Page 21 of Married to the Icy Duke
“No,” he said firmly. “None at all.”
“Well, then, congratulations to you and to your bride,” Tristan chuckled, picking up the second glass and raising it in a toast. “And good luck to her—she will need it.”
CHAPTER 7
“This is a mistake,” Charlotte stated.
From the other side of the carriage, Thalia glanced at her and lifted her eyebrows.
“Then let us turn back. We’ve not yet arrived.”
Charlotte allowed herself to consider it for a moment. Shecouldturn back. Nobody wouldmakeher stay with the duke. Or Isaac, rather.
But this was my choice. My condition. I wanted to stay with him, to see what sort of man he was. I’ll look like a coward for retreating now.
And what if he changes his mind about the whole thing? What if he calls off the betrothal? Then what would I do?
Somehow, returning in disgrace seemed to Charlotte to be the worst outcome of them all. She felt faintly sick at the idea of going home.
Since when had her comfortable, childhood bedroom become so unappealing? It was a spacious room, and Gabriel certainly allowed her to do what she wanted with it. And yet now, the room seemed too small, and rapidly closing in around her. The time had come to leave her brother’s home and set up a home of her own. Charlotte had known this for a while, but this wretched engagement to this wretched man was the first time she had truly had an opportunity.
Those other men who had pursued her ever so briefly, like Sir Peter, had never taken her seriously, Charlotte knew that now. They, too, were scraping the barrel of their prospects, and in the end, she supposed she should be relieved that they did not settle for her. Nobody would have been happy withthatoutcome—quite the reverse, in fact.
“No, we had better go,” Charlotte sighed. “We are nearly there. We’re expected, and I’ll look like a coward.”
“It has never bothered you before, what people think,” Thalia pointed out.
Charlotte stuck out her tongue at her sister-in-law. “I had better get it over with, at least.”
Thalia nodded. “That I can understand.”
Joan had been sent ahead with Charlotte’s things, although there had not been time to receive a report from her. Charlotte hoped that they would be put in a comfortable set of rooms, although she would not put it past him to set them up in a nasty, spider-infested cellar or something like that.
She found herself thinking uneasily of all the rooms in Mrs. Radcliff’s novels, all of which seemed to have hidden trapdoors and secret entrances behind tapestries, through which villains could come and go.
Mrs. Radcliff had a habit of making readers think that there was a ghost in her novels, only to reveal that there was no ghost at all, and in fact, the ‘ghost’ was a person, generally a man. Privately, Charlotte thought that the man was more terrifying than a ghost.
However, she imagined that she would feel differently, should she find herself in a dark, creepy old room in the dead of night, with a candle guttering beside her bed, a storm banging on the windowpanes, and a mysterious groaning and rattling coming from somewhere in her dark room.
Oh, stop it,she told herself fiercely.This isn’t a Gothic novel. You aren’t going to a haunted abbey. You are simply going to spend some time with the man you intend to marry. You are going to understand what it might be like to be his wife. His duchess.
A shiver rolled down her spine at that. Perhaps that, too, was more frightening than the prospect of a ghost. Charlotte hadspent a good deal of time already thinking of what it might mean to be a wife. To behiswife.
For some reason, she had found herself thinking about marital duties.
Of course, such a subject wasnotdiscussed amongst polite Society. Amongst female polite Society, that is. She imagined that gentlemen brought the matter up whenever they could. Marital duties were never far from the minds of ladies of marriageable age, or newlyweds, or even harried, tired-looking women who managed to birth a child every year like clockwork.
Thereweresecret whispers in corners and musings aloud about the business, although Charlotte never had the opportunity to listen to it. None of her friends were married. Of course, Thalia was married, but Charlotte had no intention of listening to whatshehad to say about the marital business.
Charlotte’s education had been well-rounded and thorough. She had been told in frank detail how the matter worked between men and women. For this, she was grateful. Some ladies weren’t told until the eve of their marriage, or perhaps not even then.
They were left to discover it upon their wedding night and endure onwards in horrified silence. It was generally understood that nice ladies, or at least respectable ones, did not really enjoy their marital duties. They were just that—duties. Necessary. If they were lucky, they’d be rewarded with a little baby at the end of it and a sense of a job well done. Neither of those things appealed to her. Not one bit.
Some women seemed to find the whole business rather nice. Charlotte was determinednotto think of Thalia’s experience in the matter, considering that she was married toGabrielof all men. However, she had judged from little looks, smiles, and careless touches that her brother and sister-in-law had a rich, full, and happy marriage. Inallrespects.
She shifted in the carriage seat, uncomfortable.
The Duke of Arkley was taunting her, she thought. No, teasing seemed like a more appropriate word. He would be rough, no doubt. The very idea made her stomach tighten in the strangest way. And, of course, Charlotte hadnoinclination to share in such a business. No proper lady did, according to Society.
