Page 53 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
Lord Spencer snorted, cackling bitterly under his breath.
“I care not for your petty concerns,” he said. “The wedding...it cannot be called off. You promised her to me. And I shall have her. Or you will be ruined, Ludlow.”
A shiver coursed down her spine, fear and revulsion mingling in a tumultuous surge. He didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation or the monstrous sacrifice he was demanding of her. Each word he slurred was another nail in her coffin, one more step towards a life chained to a man who saw her as nothing more than property. He had no idea she was listening. But she knew deep down it wouldn’t have mattered if he did.
“Very well, very well,” Oswald slurred again. “I shall find a way to make this right. You will have what was promised to you.”
Panic gripped her, her heart pounding in her chest like a desperate bird against a cage. The walls of the room seemed to close in on her, the air growing thick and stifling. Her vision swam, the opulent decor of the study blurring into a sea of betrayal and shattered trust.
In a blind frenzy, Annabelle bolted, fleeing from her home, her sanctuary turned into prison. The gravel crunched under her feet as she ran, the air a chilling contrast against the heat of her teary cheeks. The path was familiar yet foreign, her house a mere shadow of the haven she once knew. She ran without thought, without direction, driven by an instinctive desire for solace.
Thornwood provided the refuge she sought.
Marjorie’s heart as vast as the blue sky, her comforting presence a soothing reprieve when Adrian had gone to London to procure their wedding license, when Annabelle had been too uncomfortable to spend more time around Oswald than had been necessary. The butler turned to lead her inside, but Marjorie came to see what the commotion was. Seeing Annabelle's disheveled state, her bonnet askew and dress rumpled, Marjorie rushed towards her, worry creasing her usually serene face.
“Good heavens, darling,” Marjorie exclaimed, her gray eyes wide with alarm. “What on earth happened?”
Annabelle couldn't find the strength to voice her plight, the horrendous reality too raw to be articulated. She shook her head, tears streaming down her face in a silent confession of her despair.
Marjorie didn't press her for an explanation. Instead, she opened her arms, enveloping Annabelle in a warm embrace. Her touch was tender, soothing the jagged edges of her broken spirit. Amid the revelations that turned her world upside down and the harsh reality of her circumstances, Marjorie's comforting touch provided an oasis of calm in a storm-ravaged sea.
In the safety of Marjorie's arms, Annabelle let herself crumble, her sobs echoing through the house. It was a silent surrender, a moment of vulnerability in the face of an unforgiving reality. But as the tears stained Marjorie's dress and her sobs subsided into shaky breaths, Annabelle felt a small flicker of hope ignite within her. She was not alone, and though the path before her was uncertain and terrifying, she was determined to face it with courage. When she could finally speak, she told Marjorie everything she had overheard just moments prior. She had no idea what the woman who was supposed to be her future aunt-in-law could do. But it was a tremendous relief to pour her heart out.
Chapter Twenty-five
Adrian strode along the verdant border of Thornwood, his loyal dog Patches trotting at his side. His footfalls rustled through the undergrowth, their harmony with nature’s chorus a salve to his fretful spirit. The crisp morning air, still holding onto the remnants of the night’s chill, filled his lungs and swept away the residue of stifling village rumors and conjecture that had been clinging to him.
He reveled in the solitude that the vast Thornwood offered, an entirely different world from the constant scrutiny and high expectations of village society. His shoulders dropped an inch, the strain of the past week seeming less burdensome amid the calm of the untamed woodland.
It was impossible, though, to entirely escape the reason behind his recent preoccupations. Despite the current distance from the village, he found himself helplessly reliving the dance he’d shared with Annabelle at the last assembly. Her delicate hand in his, the softness of her laughter ringing like sweet music in his ears, the shy glances from beneath her lashes, all had imprinted onto his senses like a cherished keepsake.
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and his heart thrummed a peculiar beat. Although his vision was impaired, he had worked his hardest over the past few days to use what limited sight he had to see as much of her as he could. And she was absolutely beautiful. The mere recollection of Annabelle sent a frisson of anticipation coursing through his veins. For a fleeting moment, he felt her presence beside him, her fragrance, a blend of lavender and innocence, wafting in the air.
His amusement was so profound that he failed to notice the otherwise perceptible shift in Patches’ demeanor. The typically gentle beast had grown tense, his playful trot replaced by a guarded stance, the ruff of his neck bristling. It was only when the animal issued a low, soft growl that Adrian stopped walking, leaning down to scratch him behind the ears.
A moment later, the tranquility of the morning was broken by a pounding rhythm in the distance. It was the distinct sound of horse hooves hammering against the earth, growing louder as they approached. The serene woodland was no longer a haven but had transformed into a stage set for an unforeseen encounter.
Adrian’s heartbeat raced in his chest. His thoughts swiftly shifted from daydreams to alert readiness, every muscle in his body coiling up like a sprung trap. Patches emitted another, louder growl, a sound Adrian had come to recognize as a warning of approaching danger. It was a growl he had heard only on rare occasions, a growl reserved for real threats. He vainly tried squinting to see who was coming. But with his vision impairment and the movement of the blurry figure, he couldn’t make out a face.
His hand instinctively reached for the pistol hidden in his coat, his eyes pointed toward the approaching hoof claps, alert to the unknown. Amid the beauty of the Thornwood border, he was starkly reminded that tranquility often masked turmoil, and solitude carried its own threats. He often took it for granted that he would be safe because he was home, and because of Patches. But now, he was scolding himself for allowing such complacency.
The steady rhythm of hooves ceased abruptly, replaced by a nauseatingly familiar voice that shattered the morning’s tranquility. A drunken slur, filled with ill-intent and malice, tumbled out, causing Adrian’s fists to clench involuntarily. Oswald.
The man’s horse emerged from behind the cover of the trees, carrying its slovenly rider with an air of wearied patience. As Oswald staggered off his steed, the putrid scent of cheap liquor clung to him, polluting the fresh air of Thornwood. The acrid stench was so intense, it nearly made Adrian retch.
“Your Grace,” Oswald began, his voice a croaking mockery of civility. “Compromising the fair Annabelle, are we?”
His words were a slap in the face, stinging in their audacity. Adrian’s heart clenched, not for himself but for Annabelle’s honor, which Oswald so carelessly tainted with his insinuations. And it was already part of Adrian’s insecurities. He wanted to both fight and flee in that moment. His features hardened, the affable gentleman replaced with an iron countenance.
Oswald continued, swaying slightly. His smirk was ugly, filled with vindictive pleasure.
“An expedited betrothal and wedding, perhaps?” he continued, his tone mocking and cold. “Very clever, Youur Grace, but it will cost you.”
“What are you doing here?” Adrian snapped, swallowing every reaction his body itched to display.
The drunken man seemed temporarily stunned. He was silent for a long moment before snickering.
“You caused me to go back on my word to my business partner,” he slurred. “And now, you’re traipsing around in public with her as though you are already married. People talk, you know. And for her to break one engagement and rush into another is good reason to talk. And what am I to do about the partner who has already paid me for her hand?”
