Page 53 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

I rene clasped her hands on her lap to stop them from fidgeting. Whenever she wasn’t cognizant of her body, it seemed to move as if it had a mind of its own.

Duncan placed his hand on her forearm, and for a moment, she froze.

“I understand your nervousness.”

Irene could not remember her brother talking any other way. His voice was steady, even, and measured. His body language sometimes betrayed his mood, but his voice never did.

Irene looked out the window as her brother continued speaking.

“You are to wed a man you have not yet met. It would be unusual if you were not nervous.”

“Yes, that’s the reason.” Irene flashed a wry smile to no one. “If I could have met him before our wedding, today would be positively splendid and wonderful. That would have fixed everything.”

“Lash out at me as much as you like.” Duncan patted her arm. “You need to get this out of your system.”

Irene glared out the window, hoping to share some of her frustrations with the world. She wanted to take more of her frustrations out on Duncan, but she buried them inside instead.

Perhaps if I make a horrid first impression, he won’t want to wed me after all.

The rest of the journey to the chapel was spent in complete silence. When they got there, Irene waited patiently for the footman to alight from the front of the carriage and open the door for her. She had the good grace to thank him for doing so as she got out.

The chill of the morning kissed her face.

The day feels exactly like my wedding—completely cold.

Duncan was soon by her side, and he offered his arm, which she took. She kept up the pretense of being gracious in the face of utter disaster as she plotted to dissuade her groom from marrying her—only after meeting him for the very first time, of course.

The small stone chapel stood on the edge of the Duke’s estate.

Its walls had been decorated over time by vines of ivy, which were draped like green veils.

Ancient yew trees surrounded the chapel on two sides.

The single stained-glass window at the front, sitting below a modest iron cross, glinted dully in the winter sunlight.

The door was open, but the interior was dark.

Irene shivered again, partly because of the chill in the air. She clung to Duncan’s arm as they entered the church.

She had not wanted the wedding, but she was still disappointed by the emptiness of the chapel.

The wedding was organized at such short notice.

She had not expected a large crowd, but there was no one sitting on the Duke’s side of the chapel, save for one man.

Duncan was by her side, and her sister Cordelia and her husband were in attendance, along with a few friends.

The emptiness made the union feel like more of a sham than it already was. And she was so focused on the event itself that it took her a moment to spot her groom at the altar.

When she finally looked at him, he was staring directly at her.

The first thing she noticed was his attire. The man wore all black, and while it was stylish and fit well, he looked more suited to a funeral than a wedding.

An apt way to describe what this cold transaction is all about.

If Duncan had not guided her between the pews, she might have stood at the back of the chapel until the Duke came to retrieve what would soon be his.

The chapel was silent, and some faint colors infiltrated the dimness through the stained glass.

The pews were worn over time, the once sharp edges smoothed by decades of faint touches.

The wooden altar was simple beneath a simple wooden cross.

Motes of dust danced in the sunlight that poured in long beams.

The Duke stared at her as she approached, offering nothing. Not a word, smile, or welcoming gesture of any kind.

Irene had no idea what to expect from him. He was the Ghost Duke, forever haunting the halls of his home, keeping to himself, brooding over the long-forgotten past, trapped in this life and cursed to live it.

He was the man she would marry.

He was tall and perhaps handsome in the right light, but the darkness did him no favors, casting his already-dark features in shadows. And on his neck was the edge of a scar that disappeared beneath his collar, down to his collarbone.

He was an intriguing figure. Not only because of the reputation he had built, but because of what Irene saw before her. If his looks were not so dark in the harsh light, he might even be described as extremely handsome.

Irene remembered her manners, looking back up into his eyes to find him still silently studying her. Those dark eyes that were endless caverns, not so much boring into her but pulling her in to disappear into the darkness with him.

All the protests she had in the carriage flew out of her mind. Not because of the man who stood before her, but because it was the right thing to do. She would lose everything she had, every penny, and it was the only way to secure her future.

Duncan had organized it, and she could not betray him by running out of the chapel. She was trapped, and decorum demanded that she let herself be trapped.

“Do you have nothing to say?” the Duke growled. “Do you mean to glare at me only?”

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Irene whispered. “It is a cold day, and I must have forgotten my manners along with my heavier shawl.”

The Duke only grunted in reply.

Duncan withdrew his arm, not uttering a word to Irene or the Duke, before taking a seat beside Cordelia.

The minister stepped up from the rear of the chapel as if he didn’t want to be alone with the Duke and had been waiting for Irene to arrive.

Irene glanced at her sister, who had a satirical smile on her lips. She glanced at the man on the other side of the aisle, but she didn’t recognize him. Then, she turned her gaze back to the Duke. Or rather, his scar.

What kind of man bears such a mark? It is a question I don’t want to know the answer to.

The ceremony was brief and as warm as the weather outside the stone-cold walls.

The Duke spoke his vows without emotion—not that Irene could manage any better—and when the rings were exchanged, the Duke’s hands felt strangely cold.

Since challenging her when she had joined him at the altar, he barely looked at her during the short service.

When the minister pronounced them man and wife, the Duke simply nodded and walked down the aisle toward the door without a word. The man sitting on his side of the aisle followed him out.

That’s it. It’s done.

Any fight or rebellion that had been bubbling up in her chest was little more than a memory. After her first husband had died, she never thought she would be in this situation again. But here she was. Once more, her life had been decided for her, and she would have to live with it.

She looked at her brother and sister, one happily married and the other now free to put himself in the same position. Then, she walked away from her past life, stumbling down the aisle in a daze and exiting into the winter chill, where she knew her new life awaited her.

A large carriage waited for her, the side door open. She saw the Duke within, shrouded in darkness as if it followed him everywhere. The footman and driver were sitting up front, waiting for her. There was no sign of the other man.

Irene pulled her shawl around herself as the cold bit at her bare skin, and she rolled her shoulders back before slowly walking to the carriage. The footman jumped down as she reached the carriage, and he closed the door behind her after she climbed in.

But at least she could console herself with one small mercy. The Duke might not exude warmth, but he did exude heat. She sat beside him, not too close but not too far either. As the carriage lurched forward, she felt his heat envelop her, and for the first time that morning, she stopped shivering.

“I did not mean to offend you in the—” she started.

“We shall discuss expectations another time.”

Irene fell silent.

The Duke stared straight at the wooden panel opposite, his jaw tight, his back as straight as a rod. Irene held her tongue, as she wanted to say something more to break the silence.

The ride was bumpy, but Irene remained poised on the cushioned seat beside the Duke, staring straight ahead, mimicking his actions. He did not move for the duration of the ride, and neither did she.

Perhaps this will be for the best. We can be silent and numb together, and I can fade into the background. It shan’t be much different from how my life was before.

When they arrived at Nightrow, the estate was exactly as she’d imagined it.

It was solitary, much like the Duke, standing alone far from Society and other buildings.

The dark grey stone towers didn’t stand like protective sentinels, but like drawn-out embellishments designed to add drabness to the building.

The windows were shuttered, and Irene suspected that if they were open, there would be no signs of life behind them.

When was the last time this building had any life inside of it?

The staff awaited the Duke and Duchess’s arrival at the main entrance.

They stood stiffly in the cold air, their skin a pallid grey that felt as if it flew from the castle walls into their bodies.

They stared straight ahead, not looking at the carriage as it stopped.

Even when the door opened and the Duke exited, they didn’t say a word or look his way.

Irene followed him out, but she could not keep pace with him. He went straight to the butler and whispered something in his ear before disappearing into the manor.

Not a word, not a glance back, nothing.

Irene stood looking at the row of servants and the intimidating building behind them. It wasn’t only her body that was frozen, but her thoughts too. As soon as they formed, they were sucked out of her as if they were not allowed in Nightrow Manor.

An older woman broke from the row, and the other servants turned and headed back inside. The morning had started cold, but the sun was now out. Yet, it was far colder at her new home than it had been at the chapel. Irene pulled her shawl tighter around her.

“Welcome to Nightrow Manor, Your Grace. I’m Mrs. Alderidge, the housekeeper. If there is anything I can do to make your stay here better, you only have to let me know.”

“Thank you.”

Irene wanted to cry. It was the smallest act of kindness, but it was the only one she’d been shown that day, and she had a suspicion that kindness and happiness would be hard to come by in Nightrow Manor.

“Can you please show me to my quarters?”

“Right this way,” Mrs. Alderidge said.

She must have been in her mid-sixties, with long grey hair tied in a bun and an immaculate cream dress that was cinched around the middle with a black sash. She had thick forearms and a short stature.

Irene had seen no signs of life at Nightrow Manor except for the housekeeper, who seemed to contain more life than everyone and everything combined.

She followed the woman into the manor, which was almost as cold inside as it was outside.

The interior was just as grey as the exterior, and there was a distinct lack of artworks or any decorations.

Most of the curtains were black, and many were not needed, what with the dark wooden shutters covering the windows.

She was led to the sparsely furnished east wing and her room.

“Might I ask where His Grace’s chambers are?”

The housekeeper held her gaze for a moment. “They are on the other side of the manor.”

Irene nodded. She was being shunned, but there was some comfort in being so far away from her new husband. He’d told her in the carriage that they would discuss expectations later. Would that be one of them?

She imagined that the main reason for taking a wife was to produce an heir. She tried not to think about what that meant for her.

“I do feel peckish,” she admitted. “Will breakfast or luncheon be served soon?”

She had withheld from eating, unsure whether everyone would gather for food afterward.

“That can certainly be arranged,” Mrs. Alderidge answered kindly.

“You need not arrange something just for me,” Irene instructed. “What time does His Grace usually eat? I shall dine with him.”

“His Grace is a busy man.” Mrs. Alderidge pressed her lips together. “He dines when he decides, and he likes to do so alone.”

“Oh.” Irene bit the inside of her cheek.

She searched the housekeeper’s eyes, waiting for her to say something that would make everything better, only to be met with silence.

“Will that be all?” Mrs. Alderidge asked, eventually.

“Yes, thank you,” Irene replied.

Mrs. Alderidge gave a short nod. “Your trunks have already been delivered to your room. Again, if you need anything, you only have to ask, and it shall be done. I hope you feel comfortable here.”

“I’m sure I will,” Irene lied.

Mrs. Alderidge left her alone.

Alone. She’d felt alone since being told by Duncan that she would marry the Duke, and she’d felt alone at the chapel and in the carriage, and now she was truly alone. Duncan and Cordelia were gone from her life, only to be replaced by an absent duke living up to his moniker.

Irene closed the door behind her and looked around her room, her new sanctum, where she could escape when needed. She didn’t know yet if that would be frequent or rare.

She wandered the room, looking into the closet and drawers. Her belongings had been unpacked, which was a welcome consideration.

Then, she went to the window and looked out. The ground was frost-covered, just as it had been at her brother’s home before she’d left it permanently.

She stood in silence on her wedding day, having exchanged no more than a couple of sentences with her husband outside of their vows and formal responses. Later, she would dine alone. She would dine alone from now on.

There was also little chance of having people over, from what she’d seen of the manor so far. It would only be her and the Duke, and there would be little of him in her life.

“I married him, but I will not love him,” she whispered to herself. “Nor will I be loved.”