Page 37 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
Adrian's proposal, Oswald's reluctant approval, meeting Marjorie—each thread of her journey wove together, creating a tapestry of uncertainty and hope. The path she had once envisioned for herself had been irrevocably altered, like a river diverted by an unexpected obstacle. And though uncertainty loomed before her, one thing stood clear amidst the chaos: her life was about to take a turn she had never anticipated.
Chapter Seventeen
The cold morning dew still clung to the sprawling countryside as the ducal carriage bounced along the uneven road. The rhythmic jostling, coupled with the hooves' clop on the rough cobblestones, echoed the turmoil within Adrian’s mind. He sat across from Henry, the lush velvet of the carriage engulfing them in quiet comfort as he attempted to marshal his thoughts. Henry was accompanying him not only for support, but to attend some business meetings while in London.
Adrian recognized the cruciality of this journey, its importance pulsating in the forefront of his mind with unrelenting urgency. This mission, to secure the special license, was paramount if he were to offer Annabelle a place by his side.
The notion of it evoked a strange amalgam of nervousness and anticipation that settled heavily in his chest. He could not say that he was in love with her. But he knew that he would do anything to help her escape the fate she told him that her uncle was trying to impose upon her.
Yet, even as he strove to concentrate on the task at hand, his thoughts were elsewhere. They travelled back to Thornwood and to her, to the vision of Annabelle with her fiery hair and the smile that made his heart thunder. His heartstrings tugged with longing and a thread of unease crept into his consciousness. The gnawing discomfort of leaving Annabelle, even if temporary, lingered, scratching at his mind like a persistent specter.
“I don’t like the look of that brooding face, Adrian,” Henry’s voice broke through his musings, a jovial grin playing on his lips. His teasing tone was a beacon of familiarity amidst Adrian’s storm of thoughts.
Adrian’s heart stopped. He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of his turmoil about marrying Annabelle. He gave his friend an exaggerated roll of his eyes, trying to lighten his dark mood.
“I'm not brooding,” Adrian retorted, hoping the playful retort might ward off the uncertainty threatening to engulf him. Yet his gaze drifted towards the window, his reflections refracted through the glass. Images of her, their time together, danced in the shards of the morning sun.
Henry snickered, shaking his head.
“Yes, and I am not red headed,” he said with a chuckle.
Adrian sighed. Of all the people he knew, only his aunt and Henry could decipher when something troubled him. And with him trapped in a carriage with his friend, he knew he was fooling no one.
“I am just worried about Annabelle,” he said. “Her uncle is nefarious, indeed. I have only known her a short time, but I feel as though I should be there to protect her always, especially since she is to be my wife.”
He felt his friend's eyes on him, perceptive as ever.
“I suspected she had something to do with your mood,” Henry replied, chuckling softly. “But this journey, Adrian, is for her. To secure your future together. Surely, that brings you some comfort?”
Adrian nodded, swallowing around the knot in his throat.
“Yes,” he admitted, his gaze still lost in the passing scenery. “And yet the thought of leaving her, even for a short while, is rather...disconcerting.”
Henry patted his knee reassuringly.
“Miss Ludlow has a strong spirit, Adrian,” he said. “And we'll be back before she knows it.”
Adrian managed a faint smile, the reassurance echoing hollowly inside him. Yes, Annabelle was strong, stronger than any other ladies he had ever met. It was one of the things he admired about her. However, it was not her strength that concerned him. It was the potential for the torment she might endure in his absence.
In silence, he contemplated his friend's words, the carriage continuing its journey through the rolling landscapes, marking the distance between him and Annabelle. Each jostle, each bump, was a reminder of the necessary distance he had put between them, a compulsory task that he needed to undertake for their future. He clung to that knowledge, like a lifeline in the rough seas of his anxieties, the beating of his heart keeping rhythm with the carriage wheels against the uneven road.
The countryside continued rolling past them, in his blind-eyed mind, a picturesque backdrop to the solemn, introspective silence within the carriage. Adrian sighed, the weight of his new responsibilities pressing against his chest, a leaden anchor tethered to his heart. His brow creased in worry, his fingers tightening around the plush velvet of the carriage seat.
His thoughts whirred relentlessly, a barrage of concern and duty that beat a steady rhythm against his consciousness. His future with Annabelle hung in the balance, so delicately tethered to his actions. It was a responsibility that was both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
As he stared vacantly at the vague shifting patterns on the carriage floor, he felt his introspection veer toward melancholy. The frown etched on his face mirrored his inward tension, a potent testament to the whirlwind of thoughts besieging him. He was not dreading a lifetime with Annabelle. He was afraid that she would come to dread a lifetime with him. With his sight impaired as it was, she was sure to become the talk of London very quickly. Did she understand what she was getting herself into? And was the life he offered her truly better than that of an aging nobleman?
“Adrian,” Henry's voice broke through his somber reverie, the familiar warmth bringing him back to the present. “If you frown any deeper, you're going to etch a hole in the carriage floor.”
Adrian blinked, his friend's light-hearted jest piercing through the dense fog of his worries. A laugh, surprised and genuine, escaped his lips, the buoyant sound effectively scattering his brooding thoughts.
“You jest, Henry,” he responded, shaking his head, “But I am plagued by concerns.”
Henry grew serious, shifting his weight in the seat across from Adrian.
“Adrian, you worry too much. Annabelle will not be alone, your aunt Marjorie will be with her,” Henry reminded him, his tone gentle, yet firm. “And as for Oswald, I don't believe Annabelle to be so easily swayed by his demands. After all, with what you have told me, she chose to accept what you offered her, as opposed to what her uncle offered.”
Adrian turned to face his friend, Henry's words providing a respite from his tumultuous thoughts. He nodded, the simple gesture speaking volumes of his trust in his friend's wisdom.
