Page 37

Suddenly, the church’s exit was shrouded by an intimidating silhouette.

The Duke of Solshire stood there, staring down the aisle at her with a dark and unreadable expression.

Even with the distance, and the shadows casting dangerously across his face, Cordelia could not ignore the unusual chill that rolled down her back.

“Wife,” the Duke said, his voice ringing throughout the quiet and empty church. “We leave now.”

Cordelia walked back down the aisle, towards the haunting rest of her life.

Solshire’s estate was brooding and medieval, something she had never seen before.

Spire-like towers rose around the main building, an unkempt garden wrapping around the side.

The inside was as bone-chilling as the outside.

The walls were painted dark colors, the curtains draped across almost all the windows.

Some rooms had white cloths pulled over the furniture, as if they hadn’t been lived in for some time.

Blood red carpets lined some of the hallways, ominous portraits giving off the impression of following Cordelia every time she passed them by.

The staff, all with long faces and narrowed eyes, gave her the respect of a Duchess, but nothing more.

For the most part, as night fell across Solshire, Cordelia was all alone.

When they arrived at the estate, the Duke climbed out of the carriage first, extending a hand towards her.

Cordelia paused, her hand hovering above his own.

Once again, her gaze clung to the odd scars that surfaced his skin.

They were like brushstrokes, striking along the divots and natural lines of his palms. She wanted to trace them, to retrieve her canvas and paint the unnaturally large and intimidating shape of his hands.

The Duke suddenly grasped onto her hand.

He’s so cold, was the only thing Cordelia could think as he helped her out the carriage.

He snapped his hand out of her own the moment her feet were on the ground.

“The housekeeper will show you to your room,” he said gruffly, his hands tightening and relaxing at his sides repeatedly.

The Duke gave her a short bow before storming off in the opposite direction, going nowhere near the estate’s front door.

“Your Grace,” an older woman said to her right as the footmen carried her trunks out from the carriage. “I am Mrs. Bellflower, the housekeeper. Please follow me.”

“Quite the charming name,” Cordelia said as the housekeeper led her through the estate. She was haunted by the ominous feel of the halls that she craved some sort of discourse to distract her. “Bellflower.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Bellflower said, not once letting up on her speed. “Meadow Bellflowers grew alongside my family home growing up.” She looked over her shoulder. “Not that the two are related, Your Grace.”

“Do you know where the Duke has gone?”

Mrs. Bellflower was silent for a moment, slowing down her pace to be more at Cordelia’s side. “I’m afraid I do not, Your Grace.”

“Shall I expect dinner with him?”

The housekeeper came to the room, opening the door and glancing over at her with a pitiful smile. “I wouldn’t know, Your Grace.”

“Well,” Cordelia said, trying to give her a reassuring smile, “You are the housekeeper, after all.”

Mrs. Bellflower motioned for Cordelia to enter the room.

“I will send you word the moment I know, Your Grace,” she said.

“For now, I hope you will get settled. If there is anything your chambers are lacking, do not hesitate to let the staff know.” The housekeeper gave her a polite curtsey before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

Cordelia glanced around the room. It was large but still managed to frighten her. “What is it about Solshire,” she murmured to herself as she sulked through the chambers, “That is so unbelievably gloomy?”

Even the furniture, carved from a deeply brown oak, had a somber twist to it. Perhaps she was too used to everything at Darkenhill, where pastel artwork hung on the walls and cherry colored curtains pulled back to let the sterling sun stream in. Speaking of curtains!

Cordelia crossed the room to her windows.

They were all tall, almost reaching the ceiling, but were covered with the dreary curtains.

Even though the sun was beginning to set, she imagined the view was not something to ignore.

Cordelia grasped onto the curtains and pulled, releasing a plume of dust into the air.

After a few minutes spent coughing and swiping at the air, Cordelia could finally peer out the window.

The view was jaw dropping. As an avid artist, Cordelia saw the world in a different way than most people.

She saw the brush of color, the strike of a brush, the flow of a line.

It was alluring as it was magnetic. She craved to recreate it across blank canvas.

Even then, as she looked over the Dukedom of Solshire, something once so frightening, she felt the slightest glimmer of hope.

“Well,” Cordelia murmured as she pushed open the window, letting the cool early evening breeze into the stuffy room, “I am still quite frightened.”

Something in her gut told her that she would not be seeing her beastly husband that evening, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

Nothing felt ordinary when there was a man like Michael Rayson involved.

Cordelia could not recall a time when she’d come across a Duke like him, who obviously had no intention of staying around people for longer than a moment or two.

While, normally, she might find herself feeling the same way, Cordelia was in no way a beastly character.

“No,” she said, firmly into the wind as she leaned out the window. “Though, I am quite worried.”

The door slammed open and smacked noisily against the wall.

Cordelia yelped in surprise, teetering on the edge of the window.

Fear burst through her as she grasped at the wall, unaware of how close she came to falling out of the bedroom window.

As she staggered and gasped in fright, an icy cold hand snatched onto her wrist, tugging her without warning back into the dark room.

Cordelia stumbled forward, her face coming in contact with a sturdy chest. Before she could come to her senses, the same cold hands grasped onto her arms, shoving her backward.

The Duke loomed over her like a towering statue, his eyes wide and wild with an unmistakable fury. His grip tightened against her as he shook, teeth clenched so hard that the muscles in his face were taut.

“Have you gone mad ?” he hissed.

Cordelia blinked, too gobsmacked by his sudden presence to respond. “I—I?—”

The Duke let out a frustrated groan before releasing his hold on her. He paced the length of the room, his hands trembling at his sides. “You truly are mad, aren’t you?” He shook his head rapidly. “This is the wife I have been granted. A crazed wife. A delusional wife.”

“I beg your pardon!” Cordelia snapped, finally returning to her senses. The cold breeze from the opened window brushed by her hair. “What have I done to earn such an insult from a man I hardly even know?”

“The man you regard so casually is the Duke of this estate!”

“Does that give you the right to barge into my chambers, unannounced?”

The Duke barely looked at her as he paced, his hands unable to stop moving at his sides. He shook his head, lips moving as he muttered under his breath.

“Am I not owed an answer to your intrusion?” Cordelia asked, her voice raising. Not once did she allow herself to be reprimanded in such a manner, Duke or not. “I have done nothing to earn such an unwarranted response, Your Grace!”

The Duke spun, suddenly marching towards her with his shoulder hunched like an animal stalking its clueless prey. “I will regard you in any manner I please,” he snarled. “And as this is my estate, I have no qualms going wherever I like, even if it means your chambers. Have I made myself clear?”

Cordelia glared. Deep down, fear rumbled in the pit of her stomach.

The way he loomed over her was frightening.

And yet, the word didn’t seem to cover the exact feeling that began to smolder within her chest. Despite it, she kept her head held high, unwilling to succumb to his authoritative tactics.

“I am my own woman,” she replied. “I have boundaries that demand to be respected, even by a Duke. Have I made myself clear, Your Grace?”

The Duke’s lips pressed so hard together they turned a shade of white.

Her eyes glanced down to a flutter of movement at his sides. His large, scarred hands could not stop trembling, as if he dove his hands into an icy cold lake.

“Why do you shake like that?” she asked. “Like you are afraid?”

The Duke’s eyes widened in surprise. He clenched his hands together, forcing the trembling to hide beneath his skin. Even when he held in his fury, it remained obvious in his dark gaze.

“You will sleep,” he hissed. “You will sleep and leave me be.”

“I haven’t done a thing wrong!”

The Duke stormed towards the bedroom door, not bothering to turn when he said, “Goodnight!” His hand tightened around the knob and slammed as he pulled it shut behind him.

Cordelia ran forward, her hand just inches away from opening the door and yelling after him.

She remained there for a few moments, staring at the door and hesitating.

The frustration never ceased, not even when she released a heavy sigh and fell into her bed.

Everything she felt was clouded by confusion and questions.

The Duke was, in fact, a beastly man, but to be so hateful without anything to cause it?

It felt outrageously ridiculous, and it happened to be the rest of her life.

Burying her face within the pillows, Cordelia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to imagine the geese from Darkenhill Manor and forget the dark future she found herself falling into.

When morning came upon Solshire, Cordelia opened her eyes to a dark and twisted reality.

Birds cawed outside the window, but all she craved was to remain within the sheets, refusing to acknowledge the life she found herself in.

Even when she tried to tell herself it couldn’t have been all that bad, the moments from the previous evening came rushing back to her, and there was no use in trying to convince herself otherwise.

“Perhaps,” she said to herself when she finally rose, looking through her trunks for a dress to wear, “I might start anew.”

It didn’t have to be a nightmare. The marriage could’ve been a new beginning, a mutual partnership of freedom. If the Duke regarded her so lowly, perhaps she might spend her time engaged in her art, or whatever else she pleased.

Hope strung within her as she left the bedroom and entered the eerily quiet halls.. Not that it was her preferred style, but it felt like she wandered through one of the books she used to read. Even with the addition of the glowering Duke, it felt fantastical.

As Cordelia made her way through the halls, peering into rooms, she gathered her spirits up to talk to the Duke.

“I would like to begin anew,” she murmured to herself, practicing the words she wished to proclaim. “I recognize our union can be…is…perhaps a burden, but that does not have to…”

Cordelia turned into a dining room. The round table in the center was delicately decorated, with a single place set up for someone to dine. She stepped within the warm room, glancing around curiously.

“Your Grace.”

She spun around to see an older gentleman standing on the threshold.

He dressed as any butler would, with a tidy coat and shined shoes.

The man’s face twisted in a sour way, though she didn’t assume him to be a grouchy man.

There was something inherently gentle about the way his eyes watched her, but Cordelia blamed that on her ignorant naivety.

“My name is Philip Hunters,” he continued, bowing his head deeply as he moved further into the room. “I have been the head butler at this estate for quite some time.”

“It is a pleasure, Hunters,” Cordelia replied. “You tend to the Duke, then?”

“When he blesses us with his presence, Your Grace.”

Cordelia crossed to one of the windows, pulling back the dark curtain to peek outside. “Might you fetch the Duke, then? I would like to speak with him as soon as possible.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Hunters replied, “But I’m afraid the Duke will not be joining you this morning.”

“Later, then?”

Butlers gave her an uncomfortable smile. “I do not believe so, Your Grace.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“The Duke has informed me that he will be staying at one of the smaller estates in the dukedom, Your Grace.”

Cordelia froze, her hand releasing the curtain. “He is living elsewhere?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The words Cordelia once thought to give to her husband felt hollow, suddenly.

Her chest grew tight from embarrassment, from the butler’s eyes remaining on her.

She could not recall Irene, or any other lady, for that matter, mentioning that sort of action from a husband.

Perhaps it was normal. Cordelia glanced over her shoulder at the butler.

There was pity in the aged man’s face, in the way his wrinkles lined his eyes and the corner of his frown.

It could not have been normal.

Cordelia rubbed her clammy hands along her skirts, swallowing down the rush of despair that threatened to rock through her.

Suddenly, she was left alone in the most somber looking estate in all of England, with not even a husband to keep her company.

Her marriage, though only a day long, felt to be more in shambles than the betrothal she had before, with the Earl.

“Very well,” Cordelia finally said as she turned to face the butler. “I suppose we ought to make the most out of it, shall we?”

The butler barely raised a brow.

Cordelia gave him a half smile. “This is the rest of my life, after all.”