Page 7 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
The word 'married' echoed ominously in the room, its implications chilling her to the bone. Oswald was a man of many acquaintances, but few could be described as savory company. The prospect of the wretched match he might have in mind for her struck fear into her heart.
“Marriage?” Annabelle repeated, her voice barely more than a whisper. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but her mind was a whirlwind of apprehension. The thought of being tethered to a man of her uncle's choosing was a nightmare she had long feared. Now, it appeared, her nightmare was on the brink of becoming her reality. “To whom?”
Her uncle scoffed, shrugging.
“I have not yet decided,” he said. “I shall let you know when I find a suitable match.”
There were two things in her uncle’s voice: decisiveness and deceit. He likely did already have a suitor in mind. And he would not be moved.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from pleading her case. She was a woman who enjoyed reading. Very few gentlemen would be content with that.
“Uncle, I would like to decide when and if I will marry,” she said.
But before she could continue, her uncle held up his hand.
“We will talk about it again once I have found a suitor,” he said again. “Until then, I want you to prepare yourself.”
Annabelle stared at her uncle, aghast. She had faced many trials since the loss of her parents, her world shrinking to the rigid confines set by her uncle. But this... This was a boundary she could not allow to be drawn around her.
“Uncle, please,” she began. But once more, Oswald shut her down.
“You will do as I say, Annabelle,” he said. “And that is the end of the matter.”
Chapter Three
Adrian found himself roused early the next morning, his mind plagued by an inescapable unease that tugged at the corners of his consciousness. The sun shone through the heavy curtains of his regency-era study, throwing patches of light across his brooding features. The strain of his thoughts was almost palpable as they swirled about him, darkening the room with an uncharacteristic gloom.
His memory had relentlessly thrown him back to his encounter with Annabelle Ludlow, the images and emotions of that afternoon clinging to him like a perfume. Her silhouette, delicately outlined by the setting sun, the quiver of her lip, the hint of vulnerability in her eyes that he had never seen before; all these details haunted him, pulling him into an unending spiral of reflection.
It was as if the visage of Annabelle had been painted onto his very soul, casting a melancholic shadow over his usual stoic facade. Patches had taken an immediate shine to her, which was extremely rare, as he had told her. That should have set him at ease. So, why did his stomach still twist into knots when he thought about her?
His Aunt Marjorie, an elegant woman with keen eyes and a natural intuition for the subtleties of emotion, noticed the change immediately. Despite Adrian's practiced air of composure, the aura of contemplation that hung about him like a cloud was not to be missed. With the delicacy of a woman well-acquainted with the nuances of the heart, she addressed him.
“My dear Adrian,” she said softly, her voice washing over him like a comforting tide. “You seem rather unlike yourself this morning. Would you care to discuss what's troubling you?” Her inquiry hung in the air between them, echoing the unspoken concern she held for her nephew.
Adrian looked at his aunt, his countenance as calm as the smooth surface of a lake, yet his azure eyes, typically radiant with zest, bore the imprint of his unquiet mind. Her offer was a beacon of solace in his sea of thoughts.
With a sigh, he leaned back into his chair, the rich mahogany creaking slightly beneath his weight. He paused for a moment, the silence humming between them as he gathered his thoughts.
“Yesterday, I ran into Miss Ludlow while I was out for a walk with Patches,” he said.
His aunt gasped, and he heard the smile in her voice when she spoke.
“Oh, how lovely,” she said. “She is a very sweet young lady.”
Adrian sighed, shaking his head.
“I’m sure she is,” he said. “But she asked me how I knew who she was. She said that she meant how I knew her, as we have never been formally introduced. But I suspect that she was indirectly referring to my blindness. It’s just… it reminded me so of how it felt to be scrutinized.”
Marjorie listened attentively, and Adrian felt her empathetic gaze softening as he laid bare his thoughts. It was not often that her composed, self-assured nephew showed such vulnerability.
His confession ended with a profound sigh, the words he had uttered hanging heavily in the air around them. The room, filled with an unspeakable understanding, felt warm and comforting, a sanctuary from the tumult of Adrian's thoughts.
In the quiet of his confession, Adrian felt the peculiar sense of unease recede slightly, pushed back by his aunt's understanding and empathy. He was grateful for Marjorie’s attentive ear, and in her compassionate silence, he found a semblance of peace amid his lingering thoughts.
Marjorie reached over from her seat beside him and took one of his hands in hers.
“I understand that must have felt strange to you,” she said. “And I admit that I do not know Miss Ludlow well personally, though I have met her at social events, and she was perfectly lovely and sweet. But darling, do not assume that everyone is out to judge you. There are good people out there who simply do not know how you will approach them after so many years of solitude.”
