Page 7 of The Virgin Duchess

Charlotte’s stomach clenched. She knew exactly who Magnus was speaking about, and while she had a feeling that her brother was quite right about Frederick, she had a part to play.

“He is not like our father, Magnus. I assure you.”

Gaze hardening, freezing over with ice like a pond in winter, Magnus’s jaw worked all the harder. He shook himself after a time, facing out the window as they passed by building after building.

“I do not wish to hear about that man on what is meant to be a joyous occasion.” He sighed, still not looking at her. “I only feel as if I am missing something in the success of this courtship.”

“Magnus, I…I am sorry if the surprise was too great. I simply did not know if Frederick would ever come to his senses and propose.”

All her brother did was offer a noncommittal noise, humming slightly before the carriage returned to utter silence. She stiffened in her seat, turning away from Magnus and glancing out the window. There was nothing more that she could say to ease him, and frankly, she understood his complaint.

Over the weeks, Charlotte had played her part as doting betrothed as best she could. But there was the timing in herway. It was nearly impossible to come up with a reason for such a sudden event. She could empathize with Magnus and his reticence to sign off on the marriage as it came so entirely like a bolt out of the blue.

I have tried so hard to fake an infatuation with Frederick, and still, he sees right through me.

Moments—or perhaps hours—later, they arrived at the church for the ceremony. Charlotte had lost track of time during the trip, and before she could comprehend what she was doing, she stood in the church, looking over the few assembled guests.

Her dearest friend, Amelia, was there, but the Duchess cast her a concerned stare, and Charlotte felt compelled to go to her.

“Amelia,” Charlotte leaned forward, greeting her friend warmly, “I’m glad that you could come.”

“Of course, Lady Charlotte. Or shall I say Your Grace already?” There was a slight twinkle in Amelia’s eyes at the jest, but it was quickly swept away by ill-hidden worry. “You are truly going to wed Frederick then?”

Swallowing hard, Charlotte nodded. “Yes, of course. I am very happy. This is exactly what I want.”

Even Charlotte had trouble believing the words.

But before Amelia could speak another word, her husband, Richard—the Duke of Blackford—approached them with a smile, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist.

“Has my wife professed her concern yet? She has been dreadful to live with these past few days.”

Amelia glared at him, swatting him discreetly with her small fan. Charlotte had to grin at the pair. They were indeed a sight to behold, having started so strictly as enemies and then falling in love with each other as profoundly as any Charlotte had ever seen. It gave her hope…if a small amount.

“I can assure you, Amelia, that Frederick is a good man. You have no cause for concern. And your dear friend is happy. Should that not be all that matters?”

It was painful to keep her scowl and scoff contained and out of sight, but Charlotte knew that Richard meant well. However, she could not believe that the goodness of Frederick’s character was unimpeachable. Richard was not aware of the other evening, of course, and with the Baron still not found, each day made Charlotte more nervous.

“Of course.” Amelia turned to her, holding her stare with such love in her eyes that Charlotte was forced to hold back tears. “I am truly happy for you, my dearest Charlotte. And my husband is right. Shocking indeed.”

He only chuckled at the slight, the pair of them using their teasing as a language of love shared only between them.

“Your happiness is what I regard with the most seriousness. If you are glad, thenIam glad.”

Charlotte had to swallow again, the emotions making her throat sticky and dry. “You are truly the best friend I could ever ask for, Amelia. I love you with all my heart, like a sister.”

A commotion started at the front of the church, and Charlotte knew it was time. She was needed at the altar because, on this rainy day in London, she was getting married.

Before she knew it, Charlotte was no longer a lady but a duchess of a new estate. The wedding went by in a blur and she was ashamed to say that she recalled little of it. Each moment of the ceremony, she had been preoccupied with trying to parse out the meaning of Frederick’s facial expressions, responding to the minister’s questions by rote alone.

They’d made their trek across the city to Mullens Estate, and Charlotte had been greeted by the state with her new title as she followed her husband and sister-in-law inside.

“Welcome home, Your Grace,” the butler said to Frederick, then turned to regard her. “And to you, Your Grace.”

It was still so odd to be called as such, and Charlotte forced herself to smile, offering what she could by way of a performance. They were quickly ushered to the dining roomwhere a meal had been prepared for after the ceremony, and she could hear talk in the back of her mind from the staff regarding their potential honeymoon.

I’d forgotten about that part. We have not discussed it, though. I wonder if Frederick…

Abruptly, it struck Charlotte that she had not spoken to Frederick much at all—about anything. She was unaware of his expectations for their marital arrangement beyond what they had discussed that day in the hall when he’d proposed.

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