Page 18 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
“I... I was in the meadow, Uncle,” she stammered, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. She clung to the half-truth as though it were a lifebuoy, the image of the serene meadow and her favorite oak tree forming a buffer against her uncle's anger. “I... I lost track of time. I was reading,” she added quickly, lifting the books slightly as if to corroborate her explanation.
Oswald's gaze lingered on her, the skepticism in his eyes challenging her wavering confidence. His hardened expression remained unyielding, like a marble statue—cold, imposing, and utterly intimidating. His silence was unnerving, stretching the seconds into eternity.
Then, quite unexpectedly, a smirk curled the corners of his lips, a sly expression that filled her with a new wave of dread.
“Well, you'll have plenty of time for reading soon,” he said, his voice laced with unsettling nonchalance. “Lord Spencer will be joining us for dinner tomorrow.”
The mention of Lord Spencer was akin to a brutal gust of wind snuffing out a candle flame. Her heart stuttered in her chest, the name echoing in her ears like a dreadful prophecy. She had crossed paths with the man on numerous occasions in the past. Every encounter had etched a deeper imprint of his despicable character into her mind. She knew him to be a man of advanced years, his temperament as sour as his appearance.
A cold shudder raced down her spine at the thought of spending an entire evening in his company. She swallowed hard, her throat constricting as she wrestled with her rising panic. She had hoped to spend the following day basking in the enchanting memories of her time with Adrian, but the prospect of Lord Spencer's visit cast a shadow over her anticipation. His presence would only serve to taint the magical connection she had woven with Adrian in the meadow.
Feeling like a cornered animal, Annabelle tried to control the tremble in her voice.
“I look forward to meeting Lord Spencer, Uncle,” she managed to say, masking her anxiety behind a veil of polite indifference. But deep within, a storm of dread and despair was brewing, threatening to engulf her newfound happiness. There was nothing she looked forward to less than meeting the gentleman. She desperately wished she could flee to Penelope’s house, rather than continue to discuss the aging nobleman. Or the meadow, where she could lose herself in the duke’s beautiful blue eyes.
“All the better,” her uncle said, clearly not believing the fib she had just told. “I will expect you to be dressed in your best, and for you to be punctual.”
Annabelle nodded, averting her gaze so that her uncle didn’t see the tears brimming in her eyes.
“Of course, Uncle,” she whispered.
Oswald chortled, shaking his head.
“That means no frolicking in that forsaken meadow tomorrow,” he said. “At all. It seems you forget what time means when you’re out there. And I don’t care if you encounter the king out there next time. You will start returning home at a reasonable hour from now on.”
Annabelle gritted her teeth. Sharp words of self-defense were dancing on her tongue. But she knew well not to let them get past her lips.
“Yes, Uncle,” she said.
She could feel Oswald’s eyes on her, and she had to try hard to not start trembling like a leaf clinging tightly to a tree in autumn. With each tick of the hallway clock, Annabelle's heart hammered an echo. Her mind buzzed with the implication of her uncle's words, the ominous subtext sinking its claws into her.
A horrifying thought began to take shape, its silhouette monstrous and grotesque against the backdrop of her fears—could Oswald be considering a match between her and Lord Spencer?
The very notion of marrying Oswald's unpleasant associate was tantamount to a life sentence, a bleak future devoid of warmth and joy. It was as though she stood at the precipice of an oppressive abyss, chained to the edge by the iron shackles of social convention and Oswald's dominating authority.
She pictured a future with Lord Spencer—a mansion echoing with harsh words, devoid of laughter or tenderness, every day another link added to her chain of despair. The thought was suffocating, a cold and unfeeling cage threatening to lock away her dreams of love, to extinguish the spark of hope Adrian had kindled within her heart.
Trapped in the confines of her circumstances, she felt like a bird ensnared within a gilded cage, its wings clipped, and spirit dampened. Oswald's dominance had tied her fate to a mast, the waves of his wishes threatening to drown her. She felt powerless against the mighty currents, her own desires reduced to mere whispers against his thunderous expectations.
As she looked at her stern-faced uncle, a twinge of desperation tugged at her heartstrings. The books in her arms suddenly felt like anchors, pulling her down into a sea of dread. The house, once her sanctuary, was now a fortress against her happiness, its high walls casting long, cruel shadows over her dreams.
“Uncle, I would be happy to attend the Season,” she blurted quickly. “If you wish for me to marry, I will seek a husband at the balls and parties.”
She regretted the words before she finished speaking them. Her uncle’s face began to turn red, and his eyes narrowed.
“I am your guardian, Annabelle,” he said. “I will see to your matchmaking if I see fit. For the time being, you will do as I say and have dinner with Lord Spencer tomorrow.”
Annabelle nodded, swallowing.
“Yes, Uncle,” she repeated.
Each tick of the clock seemed to mirror the throbbing pulse of her anxiety, the passage of time playing a sinister symphony of her impending doom. Each second brought her closer to the dark abyss of uncertainty, her fate hanging in the balance as the shadow of Lord Spencer loomed large and menacing in her life. As the realization sank in, her heart cried out in silent despair, yearning for an escape from the grim fate that awaited her.
“Is that all?” she asked at last.
Oswald looked her over, clearly not impressed with her audacity. But he waved his hand, shrugging.
“I suppose,” he said gruffly. “Be on time tomorrow night. No leaving the mansion. And dress as though you’re happy to dine with Lord Spencer. Because you will be happy to do so, and grateful for the opportunity. Now, go.”
