Page 21 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
Henry cackled.
“Says you, my good man,” he retorted lightheartedly.
Adrian bid Henry farewell, then he closed the door to the manor.
His steps were slow and deliberate as he ascended the grand staircase, each creak of the wooden boards echoing the heaviness within him. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows along the corridor, mirroring the uncertainty that danced within his mind.
As he settled into the sanctuary of his bedchamber, the voices of the evening's conversations still lingered, mingling with the relentless beating of his own heart. His aunt's words echoed in his ears, each syllable carrying the weight of tradition, duty, and the responsibility that came with his dukedom of Thornwood.
He knew that marriage was not just about him. It encompassed the dukedom of Thornwood, secured the Thornwood legacy passed down to him from his forefathers. And his aunt’s words had struck a chord deep within him, unraveling a tapestry of conflicting emotions. The image of Miss Ludlow, her vibrant spirit and infectious laughter, surfaced in his thoughts once more, intertwining with the realization that his choices held consequences far beyond his own desires.
Restless, Adrian paced the room, his mind ablaze with the unending battle between love and duty. The prospect of marrying for the sake of his dukedom felt stifling, a surrender of his heart's deepest longings. Yet, the undeniable truth remained—the future of Thornwood relied upon him, upon his ability to secure a suitable alliance.
The flickering candle flames cast shifting shadows upon the ornate furnishings, mirroring the turmoil that churned within Adrian's heart. Uncertainty gnawed at his resolve, each decision carrying the weight of generations before him. Should he forsake his own desires in pursuit of what was expected, or dare he follow the path of his heart, risking the unraveling of Thornwood's legacy? Or, what if Miss Ludlow was the key to his very desires, and he was too blind to see it?
Chapter Ten
The following morning dawned bright and clear, casting a golden glow across the elegant dining room as Annabelle settled herself at the breakfast table. The fragrance of freshly brewed tea mingled with the aroma of freshly baked scones, usually a delightful start to her day. Yet, a heavy unease settled upon her, clouding her thoughts, and stealing away her appetite.
Oswald joined her at the table, his usual bitter demeanor replaced by an odd smile and a chipper posture. Annabelle couldn't help but notice the peculiar shift in his behavior, his overly chipper conversation effort that seemed to conceal something far more significant. Her instincts, ever sharp, sent alarm bells ringing in her mind.
“Good morning, Annabelle,” Oswald greeted her with a twinkle in his eyes that chilled her. “I trust you slept well?”
Annabelle nodded, although her mind was preoccupied with the events of the previous evening.
“Well enough,” she said, surprised by the question. Her uncle hadn’t taken an interest in her night’s sleep since he moved there. What was he up to?
“I will not be here much of the day,” he said, dismissing her answer. “I have an important meeting at the pub today.”
Annabelle nodded, the knot of unease growing in her stomach. She would have normally reveled in the notion that he would be gone, and that she could go enjoy the meadow for a couple hours with Penelope as without worrying about returning home to his disapproving scowl. But the cryptic mention of an “important meeting” at the village pub had left her mind spinning, and she couldn’t find the same excitement she normally would. Could this be the fateful encounter with Lord Spencer? She could only pray that it wasn’t.
“Very well,” she said simply, trying to seem as though she didn’t have a care in the world regarding whatever he was up to. But as she felt his gaze on her, with that unknown glimmer in his eyes, an unsettling shiver ran down her spine. It was all she could do to not flee the room and hide on her chambers.
As Oswald poured himself a cup of coffee, he glanced at Annabelle, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. The glimmer remained in his eyes, and a smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth.
“Annabelle,” Oswald began, his voice low and serious. “I must warn you, the events that lie ahead hold great significance. The world we know may change irrevocably.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his words. What did he mean? Was Lord Spencer's introduction into her life to be accompanied by some unforeseen calamity? Annabelle's mind raced, her emotions in a tangled web of hope and fear.
She wanted to ask her uncle what all his mysterious behavior was about. But part of her knew she didn’t want the answer. She also knew that her uncle likely wouldn’t answer her. She couldn’t feign an appetite, and her uncle didn’t seem to notice that she wasn’t eating. And when he rose slowly from his seat, she breathed an audible sigh of relief.
Yearning for a respite from the oppressive atmosphere of the grand house, Annabelle eagerly sought solace in the company of her dear friend Penelope. Their meeting had been arranged, according to a letter from Penelope and delivered secretly by Sarah, Annabelle’s lady’s maid. Oswald didn’t approve of Penelope. He didn’t approve of anything Annabelle did. But as Annabelle stepped out into the sun-drenched garden, a sense of freedom washed over her.
Penelope stood there, radiant as ever, her vibrant gown matching the blooming flowers that surrounded them. Annabelle's worries momentarily faded away, replaced by the comforting presence of her companion. They greeted each other with warm smiles and linked arms, ready to embark on a leisurely stroll through the lush countryside.
“Oh, how glad I am to see you, Penny,” she said, embracing her friend tightly.
Penelope pulled back, giving her a concerned look.
“What’s wrong, darling?” she asked.
Annabelle quickly explained her uncle’s strange behavior that morning, and the things he said to her. Her friend listened patiently, nodding along as she spoke.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I wonder what he could be up to.”
Annabelle sighed, shrugging.
“My thoughts precisely,” she said.
