Page 29 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Contrite Duke
Michael nodded, raising her gloved hand to his lips and grazing it with a kiss. Lydia thought that surely, now that they were married, things were off to a wonderful start.
And yet, as they day wore on, Michael became more and more distant from her. He started speaking to her less, and becoming more withdrawn, staring at his wine cup, which was being filled rather often, more. She tried to just chalk it up to his nervousness around big social crowds, telling herself that things would get better as the afternoon wore on.
However, when the evening finally arrived, Lydia could feel her heart race with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. As she stood in her beautifully adorned chamber with her husband, Michael, standing just outside the doorway, she couldn't help but notice the tension that seemed to radiate from him.
“I'll get ready for bed,” Lydia said, her voice unsteady.
Michael, clearly flustered, shook his head, breathing deeply for a long moment before he spoke.
“I need to go downstairs for a short while,” he said. “I promise I'll be back soon.”
With that, he left the room in haste, leaving Lydia to prepare for bed on her own. As she slipped into her delicate nightgown and arranged her curls atop her head, she couldn't help but wonder what could be troubling her husband so.
The minutes ticked by as Lydia lay in bed, waiting for Michael's return. The soft glow of the candles began to fade, casting shadows upon the room as the night wore on. Soon, her eyes grew heavy, and she drifted off into a restless slumber. She dreamt of an anxious husband standing at the altar with her who, at the end of the ceremony, ran screaming silently from the church.
When she awoke the next morning, it was with a start. She was fully prepared to need to explain herself to her new husband, as she was sure that he would be upset with her for being asleep on their wedding night. Truthfully, she was upset with herself. She couldn’t believe that she could have fallen asleep on the most important night of her life. And yet, a search of both her chambers and Michael’s turned up no signs of him. Where was her husband?
Chapter Sixteen
Michael awoke alone in the wee hours of the morning in his study, his mind racing with thoughts of his new wife. He groaned, lifting himself stiffly from the chair in the far corner, where he had hidden in the hopes of remaining unseen, lest anyone open the door to the room the previous night. He immediately silenced himself, not wanting to be heard. The previous night came rushing back to him, as did all the guilt he had felt. He owed Lydia an explanation. And yet, he wondered if he would ever leave his study again.
He couldn't bring himself to face his wife, not after he had skipped out on her on their wedding night. The ceremony had been a nightmare for him, with all eyes on him as he stood at the altar. It was the single most uncomfortable moment of his life. While he was glad it was now all over, he had been plenty rattled still when they returned home. And his mother gushing about the wedding for the rest of the evening had done nothing to help him with that.
And then, there was Lydia. She had been too dazzling, too perfect in her wedding dress and lacy veil. Despite knowing how lovely his wife was, his heart had stopped at the altar as he pulled back her veil. And when he had finally kissed her, the whole world stopped. It had taken him several moments to regain his composure, only for him to realize that everyone was still staring intently at him and Lydia.
It was so much that when they returned home, he couldn't bear the thought of being alone with her. Not because he hadn’t wanted to. But because he couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her.
What do you think you’ve done now, my lord? His own voice mocked him bitterly in his head.
He groaned again, storming over to his desk, and pouring himself a drink. His cold inner voice was right, of course. He remembered that he had promised his wife that he would return to the bedchambers the previous night. And he knew she would remember, as well. He winced as he thought of her staying awake nearly all night, waiting for him to fulfill his promise. He swallowed his drink, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t done anything too terrible.
But the guilt was growing within him, eating away at his conscience. He had married Lydia under false pretenses, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had betrayed her trust. And then, he failed her, on what was her wedding night, as well as his own. How could he ever explain himself to her? Would she even understand?
The morning slowly wore on, but Michael remained holed up in his study, avoiding the two women in his home. But he knew he couldn't hide away forever. Eventually, he would have to face them both. Eventually, someone would come looking for him, and he would have no choice. He knew that he needed to think of some pathetic excuse for the previous night. But right then, all he could do was pour another drink and hope that a magic solution came to him before his mother or Lydia did.
And then there was the night to come. Michael shuddered at the thought. He had managed to hide away from Lydia for one night. Now, he had to think of a way to get out of that night. Either that, or he needed to work up the nerve to stay with his wife that night. But how could he possibly go through with it? Even if he tried, she would know instantly that something was bothering him. How could he spend the night with her in his current state?
Michael stared at the wall, lost in thought. He knew he couldn't avoid Lydia forever. As much as he dreaded it, he had to face her and explain himself. But how could he even begin to describe the conflicting emotions he was experiencing? He felt like a fraud, marrying Lydia when he knew that he wasn't ready for it. But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel drawn to her. And his conflicting feelings were not helping him in the slightest. It only made him want to try to hide.
He briefly entertained the idea of sneaking out of the house and setting off for France, writing to Lydia with an apology when he arrived. But he dismissed the idea. A woman as lovely and clever as his wife deserved something a bit better than that. And how could he just leave her? She would be subjected to terrible scandal, and she certainly didn’t deserve that.
As the hours ticked by, Michael's anxiety grew. He knew he had to talk to Lydia, but he didn't know how to approach the conversation. He thought about taking a walk in the gardens to clear his head. The fresh air might do him some good. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave the study. What if his mother or Lydia were roaming the halls? If he ran into them, he would have to speak to them before he was ready. That, or he would have to flee from them, which would only lead to more questions. Once again, he regretted his decision to marry her. Now, he had a problem that he had no idea how to handle.
When a knock came at his study door, he leapt from his chair, expecting to see Lydia enter. But it was just Lark, entering with a tray of tea and cakes.
“The dowager asked me to bring this to you, if you were home,” he said. He looked Michael over and raised an eyebrow. “Shall I tell her that I delivered it, or that you are out?”
Michael shook his head, motioning for his valet to bring in the tray.
“Don’t tell her anything, unless you have to,” he said.
Lark nodded slowly, giving Michael a bemused look.
“I will tell her you are away, should she ask,” he said. “Otherwise, I shall not say a thing.”
Michal nodded, not looking his valet in the eye.
“Thank you, Lark,” he said.
