Page 30 of Bound By the Duke

Aurelia squeezed her sister’s hands. “You’re the brave one, Nora, not me.”

“Not true,” Nora whispered.

But Aurelia couldn’t hear the rest.

Her name had been called, softly but firmly, by a waiting maid. It only meant one thing—the carriage was ready. Her husband was ready.

After pulling her sister into another quick hug, Aurelia stepped back with a reluctant “goodbye” and made her way to the waiting carriage. Sir Whiskerton trailed after her, his tail swaying with mastered elegance.

Percival stood beside the open door of the carriage. There was something statuesque about him. His presence always seemed so controlled.

She wondered, perhaps foolishly, if he had always been like that. Before the dukedom, before the titles and responsibilities.

Aurelia climbed in without a word and settled on the bench. When he joined her and shut the door, silence fell between them.

The carriage eventually hit the road, and when it ran over a rock, Aurelia grabbed her seat to avoid falling into him.

After a long pause, and when the road evened out, she asked, “What happens now?”

He didn’t answer. Well, not right away. However, when he finally decided to speak, his eyes flicked to her face. “Now, you come home.”

CHAPTER 9

The carriage slowed to a halt on the gravel drive. The sky had darkened considerably now, and above them towered the silhouette of Whitmore Estate. It stood without flickering lanterns in the windows or servants bustling about.

Aurelia leaned forward slightly to take a peek through the window.

So this was it. Her new home.

It was grand, larger than her family’s estate by far, but she could already feel the lack of warmth in it. There was no music drifting through open windows, nor the scent of fresh roses.

Beside her, Percival reached out to open the door without a word. He stepped down first and offered his hand.

Aurelia hesitated, her gaze fixed on his face. She felt something flutter in her stomach, not from nerves exactly but from something else. She wasn’t frightened of him, not exactly. It was just that she had to figure out how to feel about the man who was now her husband.

Taking a deep breath, she eventually placed her fingers in his, his palm warm and steady.

She stepped down, her boots meeting stone. She looked up at the manor again and noted quietly, “It’s very still.”

Percival didn’t reply. Of course, he didn’t. He just stood behind her, silent as a statue, his face unreadable in the low lantern light held by the driver.

Aurelia turned slightly to look at him, swallowing past her dry throat before daring to say, “Your daughter… Charlotte. She didn’t attend the wedding.”

A beat passed.

“She doesn’t like events. Or crowds,” Percival explained in a low voice.

There was nothing on his face. No trace of emotion or invitation for more questions.

“I see,” Aurelia said gently, trying not to let her disappointment creep into her voice.

They walked to the manor, and a servant opened the front doors with a bow.

Aurelia found herself stepping inside a warm hall, her footsteps echoing lightly on the marble floors. Her eyes immediately found the gold-framed paintings on the walls.

There was no laughter. No scent of cooking food. No hum of life.

It wasn’t unwelcoming. But for someone who came from a large family, it was just… unfamiliar.