The Melancholic Duke’s Arranged Bride (Preview)

PROLOGUE

June 1812

“How on earth did we allow things to escalate with the Americans?” William asked, pacing his tent. “Now, they’ve declared war on us! As if Napoleon wasn’t enough to deal with.”

He had been against the decision to stop American merchant ships from searching for Royal Navy deserters, but his opinion had not mattered. This bothersome strategy was merely to impress American seamen on the high seas into the Royal Navy and to enforce Great Britain’s blockade of neutral commerce. William hoped it was all worth it because they now had a formidable foe to worry about.

“I suppose the Americans didn’t care that we later ended the practice,” said Gregory. He lifted his chin, feeling for rough areas. “Take a look and tell me if I missed a spot. The lighting is rather dull at the moment.”

“Why are you shaving now?” William asked, approaching him. “It’s after seven in the evening.”

“I have a pretty little lady waiting for me,” Gregory revealed. “A little walk in the summer’s night, a little wine…who knows what else?”

He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, making William frown. “Do you not already have an intended at home, or do you wish to end the engagement?”

“I do not see how the two situations are related,” said Gregory. “We are on the front lines of war against Napoleon, and she is warm and comfortable in her bed at home. Surely a man is allowed some comfort, too? It’s to be expected.”

William shook his head. “I do not agree,” he replied. “We should be focused on the war, not worrying about our baser urges. You are a commanding officer—you need to set a better example. I also have a feeling the woman is one of the commoners at camp. You are a lord and should act like it.”

“Not everyone can be as perfect as you, old fellow,” said Gregory, dismissing William’s words. “Now, tell me, did I miss a patch?”

William looked closer at his friend’s chin. “You appear clean-shaven. Not that the woman will mind either way.”

“Excellent!” Gregory exclaimed. “I would have my manservant do it, but he’s off with his lady—a washerwoman he met last week. Not pretty to look at, but she has a decent form.”

William merely rolled his eyes and sat down, picking up the book he had discarded earlier. However, he barely read one page before a foot soldier entered the room with a letter for him. William thanked him and took the envelope, recognizing his family’s stationery. It had been a long time since he had received anything from home.

“Who is it from?” Gregory asked.

“Home,” said William, almost too afraid to open it.

It couldn’t be anything good. After he left home many years ago to forge his way, his father had ordered him to return and fulfill his responsibilities as the eldest son and next Duke of Richmond. William refused. At the front lines, he wasn’t a duke’s son but simply a man serving his country alongside other men.

“Are you not going to open it?” Gregory asked. “Prolonging the matter is never the answer.”

“Is it worth my time?” William countered. “Nothing my father says will make me abandon my post, and I do not wish to read about his disappointment in me. I had enough of that under his roof.”

William had never seen eye to eye with his father, likely because he never showed much care or attention toward him when he was younger. All he had experienced at his father’s hands was a cold and controlling man who was never satisfied with his son’s achievements. Or rather, he was never satisfied with his first son’s accomplishments, but he doted on his second son.

William’s half-brother was a result of his father’s second marriage. He had married another woman mere months after William’s mother’s death, hardly giving anyone time to mourn the former duchess. William had been at boarding school during both events, only going home briefly to attend his mother’s funeral before he was sent back to school. By the time he met his stepmother, she was already pregnant and the center of his father’s life. William became the ‘other’ son when Henry was born, pushed to the side to make ample room for a sickly brother. All the affection and attention that should have been divided equally between them was solely lavished upon Henry, resulting in a grown man who was selfish, self-centered, and manipulative. Living far away from his family and having a purpose had been the best thing he could do for himself.

“Considering you haven’t spoken to each other in years,” Gregory began, “I think you should find out what was so important that he suddenly reached out to you.”

“I can take a good guess that it has something to do with my responsibilities,” William replied.

He stared at the envelope in his hand like it was a snake ready to strike, although he might prefer a snake bite over the emotional harm he was certain to experience once he read the letter. William hated that a few words from his father could send him into a downward spiral of self-doubt, a lack of self-worth, and misery. He was older and wiser, but like any child who sought acceptance from a parent, he became vulnerable with just one cruelly delivered statement.

“Give the letter to me, and I’ll read it,” Gregory suggested.

“No, no, I can do this alone,” said William. “It just caught me by surprise.”

He finally opened it, his eyes immediately recognizing his stepmother’s handwriting. She had never written to him before. Somewhat intrigued, he continued reading, his heart sinking with every perfectly written word.

“What is it?” Gregory asked. “Why do you look like someone has died?”

William looked up. “Someone has died.”

Gregory’s eyes widened. “Who?”

“My father.”

Gregory bowed his head briefly, releasing a heavy sigh. “I am so sorry, old fellow,” he said.

William said nothing because he didn’t know what he was feeling. The news was too sudden and shocking to make sense of the moment. He read the letter again, ensuring he had understood his stepmother’s message. His father had died, and he was now duke. He needed to return immediately to bury his father and uphold his responsibilities as the new duke.

“Here,” said Gregory, giving him a glass of brandy. “You need this.”

William took it from him but didn’t drink it. Frankly, he felt a little nauseous from the tumultuous feelings fighting for dominance within him. His father was dead, and he needed to return home. His father was dead. The words kept playing in his head over and over again, but it didn’t make the news any easier to digest. Restless, he stood up and placed the letter and brandy on the table before moving to his belongings.

“I have to go home,” he said, haphazardly throwing things on his bed. “I need to bury my father and take care of the estate.”

“Just a moment,” said Gregory, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I think you’re in shock, old fellow. Give yourself a moment to process the news. I’ll deal with the details concerning your release from His Majesty’s Service in the meantime. Drink your brandy and just be.”

Gregory pushed him to sit on the bed and moved away, quickly returning with his discarded brandy. William thanked him, drinking half the contents with one gulp. The amber liquid burned slightly, warming his throat and spreading to his chest. Gregory eventually left for a while, returning to find William in the same position. He couldn’t find the motivation to move. He merely kept thinking about the past, how he had no good memories of his father, and how part of him had always hoped he would one day reconcile with his father. That would never happen now.

“Would you like to talk about the thoughts in your head?” Gregory asked. “I know you didn’t see eye to eye with your father, but you loved and respected him.”

William laughed, but the sound was devoid of amusement. “He treated me no better than an unwanted stranger, but I still loved him and wanted him to accept me. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” said Gregory. “We all want our parents’ approval. That need seems embedded within us. Accept what you’re feeling because it’s perfectly normal. Cry if you need to.”

“My father would hate that,” William replied. “As far as he was concerned, men didn’t show weak emotions.”

Yet his brother had been allowed to cry, stomp his feet, and throw tantrums well past the point of childhood. William couldn’t help but be a little jealous of Henry, yet his younger brother despised him for being the older son and heir of everything their father owned. He could only imagine how Henry would react once he returned home as the new duke.

“Does the letter tell you what happened to your father?” Gregory asked.

“No, but he was in his seventies and had been sick for some time,” William replied. “I imagine his illness, age, or both took his life. It was his time to go.”

Yet, knowing that didn’t make it any easier to accept. Wherever his father’s soul was, he was likely happy that he had achieved in death what he tried to force in life—William was finally going home and taking his place as his father’s heir.

Chapter One

May 1813

Charlotte winced slightly as her mother forced another pin into her mass of light golden locks. She had taken over from Charlotte’s lady’s maid, who apparently wasn’t fixing her hair well enough.

“No more pins, Mama,” she begged. “My head might fall over at this point.”

Her hair was heavy enough when piled upon her head, but to add dozens of pearl pins was asking for trouble. The knowledge that she would have to remain standing for most of the wedding ceremony made her want to pull every pin out and leave her hair loose. Unfortunately, her mother would sooner eat her own hat than allow her daughter to appear unfashionable and ‘wild.’

“I wouldn’t need so many pins if you didn’t have so much hair,” her mother countered. “We cannot have one curl out of place. The dowager duchess will be looking for any excuse to criticize you.”

“Criticize me?” Charlotte repeated. “Why on earth would she do that? She chose me for her son.”

“Stepson,” her sister, Louise, corrected. “And before you say it does not matter, I will remind you about Miss Rivers. Her stepmother tried to marry her off to her older half-brother while her father was away. How could Mrs. Rivers do that? Her brother was more than twice Miss River’s age.”

“I heard Mrs. Rivers only married Miss River’s father to fulfill her brother’s wishes,” Charlotte added. “For half-siblings, they were certainly close enough for her to try and ruin a young woman’s life.”

Their mother grimaced. “Do not remind me of that terrible situation,” she said. “What matters is that her father returned home in time to stop that sham of a wedding and removed his wife and brother-in-law from his house.”

Charlotte’s mother finally released her hair and stood back to admire her work. She appeared satisfied because she called for the rest of Charlotte’s accessories.

“I do not wish to wear any jewelry, Mama,” said Charlotte when her lady’s maid appeared with a heavy diamond necklace. “The pearl pins in my hair should suffice.”

“And have people assume we do not have the means to dress you in the finest attire possible?” her mother replied. “Never. You are going to become the Duchess of Richmond. You need to look worthy of that title.”

“But you’re mixing diamonds with pearls,” Louise pointed out. “Do you not think they will clash? You should have put diamonds in her hair instead.”

Their mother looked between the necklace in her hands and Charlotte’s hair. “I suppose you’re right,” she replied. “Perhaps diamond combs instead of pearl pins.”

Charlotte groaned. “I cannot sit for another hour doing my hair,” she complained. “If I must wear jewelry, I’ll wear my pearl necklace.”

It was significantly lighter than the weighty necklace in her mother’s hands. The elaborate piece was a family heirloom passed down from mother to daughter. Charlotte would gladly give it to her younger sister, but not even Louise was keen to have it.

“The pearl necklace will not complement the neckline of your dress, dear,” her mother replied.

“Then I will go without a necklace,” said Charlotte.

“Nonsense,” her mother said. “You might as well be naked. Templeton,” she said, calling Charlotte’s lady’s maid. “Take these pins out of Lady Charlotte’s hair. We’ll be using the diamond combs.”

Charlotte’s shoulders fell. “Mama,” she cried. “We’re going to be late.”

“Not if we hurry,” her mother replied. “I will not have anyone judge our family because my daughter didn’t look perfect for her wedding. People will be watching us.”

Charlotte sighed. From as soon as she could understand that girls would held up to an impossible standard, she had done her best to ensure her mother would never find reason to complain. From having perfect manners to playing the pianoforte with precision and heart, Charlotte excelled in every area of being a well-bred woman any parents would be proud of. She even wanted to be a wife and mother, something she had dreamed about since childhood. It just also happened to be something expected of women, so it worked rather well for her.

When her parents first mentioned the possibility of marriage, she readily agreed to their chosen match. Charlotte trusted her parents to choose the right man for her, so when they informed her that she was betrothed to the Duke of Richmond, a man she had never met, she did not complain. Her only request had been to know what he looked like. Her mother had assured her he was handsome and looked younger than his age. That had led to another question about his age. Her soon-to-be husband was eleven years older than her, which was fairly normal, but Charlotte was worried she might not be mature enough for him. She was nineteen and had barely seen the world, let alone her own country. The duke had been a commanding officer in His Majesty’s Service, so he was a man of substance and order.

“Mama,” she said, suddenly worried. “Do you think I’ll be a good wife?”

“Your father and I would not be giving you in marriage if we believed you were not ready,” her mother said, helping Templeton with the pins. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m worried His Grace will think of me as a silly girl,” she said. “I heard he is quite mature, stern and—”

“It’s normal to have a few worries and doubts just before the wedding,” her mother said. “I assure you His Grace will do right by you. The dowager duchess was adamant about that. You just be the lady I raised, and all will be well.”

Charlotte nodded, although her belly fluttered vigorously with nerves. She had been excited about her wedding, but now she wasn’t so confident about the step she was about to take.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Louise asked, sitting on Charlotte’s bed and swinging her legs back and forth. “I do not blame you. While men in the military are dashing, I heard His Grace is humorless.”

“Louise,” her mother chided. “There is more to life than charming men and laughter. His Grace will be a good husband and father. That is all that matters.”

Louise rolled her eyes as soon as their mother wasn’t looking, making Charlotte giggle.

“What is it?” their mother asked suspiciously. “What are you giggling about? Louise, did you do something behind my back?”

It was uncanny how accurate their mother could be. Louise straightened and widened her eyes innocently, but their mother didn’t appear convinced by her little act.

“We’re going to be late, Mama,” said Charlotte, drawing her mother’s attention away. “You know how the vicar despises tardiness. It might as well be an added sin to the Good Book.”

“Mr. Lewis needs to find a wife and stop bothering the parishioners,” her mother retorted. “He has ridiculous rules about everything. It’s tedious.”

Charlotte almost laughed. Usually, her mother was complimentary about their vicar, but he had recently made a subtle comment about her bodice being a tad too low, which had earned him her ire. No one was allowed to comment about her attire, least of all a man of the cloth.

Charlotte’s mother was somewhat fanatical about being fashionable and the most well-dressed woman in the room. The situation was further worsened by her mother’s archnemesis, who had been within hearing distance. Lady Manning was once Charlotte’s mother’s friend until they fell in love with the same man. Once Charlotte’s father chose her mother, that ended a childhood friendship and turned them into enemies who fought using snide remarks, subtle criticism, and a need to outdo each other in everything. Houses, children, modiste, chefs—everything. Her mother was currently in the lead.

It took another moment for Charlotte to realize that she no longer felt nervous, only excitement. She would finally become a wife, and within a year, she would be a mother. Charlotte still wasn’t sure how and where babies came from because her mother had been somewhat vague. From the little she had understood, her husband would kiss her at night, making a baby grow in her belly. A midwife would help her take the baby out, but she was still uncertain about the method.

“Gloves, Templeton,” said Charlotte’s mother, interrupting her thoughts. “The short ones with the lace.”

“Are you nervous about your first night with your husband?” Louise asked.

“Louise,” their mother warned.

“Why would I be nervous?” Charlotte said, slipping into her shoes. “Mama explained everything to me.”

“The duke is a stranger to you,” Louise explained, darting a furtive look at their mother. “I do not know how I would feel kissing a man I have never seen before. What if his breath reeks?”

“For heaven’s sake, Louise!” their mother snapped, growing red. “We are not going to discuss this matter. It’s not ladylike.”
Louise’s concerns were valid, but talking about such intimate details could only result in a scolding.

“If Mama and Papa like him, that is enough for me,” Charlotte said. “Not only will this marriage further our family name, but I will also be a duchess.”

“Listen to your sister, Louise,” their mother said. “She is focused on the correct aspects of this marriage. Now,” she said, standing back and smiling, “I am happy to declare you’re ready. You look beautiful, dear.”

Charlotte smiled and turned to the mirror. Her mother was right. She did look beautiful, radiantly so. Her father had said that men loved beauty above everything else, so according to his words, her husband should think highly of her. She hoped.

Chapter Two

William stared out the colorful window across from him. The stained glass depicted a deer surrounded by bushes and flowers, which he found odd since he was standing inside a church. He at least expected a cross or a saint with a halo above his head, but every stained window had something to do with wildlife, perhaps because the church was a bit of an animal sanctuary. William found he preferred the wildlife.

Looking away, he subtly observed his in-laws. Lady Danbury and Lady Louise were attractive women, giving him hope for his wife-to-be. William wasn’t a shallow man, but since he had never met Lady Charlotte before, first impressions mattered. One’s appearance played a significant part in a first impression, but that meant nothing if the person didn’t have any substance to them. His stepmother had not told him much about his young bride other than she would make a good wife and duchess. He believed nineteen was a relatively young age for a woman to get married and was worried his wife would be too immature, especially for a man like him.

William liked things done a certain way, from how his clothing must be pressed to the times he preferred his meals. He also appreciated silence, a well-read mind, and order—chaos was only for fools and weak minds. Unfortunately, living with his half-brother and stepmother had invited some chaos into his life that he wasn’t confident he could grow accustomed to. Henry didn’t keep to any hours, often waking up at different times nearly every day. He came and went as he pleased with no thought to his mother, mealtimes, or social arrangements, and expected everyone to make allowances for his behavior. Catherine, his mother, had failed to raise a son worthy of the Russell name, but it wasn’t entirely her fault. William’s father had played a significant role in Henry’s life, holding his second son to a different standard that ultimately would be the young man’s downfall.

Despite her failings at controlling her son, William had to admit that Catherine had done a remarkable job of being a good wife and duchess. The servants sincerely respected her—a good indicator of one’s leadership skills. Obedience through fear was easy, but obedience garnered from respect was pure and worthy.

Adjusting his stance slightly, William looked to the double doors where his bride would appear at any moment. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was nervous about this marriage. Fortunately, years in the military had taught him how to mask his emotions and trudge ahead no matter the dangers or horrors about him. Marriage was a different kind of battlefield, but the losses would be great if he didn’t use the correct strategy to secure a smooth future as the Duke of Richmond. He had heard many married men remark that wives could be a man’s downfall, a milestone about his neck and his greatest shame. They spoke about controlling their wives, disciplining them as needed, and never allowing them to think beyond their role as a wife and mother, or one could only expect trouble. These comments did not worry him at the time of hearing them because marriage was far from his mind, but since receiving the letter about his father’s death, it suddenly became a very pressing aspect of his duties as a duke.

Returning home the previous year had been a rather considerable upheaval in his life. William had to resign from a career he had loved, bury his father, and take on responsibilities he had not thought about in many years. Oddly, he had resumed them as though he had never left, surprised at how easily it had come to him. Perhaps those years of his father criticizing and berating him had left a permanent need to excel no matter what he did. The only thing he hadn’t expected was his stepmother’s insistence about him taking a wife. Part of William had expected her to begrudge his right to the title in favor of her son, but she had been very encouraging and almost forceful about him settling in his duties.

It had probably been three months into his return when she brought up the subject of marriage. She had even compiled a list of the most eligible women, but he had left the decision up to her. He figured that since she was keen to continue his father’s legacy, she would choose the right woman to become the next duchess. Catherine spent the next few months meeting with the women and their families until she decided upon the Huntington family. Oddly, his stepmother had never spoken personally with Lady Charlotte but had observed her once or twice at a social engagement prior to his arrival.

After just two meetings with the young woman’s parents, Catherine decided only Lady Charlotte would do. The woman had to be remarkable to impress her, but he was still nervous about meeting her. Perhaps he should have requested at least one meeting, but he was so busy with matters of the estate that marriage was pushed to the back of his mind.

“I should see where my daughter is,” said Lady Danbury, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I do not know what is keeping her and her father.”

“Perhaps Lord Danbury is having a moment with his daughter,” Catherine suggested. “My father was a little emotional before he gave me away on my wedding day. I think most fathers feel somewhat distraught about losing their daughters.”

Mr. Lewis, the vicar, nodded in agreement. “Yes, I often see emotional fathers on their daughters’ wedding days,” he said. “However, having a spinster as a daughter is far less desirable, so one must always do their duty to marry their daughters to good men.”

William glanced at the vicar, slightly frowning at the man. Mr. Lewis had no children, but he spoke with great authority on the subject. A parent should love their child regardless of their marital status, appearance, competence, or intelligence. Coming from someone whose very existence had somehow been a disappointment to his father, he took offense when he heard about other parents ill-treating their children.

“I am certain they will appear at any moment,” Catherine commented, offering a smile to Lady Danbury. “I would be glad to see where they are if you feel it’s necessary. After all, Lady Charlotte will be my daughter-in-law soon.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Lady Danbury insisted, gesturing at the doors. “They have arrived.”

William’s breath hitched, unable to look at his approaching bride. Everything suddenly became too real, too fast, and he was worried he was making a mistake. He should have met Lady Charlotte first and ensured she was not only suitable for the position of duchess but also as his wife. This was the woman he would have to live with every day, talk to, and have children with, and he hadn’t bothered to meet her at least once.

These thoughts continued to play in his head until two petite feet peeking from a pink dress appeared before him. William slowly looked up until he met a pair of sparkling blue eyes staring at him with unconcealed curiosity. Catherine had not exaggerated—Lady Charlotte was quite simply beautiful. From the crown of pale gold locks upon her head to her lush cupid’s bow lips, she was perfect. Her round cheeks made her look younger than nineteen, which bothered him a little. William didn’t like the practice of child brides and detested parents who allowed these marriages. At sixteen, he had been far from ready to get married to anyone and couldn’t imagine a girl being forced into marriage at the same age. Unfortunately, it happened far too often to ignore. William hoped Lady Charlotte was indeed nineteen and that her family would not hide her actual age.

“Good day, Your Grace,” Lady Charlotte whispered, snapping him to attention.

He met her eyes, surprised by the confidence within them. He expected her to be nervous or shy, but she was neither. He admired that.

“Good day, my lady,” he returned, somewhat more stiffly than he intended.

She frowned slightly in return before turning her attention to the vicar. William hoped he hadn’t offended her before they had even begun their marriage. He could have been friendlier. Turning to the vicar, he kept darting subtle glances at his bride. Her frown had disappeared, and she was smiling. Perhaps he had imagined her initial reaction, or she simply didn’t dwell on matters. William had been told that women liked to hold grudges and lord it over their husbands. He hoped Lady Charlotte was different.

The ceremony was as long-winded as William expected. Also, since it was a tiny gathering of just Catherine, Henry, Lady Charlotte’s parents, and sister, they could leave the church immediately and head to his estate for the wedding breakfast.

“Shall we?” he said, holding his arm out to his wife.

It seemed strange that a ceremony, a few vows, and a piece of paper now made them forever tied to each other. They were strangers, but they now had a bond recognized by the church.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” his wife replied, placing her small, pale hand upon his arm.

She leaned toward him, her scent tickling his senses. William knew little about perfume, but whatever she used was rather delicious. It was sweet, warm, earthy, and fresh all at once, drawing him in and making him take a deeper whiff before he even knew what he was doing. His wife looked up, her eyes widening at their sudden close proximity. William immediately pulled back, coughing slightly to hide his embarrassment.

“Is something the matter, Your Grace?” she asked.

“No,” he replied abruptly. “And you should call me William. You are now my wife.”

She nodded. “Very well. And you should call me Charlotte. It is very nice to meet you.” She chuckled lightly. “It seems odd saying that after our wedding ceremony.”

William couldn’t agree more. “Yes, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he replied.

An awkward silence ensued while their families chatted behind them. Fortunately, they arrived at their waiting carriage, giving him something to do other than walking silently beside her.

“Allow me to help you inside,” he said, sliding her hand into his palm.

“Thank you,” she said, gripping his hand tightly and climbing into the carriage.

Having made it through the ceremony, now he needed to endure a carriage ride with a woman he didn’t know. Frankly, he would take a battle at the front lines over these unchartered waters in a heartbeat.

Chapter Three

Charlotte twiddled her thumbs, occasionally looking at her husband as their carriage rumbled towards his home. She had seen it in the distance before but had never been inside. Her parents, however, had called upon the dowager duchess at her request at least twice, which led to her now being a married woman.

Tempted to hum something to keep her occupied, she quickly decided against it. William looked like a man who would grow annoyed, which wouldn’t be a good start to their marriage. He already seemed so tense and uncomfortable and had barely looked at her since she entered the church. She could count on one hand the number of times he had looked at her beyond reciting their vows. Truthfully, she had been disappointed that he hadn’t reacted like someone impressed with his wife’s appearance. He had certainly looked at her, but she had not seen any appreciation. He had simply been still.

Charlotte looked out the window, wishing Hermione had attended the wedding and was with her in the carriage. Her good friend had been married the year before and would have been the perfect person to tell if William’s behavior was normal. Charlotte didn’t want to ask her mother because she would say it was perfectly normal, which wasn’t helpful. She wanted to get to know her husband, so allowing him to continue keeping to himself simply wouldn’t work for her. Louise definitely wouldn’t be able to help since she was just as inexperienced as Charlotte, and speaking to her mother-in-law about her stepson didn’t seem wise.

It seemed silly that she couldn’t invite her friend to her wedding, but her mother had been adamant about doing everything just as the dowager duchess wanted. Charlotte was a little worried that the woman would wish to control the marriage, especially as they would live together. Hermione often talked about her mother-in-law, saying she meant well but interfered far too much. Perhaps if Charlotte found favor with the dowager duchess, she might be able to have more freedom in the house. She was the mistress of the home, after all, but at nineteen, not many would believe she could handle a household of several family members and dozens of servants. It always amused her that people decided that young women were old enough to get married and have children, but they were not old enough to make decisions for themselves. Considering both options required much time, effort, and responsibility, it was ridiculous that people couldn’t see the irony of the situation.

Glancing at her husband again, she was glad he was handsome. One either had to have a lovely disposition or an attractive appearance. If one were fortunate, they had both. William was a quiet man who couldn’t rouse himself to speak to his new wife—that made for a dull marriage unless she could convince him to be at ease around her and speak his mind. Charlotte wanted to be a good wife, which meant understanding her husband, so she would if he didn’t start the conversation.

She wracked her brain for a moment, thinking about something witty to say. She didn’t know much about the war besides her country’s deep hatred of Napoleon and his supporters, so that wouldn’t be a wise choice. Biting her lower lip, she noted he had luscious brown hair that curled at his nape. She couldn’t tell if he used a pomade to keep his hair back because soft curls like that tended to flop on one’s forehead.

“You have lovely hair, William,” she said. “It’s a very rich brown, like the hot chocolate I drink every morning. Do you like hot chocolate?”

William slowly turned his equally rich brown eyes to her, his expression unreadable. “I do not like sweet things,” he said.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “You do not?” she asked. “What do you usually eat for breakfast?”

“Plain toast and tea,” he said. “Sometimes egg and fried meat.”

Charlotte was surprised. Breakfast was one of her favorite meals because it was a mixture of everything right in the world of food—cakes, bread, eggs, meat, fruit, preserves—everything. To eat so plainly was foreign to her.

“What about dinner?” she asked. “What do you usually like to eat?”

“Whatever is served is fine,” William replied.

“But do you have a favorite meal?” she pressed. “Perhaps roasted lamb and new potatoes, or pork pie, or fried mutton with thick gravy and Brussels Sprouts—”

“Anything is fine,” William interrupted, his voice brooking no further discussion.

Charlotte deflated, her shoulders slumping slightly. At least she knew he wouldn’t mind whatever he was served. She could probably have the chef boil chicken and serve it with day-old bread, and he would still eat it. Perhaps being in the military had taught him to be content with whatever food he received. However, being a commanding officer should have afforded him better rations than the lower military members.

Inwardly sighing, she continued observing her husband from beneath her eyelashes. Charlotte had noticed he favored his left profile, often keeping his right side somewhat hidden. Perhaps it had to do with the scar on his cheek. She had thought nothing of it when she first noticed, other than briefly admiring it. Charlotte had once read a story about a handsome pirate with a scar on his face and she had fallen in love with the character. Since then, she grew to like battle scars. Louise thought it was an odd fixation, but not all fixations could be explained. In Charlotte’s opinion, the scar made William appear more mysterious and attractive. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to feel uneasy around her, but she doubted she could broach the subject without offending him. He appeared sensitive about it, or he wouldn’t try to hide it.

“I am excited to see your home,” she commented, hoping that would pique his interest. “Well, our home. My parents mentioned it was beautiful. I understand Russell Manor was built in the 1300s?”

“Yes,” William replied.

Charlotte waited a moment, hoping he would elaborate, but he didn’t. She had been almost certain that talking about his home would encourage a conversation. Topics about food and home were not good enough, so—

“We’ve arrived at the estate,” William announced.

“Oh!” she cried, shifting to the window to stick her head out.

She had been so absorbed trying to get him to talk that she didn’t notice her surroundings. Up ahead was a house straight out of a faerie tale book. Gargoyles, perched on the roof, stared down at approaching visitors, their menacing faces reminding her of demon depictions she had seen in a restricted book at the church library. Charlotte enjoyed translating old languages into English, so she had a plethora of resources that others could never imagine.

Pointed arches and flying buttresses were another common feature of the medieval era, but what she adored and couldn’t see were stained glass windows. It seemed rather odd, considering the rest of the house adhered to the architectural style of the era. Charlotte wanted to ask William about it, but she recalled he didn’t seem interested in discussing his home. She would just have to ask someone else.

Their carriage stopped, and he helped her down, letting go of her hand as soon as her feet touched the ground. Charlotte glanced at him. He wasn’t even looking at her but at the approaching carriages. Their families had arrived, hopefully alleviating the awkwardness between her and William. Perhaps he was the kind of man who took some time to warm up to someone. Charlotte wanted to run to her sister, but her mother would disapprove. She would have to find some time later and speak to Louise.

Instead of going inside, they waited for their families since they arrived around the same time. Charlotte noted how Lord Henry alighted from the carriage and didn’t bother to turn around to assist his mother. The groom helped her. Even at the church, he had appeared aloof and uninterested. She had not spoken to him yet and was trying not to have a lousy first impression of him, but it was challenging. She had to wonder if the men of the family all had some sort of problem communicating with people. Charlotte loved talking and made friends with almost everyone, but perhaps she would have to restrain herself when in her new family’s company.

“Now that we’re all here,” the dowager duchess began as they congregated outside the house, “shall we go inside and celebrate this happy occasion with a wedding feast? Everything should be ready.”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” said Charlotte’s mother, smiling.

They entered the foyer, where waiting servants took their coats. Charlotte took in as much as she could as they were led to the dining room, impressed by how clean and coordinated everything was. Colors, furniture positions, flower arrangements, paintings—everything flowed well but also appeared impersonal. She quickly understood the house lacked warmth, which didn’t surprise her. Only the dowager duchess seemed willing to make conversation and smile.

The dining room appeared a little more colorful, with more flower arrangements and a table laden with enough food for many more people than their current party.

“This is lovely, Your Grace,” Charlotte’s mother commented as they took their places.

“Oh, it’s just a little something the chefs managed to put together,” the dowager duchess replied. “I hope my daughter-in-law is happy with everything. After all, this is her home now.”

The audible turning of necks met her ears as everyone looked expectantly at her. Well, everyone but her husband. He was already sipping wine and appeared miles away. Heart sinking, she smiled at her mother-in-law.

“Everything is beautiful, Your Grace,” she said. “Your home is beautiful.”

“It’s now your home as well,” the dowager duchess reminded her. “And please call me Mother. We are family.”

Charlotte smiled in answer, and everyone soon tucked into the feast. Moments later, a servant entered the room, handing Lord Henry a note. He read it and promptly excused himself, his mother frowning as he quickly left the room.

“You’ll have to excuse my son,” the dowager duchess said. “Something unavoidable must have come to his attention.”

“We understand, Your Grace,” said Charlotte’s father. “A man must attend to matters if need be.”

An odd expression passed across William’s face, one Charlotte caught because she was contemplating asking a servant to give her the buttered asparagus near him. She wasn’t certain, but the expression looked like annoyance. It was a change from the polite but reserved expression she had grown accustomed to in the last few hours. She didn’t think he would care if his brother left the celebration because he didn’t appear particularly bothered by it. One would think they didn’t just get married.

Eventually, everyone had their fill and moved to the drawing room. However, Charlotte wished to admire a piece of artwork in the hallway. Her mother frowned at her, but the dowager duchess didn’t mind. Charlotte just wanted a little time alone to process that she was now a married woman, and this was her new home. It was overwhelming, primarily because her husband had barely spoken to her.

Inwardly sighing, she stood before a landscape and stared at the painted meadow with an angry sky looming over it. It was gloomy and fit her mood rather well.

“Do you like it?”

Charlotte jerked slightly, unprepared for Lord Henry’s sudden appearance. “My lord,” she said, recovering from surprise. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He grinned, his green eyes crinkling at the edges. “I can be stealthy when I want to,” he said. “So, the painting?”

“It’s a lovely painting,” she said, looking at the artwork. “I’m not very knowledgeable about art, but I can appreciate it.”

“I prefer moving artwork,” said Lord Henry.

She frowned, turning to him. “Moving artwork?”

She found him staring at her rather intently but didn’t have a chance to react because William entered the hallway, his eyes narrowing slightly when his eyes fell on his brother.

“Henry, you have returned,” he said.

“It was merely a small matter to attend to,” Lord Henry explained. “I was just getting to know your wife. We haven’t been formally introduced despite being one big family.”

Charlotte could have pointed out that he had been aloof and uninterested, so no one had bothered including him in the greetings and conversations, but she held her tongue. Upsetting her brother-in-law on the first day of their new relationship wouldn’t be wise.

“Henry, this is Lady Charlotte Huntington,” William replied, standing before them. “Charlotte, this is Lord Henry Russell, my brother.”

“Do you not mean the Duchess of Richmond?” said Lord Henry. “She is now your wife, after all. Or are you not yet accustomed to calling her that?”

William stiffened. “I know she’s my wife,” he said.

“Then I’m happy for you,” said Lord Henry, grinning.

Although he was smiling, Charlotte sensed it was fake. In fact, the entire situation seemed filled with tension. One might even say the brothers did not get along as well as they should, but she might be wrong. William turned slightly in what she had quickly recognized as his subtle way of hiding his right profile. Evidently, she wasn’t the only one who recognized the movement.

“Hiding again, I see,” said Henry. “You are now a married man, brother. You shouldn’t hide from your wife. Do you sincerely think she hasn’t noticed your scar? It’s rather obvious.”

Charlotte frowned at her brother-in-law, finding his comment unacceptable. The tension between them was no longer so difficult to understand.

“Shall we return to the drawing room, Charlotte?” William asked. “I was asked to come and have you join us.”

So, he was asked to find her—it didn’t come from him. Disappointment sat like a lump in her belly. Perhaps she needed to stop expecting too much from her husband.

“Yes,” she replied. “I am done looking at the painting.”

He gave her his arm, but it was more a perfunctory maneuver than a sincere wish to escort her. Charlotte was truly beginning to question her decision to marry the duke. She had trusted her parents to find the right man for her, but perhaps the idea of their daughter being a duchess had made them overlook William’s faults. This thought stayed with her for the rest of the evening, barely paying attention to the conversation around her, so when her family announced they were leaving, she nearly cried for them to take her with them.

“You be a good girl,” her mother said as she leaned closer and kissed Charlotte’s cheek. “We will see how you’re settling in later this week.”

Charlotte nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat. She embraced her sister and received a peck on her brow from her father before they climbed into their carriage and left. She watched their carriage disappear into the night, the urge to run after it so great that she might have done it if not for William’s presence beside her. He had insisted on seeing them off with her.

“We should retire for bed, Charlotte,” said William.

His words sent a flurry of butterflies straight to her belly. Other than her sister, she had never shared a bed with anyone, let alone a man. Sometimes, Charlotte and Louise would have the kitchen put together a basket of sweetmeats and hot chocolate, then send it to one of their rooms for a little midnight feast. They would spend the night talking, watch the sunrise together, and promptly fall asleep until a servant would rouse them for breakfast. Charlotte wondered if that would ever happen again.

“Of course,” she said when she realized he was waiting for her to say something.

They turned and entered the house, silently climbing the stairs until he stopped at the second floor and led her to a bedroom.
“This is your room,” he said, not bothering to open the door. “Please call for a servant if you require anything.”

He was confusing her. He had said her room and to call for a servant if she required anything. Was he not going to share the room with her?

“Well, goodnight,” he said before heading in the opposite direction and entering a room toward the end of the second floor.

He didn’t pay her a second glance. This was supposed to be a happy day for her, but all she wanted to do now was cry.