Page 9 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)

CHAPTER 9

Charity

S he stood frozen in place as her mother approached her with dainty yet hurried steps. Eleanor hurried after her, displaying a newfound agility. Her sister had been weighed down by grief over their father, but now appeared in fine form again. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a woman with faded auburn hair in the background, smiling at her. The dowager duchess, perhaps?

“Oh, Charity,” her mother exclaimed, her voice brimming with joy. The duke had spoken true. She understood the dowager duchess's meaning. She was glad, and judging by the smile on Eleanor's face, so was she.

Everyone appeared happy—everyone but her.

“Why did you not inform me you had encountered a duke? And that he wishes to wed you?” Her mother placed her hands on her shoulders, her lashes fluttering and her eyes misty with tears.

“You are to be a duchess! I cannot believe it!” Eleanor added, her voice thick with emotion.

They assumed she was pleased by this turn of events. She glanced at her intended, who had approached his mother and was engaged in quiet conversation with her. Eammon, as she had trained herself to think of him, bore no resemblance to his mother. He was tall and dark, with blue eyes, while she was short—a little taller than Charity, she supposed, but still diminutive. Indeed, he bent slightly to address her. Observing them, she noted a gentleness within him once more. His stern visage softened as it had earlier when he had caught her lost in contemplation, concerned for her well-being.

“Why did you not mention His Grace when Lord Markham made his offer? I would have sent him away at once. A duke is a far superior match. Even if it must be this one,” her mother said.

“Even this one,” Charity murmured, frowning. What did that imply? Was not a duke a duke? She looked up again. Eammon Hayward was a most confusing man, to be sure. Everything about their brief courtship had been strange, and now her mother’s observation…

“I…”

“He is handsome,” Eleanor noted dreamily. “I believe you will make a lovely pair, and your offspring shall be delightful,” she continued. Charity’s head swam.

“Let us not press her too much at present,” Millie interjected. “There will be ample time to discuss these matters after the wedding. I believe we have an appointment.”

Thank heavens for Millie. If not for her, Charity doubted she would have managed this ordeal.

She caught Eammon’s glance; he nodded and approached them. Following a brief exchange with her mother, during which she effusively conveyed her elation over their new family, they proceeded to the registrar's office.

The room was small and dusty, offering a view not of the magnificent river but of a gray and bustling courtyard. Clouds had gathered, obscuring the sky.

She stood before a large oak desk, a gentleman standing before them. His lips moved, yet she scarcely heard him. Her ears rang, drowning out all other sounds. This was it. She was to be wed. Immediately. And there was no turning back now.

* * *

“Well, that is done,” his mother asserted as they settled into the drawing room following the wedding breakfast. Charity had taken a stroll around the garden with her mother, sister, and cousin while Thomas excused himself to confer with his father, leaving Eammon alone with his mother.

“She appears timid,” she remarked.

“She does, yet that is to be expected,” Eammon replied. “She shall adjust.”

“She will, but she is young; it may take time,” she said.

Eammon regarded Charity through the window. She was indeed young. And small. He had not realized just how fragile she seemed until earlier that morning when they had stood outside the registry office. She had gazed at the water as if yearning to dive in and swim away. She’d exhibited such bravado the previous evening, which had troubled him.

Naturally, she had nearly bitten his head off when he’d inquired if she was well, and he had refrained from pursuing the matter further. He was uncertain how to navigate the path before them now. They were wed, and all was in order. No one could challenge their legal union, and soon he would lay hands on the Book of Confidences. Yet that would not signify the end of their troubles.

He was married now—and he had to rise to the promise made by his father to Lord Pembroke. He had to protect her. The book might be secure—or it would be. But was Charity? Men like Lord Markham did not accept defeat lightly. He might yet seek to harm her in some manner.

Moreover, the possibility that Charity might face harm merely by being his wife remained as well. She would be removed from her family, from all she had known. Likely, she was still grieving for her father. He hadn’t considered all of this in his haste to protect his secrets

“You must be gentle with her,” his mother urged. “I was once like her—young and thrust into a marriage I did not desire.”

“I am aware, Mother. You did not raise a brute. I shall treat her well. If what she desires is friendship, she shall have it. If she wishes to be left alone and maintain a hostile demeanor—as she seems to prefer—then she may enjoy all the freedom she desires.”

His mother patted his arm as she had in his youth. “Just understand that hostility often conceals vulnerability.”

“I understand that as well. Trust that I shall do what is necessary for her and for us. Pray tell, did Lady Pembroke mention anything further about when we might expect the book?”

His mother shrugged. “The will indicates that Charity shall receive her inheritance within thirty days of her marriage. I have confirmed the book is included in the inheritance. Lady Pembroke seems rather pleased to be rid of it, if you ask me. Poor woman, she seemed a bit taken aback when I encountered her last night, yet once I noted her daughter was to wed a duke, she appeared far more amiable.”

“If only this duke were not a fraud,” Eammon stated.

“You are not a fraud. You are a duke. You are our son. You were raised for this. Do not permit anyone to convince you otherwise. And now that the book shall be in our possession, there will be no question regarding your legitimacy,” she asserted, withdrawing her hand. “Your focus must now rest on your new wife and the future you shall build.” She leaned closer. “I heard you offered to bring her pony. A commendable decision.”

“Did I not tell you that you did not raise a brute?” he replied. “I shall ensure that Lady Charity is well cared for.”

“Her Grace,” his mother corrected.

“Her Grace, yes. I am aware. Now, I believe it is time for me to escort my bride home. Perhaps when we are alone, she shall cease to view me as the great menace who has uprooted her from her life and, instead, appreciate my intentions,” he mused. However, the truth was that his intentions had primarily served his interests. He had not contemplated Lady Charity’s well-being when he’d declared himself her husband. It was only now, having spent time with her, that he began to recognize she was more than merely the key to safeguarding his secrets.

She was a person — one he was now entirely responsible for.