Page 28 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
As they arrived at the familiar gates of her home, a mansion that had once been a sanctuary, Annabelle's stomach churned with unease. She knew the significance of this moment, the unraveling of her carefully woven dreams and desires. A sense of dread settled within her, constricting her chest, and robbing her of the air she so desperately sought.
Oswald barely let the front door close behind them before he whirled to face Annabelle.
“You think yourself clever, Annabelle,” he said. “But you are not as clever as you think you are by half. Your days of wandering off to suit your fancy are at an end. I have met with Lord Spencer, and an arrangement has been made for him to marry you.”
The words struck Annabelle like a physical blow, a torrent of emotions crashing against her fragile resolve. Lord Spencer, a man she barely knew, had been chosen as her match, her fate sealed with the callous decision of those who sought to control her life.
“Uncle, no,” she breathed, feeling as though the entryway of the manor was suddenly devoid of lifegiving air.
Oswald smirked.
“Overjoyed, I see?” he taunted. “Good. For Lord Spencer has gone on a trip. Upon his return, you shall be married at once.”
Annabelle's world shattered in that moment, the ground beneath her feet giving way to a chasm of despair. The walls she had erected to protect her heart from such a fate crumbled, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. The realization of her powerlessness hit her with a force she couldn't comprehend, rendering her speechless. Wordlessly, Annabelle pushed past her uncle, fleeing from his presence. His maniacal laughter followed her up the staircase and down the now seemingly endless hallway.
Retreating to the solitude of her bedchamber, Annabelle sought solace in the familiar comfort of her surroundings. The room that had once been her refuge now bore witness to her anguish. Tears streamed down her face, her sobs muffled by the pillow that absorbed her despair. Each wrenching cry echoed the shattered dreams and shattered heart that lay before her.
In the depths of her agony, Annabelle grappled with a multitude of emotions. Fear gripped her tightly, its icy fingers squeezing her heart. The unknown future that awaited her, bound to a man she barely knew, filled her with a sense of foreboding. Desperation clawed at her, the realization that her agency had been stripped away, leaving her at the mercy of those who sought to dictate her fate.
Chapter Thirteen
The days that followed the incident with Miss Ludlow and Oswald weighed heavily on Adrian's heart. He thought about what she had said, about how her uncle had kept her too busy for her to have time to read the books he loaned her. Was he routinely cruel to her? Did he expect her to forego any hobbies or solaces, in lieu of whatever he wanted? After the confrontation he had witnessed, he guessed there was something more that she had not yet told him.
As he wandered the paths of Thornwood, his faithful companion Patches trotting loyally by his side, he yearned for a chance encounter with Annabelle. The meadows, however, remained empty of her presence, leaving behind a lingering silence that filled the air with melancholy.
With each step, Adrian's mind replayed the events that had unfolded between them. The way Annabelle's eyes widened in shock when Oswald revealed his intentions, the fear that flashed across her delicate features. He recalled how he had come to her aid, desperately shielding her from harm, and the profound relief he had felt when she was finally safe. But alongside that relief, a pang of sorrow tugged at his soul.
“Where are you, Miss Ludlow?” Adrian whispered softly, his voice carried away by the rustling breeze. Patches, sensing his master's longing, let out a low whimper and nuzzled against Adrian's leg, offering what comfort he could.
Adrian's heart strangely ached for her presence. He had grown accustomed to their spirited conversations and the lightness she brought to his days. Her absence felt like a void, an emptiness that stretched across the meadows and tangled within the roots of Thornwood's ancient trees.
As he neared the spot where he first encountered Miss Ludlow, Adrian's gaze swept across the grassy expanse, searching for any sign of her. The wildflowers that once danced in the wind seemed listless, as if mourning her absence too. Each blade of grass whispered her name, a gentle plea for her return. He couldn’t admit it to himself, not directly. But some part of his heart recognized that he had grown incredibly fond of her.
His footsteps grew slower, his hope waning with every passing moment. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows upon the landscape. Adrian paused, his heart heavy with longing, and sank to the ground, his eyes fixed on the spot where they had first met.
“Miss Ludlow,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Please, let our paths cross again. I long for our conversations about literature.” I long to hear that musical laugh of yours…
The memories of their shared laughter and stolen glances flooded his mind. He could almost hear her melodic laughter carried by the wind, and he wished that he could see the sparkle in her eyes as they engaged in lively debates. He closed his own eyes, imagining the way hers looked when she smiled. In his imagination, she had big, sweet brown eyes that rivaled pools of melted milk chocolate.
A deep sigh escaped his lips as Adrian's thoughts turned inward. He questioned his own actions, wondering if he had done enough to protect her. The weight of guilt settled upon his shoulders, intertwining with his longing. Perhaps he had failed her, unable to shield her from the cruelty of the world. It was a silly notion, he knew, as they were only friends. And yet, he couldn’t help feeling like that.
Patches, sensing his master's distress, nestled his head against Adrian's knee, offering solace and a silent reminder of loyalty. Adrian's hand instinctively found its way to Patches' soft fur, finding comfort in the dog's unwavering presence. The sweet, loyal dog had fallen in love with Miss Ludlow long before Adrian had had sense enough to appreciate her presence. And now, he wondered if he missed the young lady as his master did.
***
The next morning, Adrian reluctantly joined his aunt for breakfast in the elegant dining room. His heart remained heavy with guilt. The vibrant colors of the room seemed dull, and even the delicate China plates before him held no allure. His thoughts were consumed by the memory of Miss Ludlow’s hurt voice, the pain embedded into every syllable she spoke.
Aunt Marjorie, ever the vivacious and perceptive woman, carried on with her lively chatter, oblivious to the storm brewing within Adrian. Her voice danced through the air, mingling with the clinking of silverware and the soft crackling of the fireplace, but the guilt remained an uninvited guest at the table. He knew he was still being foolish. But he couldn’t help thinking that there was more he could have done to help her.
As though finally sensing Adrian’s turmoil, Aunt Marjorie paused mid-sentence, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied her nephew's distant expression. She set her teacup down delicately, her gaze filled with concern.
“Adrian, my darling,” she began gently, her voice laced with compassion. “You seem preoccupied. Is something troubling you?”
Adrian's eyes met his aunt's, their depths reflecting the turmoil within his soul. He took a deep breath, his voice heavy with regret.
“It's Miss Ludlow, Aunt,” he said. “I witnessed the most horrendous spectacle between her and her uncle. He spoke atrociously to her. To me, as well, though I am very much accustomed to it. I tried to defend her, but… I’m afraid that I failed. And I feel terrible for having done so.”
Marjorie made a knowing sound, reaching out to take Adrian’s hand.
