was uncertain and frightened; but the last few times he had seen her, including today, she had been calm and poised.
Her silence contained a strength he hadn’t realized she possessed, even when her eyes betrayed her uncertainty.
It was unsettling how little he knew about her, and how permanent a fixture she now was in his life.
He had not intended to leave her alone to dine with Charlotte her first evening in her new home. He had simply needed a moment to himself. Before he realized how much time had passed, a servant had appeared with a tray to inform him that he had missed dinner.
Nathaniel glanced up from the account ledgers he was reviewing when the door to his study creaked open.
He had expected to see a servant coming to check on the fire.
His staff was used to him staying up at all hours, and no matter how hard he tried to persuade them that he could manage on his own, they always seemed to appear throughout the night to ensure he was comfortable.
Instead of a footman or a maid, Nathaniel stifled a groan when he saw his sister’s face peaking from the other side of the door.
“Charlotte, what are you doing here?”
“Me?” Charlotte slipped into the room, her robe pulled tight around her waist, and her stocking feet padding across the floor. “I believe I should be asking you that question.”
Nathaniel arched a brow. “It is my study.”
Charlotte lowered herself into the chair on the other side of the desk. “That still does not explain what you are doing here.”
“My work.” He gestured to the open ledgers scattered across the surface of his desk.
“At nearly two in the morning?” She asked.
“Charlotte, what do you want?” Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing he would regret asking the question, but desperate to help her resolve whatever had dragged her from her bed so early so he could be alone again.
She shrugged, “I was hungry. You would not be aware, because you were not at dinner, but Cook served liver again, and I abhor liver.”
She picked a book up off the desk, flipping absentmindedly through the pages as she continued. “I was on my way to the kitchen to see what morsels I could uncover when I saw a light coming from under your study door. And I thought to myself surely he is not…”
“Charlotte…” Nathaniel rubbed a hand down his face. “Is there a point to this tale?”
“Nathaniel.” She slammed the book shut, leaning forward to meet his gaze. “It is your wedding night.”
Nathaniel sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “I am aware. I attended the ceremony.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “So why are you here? Instead of…” She raised her eyebrows and nodded discreetly towards the door. “…with your wife?”
Nathaniel’s mouth dropped open. Out of all the shocking things his sister had subjected him to over the years, this was one he had not been expecting.
“This is not a conversation that I will entertain with you,” he whispered, turning his attention back to the papers in front of him.
Charlotte was unfazed. She leaned across his desk, propping her arms up on the open ledger he was reading, forcing him to make eye contact again.
“Yet it seems you must,” she sang. “Oliver is gone, all the servants are asleep, and the only other person present in this house is your wife whom you are avoiding. I am your only recourse.”
“Charlotte….”
“Do you find her displeasing?”
Nathaniel felt the heat rush to his neck and his mouth went dry. “No. That is not…”
His sister would not let this conversation drop, but there was no proper way to have it. “Charlotte this is highly improper.”
She flopped back into her chair. “That has rarely stopped me before.”
Nathaniel sighed heavily, both hands now scrubbing down his face. The sooner he gave her the answer she was looking for, the sooner they could never speak of this again.
“Not that it is your concern, but I decided that it would be…that I would not….” Blast. When had he become such a bumbling fool?
“Everything has happened very suddenly, and I do not wish to add to her discomfort regarding our arrangement.” He finally found the words.
Charlotte simply stared at him in silence, regarding everything he said as though she were trying to find a flaw in it.
“That is very honorable of you, Nathaniel,” she said at last.
“Thank you.” Nathaniel relaxed in his seat.
“Did you tell her that?”
“No,” Nathaniel groaned. “I worried it would be an uncomfortable conversation.”
“More so than this one?” Charlotte chuckled.
His eyes narrowed on his sister, though he knew it would have no effect on her. “I would have preferred to have not had this one either.”
Charlotte hummed, drumming her fingers against the arm of her chair, deep in thought. “Did it occur to you, that by not going to her, and by not telling her your reasons, she may see it as less of a noble gesture and more of a rejection?”
Nathaniel had not considered that. He hadn’t considered much that day, beyond his own tremulous emotions. He had never felt so out of control and uncertain.
“She might be upstairs right now, thinking that you feel nothing but regret,” Charlotte continued. “That you have done your duty by making her your wife, and now you want nothing more to do with her.”
Nathaniel lowered his gaze back to the papers he had been reading, but nothing made sense anymore.
He had noticed the way Emilia’s knees had nearly given way when he spoke his vows.
He had wanted to give her space to adjust to her new life, but in doing so, he had left her alone, isolating her in an unfamiliar place.
“I will leave you to ponder my wisdom,” Charlotte said with a smirk before she left him sitting in the dark of the fading fire.
Nathaniel stared into the cold hearth. He rubbed a hand over his face, a slight growl escaping from his throat.
He hated admitting that Charlotte was right, and he would certainly never admit it to her, but he could not shake the feeling that he had made a very grave mistake by not putting forth more effort to have this conversation with Emilia—quite frankly, he had made a mistake by not attempting to have any conversation with her.
It was not that he disliked her—it was rare that Nathaniel disliked anybody. He was indifferent towards most people, tolerated a few, and genuinely liked even fewer—but he rarely put forth the energy required to actually dislike people.
In the case of the woman he married, there was a rare sort of curiosity that she elicited from him.
One that made him want to understand what went on in her mind, why she constantly refused assistance when she clearly needed it, and why she held so many emotions close beneath the surface but never let her full feelings show.
He wanted to know her, he wanted to like her, but the last time he had felt that pull towards someone, they had decided he was not worth knowing in return.
Nathaniel slammed shut the covers of the ledgers and rose from his desk.
Emilia may not have chosen him, but she was tied to him for life.
She did not deserve a life with a husband who ignored her.
He had proposed to her a cordial relationship and mutual respect—what respect could she muster for the man who had forced her into a marriage and then abandoned her mere hours after their vows?
He ascended the stairs, making his way down the hall to his chambers.
The house was quiet, so Charlotte must have returned to her own rooms. He stopped for a moment outside of Emilia’s door, searching for any signs of light or movement from inside, but it was as still and quiet as the rest of the house.
Nathaniel entered his chambers, the only light coming from the full moon shining in through the windows. The bed had been turned down hours ago, and the fire in the hearth had long gone cold, but a small spark of a plan began to form in his mind.
He was unsure how—or if she would even be accepting of the idea—but Nathaniel was determined to become friends with his wife.