Page 12 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

“ T his is a mistake,” Charlotte stated.

From the other side of the carriage, Thalia glanced at her and lifted her eyebrows.

“Then let us turn back. We’ve not yet arrived.”

Charlotte allowed herself to consider it for a moment. She could turn back. Nobody would make her stay with the duke. Or Isaac, rather.

But this was my choice. My condition. I wanted to stay with him, to see what sort of man he was. I’ll look like a coward for retreating now.

And what if he changes his mind about the whole thing? What if he calls off the betrothal? Then what would I do?

Somehow, returning in disgrace seemed to Charlotte to be the worst outcome of them all. She felt faintly sick at the idea of going home.

Since when had her comfortable, childhood bedroom become so unappealing?

It was a spacious room, and Gabriel certainly allowed her to do what she wanted with it.

And yet now, the room seemed too small, and rapidly closing in around her.

The time had come to leave her brother’s home and set up a home of her own.

Charlotte had known this for a while, but this wretched engagement to this wretched man was the first time she had truly had an opportunity.

Those other men who had pursued her ever so briefly, like Sir Peter, had never taken her seriously, Charlotte knew that now.

They, too, were scraping the barrel of their prospects, and in the end, she supposed she should be relieved that they did not settle for her.

Nobody would have been happy with that outcome—quite the reverse, in fact.

“No, we had better go,” Charlotte sighed. “We are nearly there. We’re expected, and I’ll look like a coward.”

“It has never bothered you before, what people think,” Thalia pointed out.

Charlotte stuck out her tongue at her sister-in-law. “I had better get it over with, at least.”

Thalia nodded. “That I can understand.”

Joan had been sent ahead with Charlotte’s things, although there had not been time to receive a report from her. Charlotte hoped that they would be put in a comfortable set of rooms, although she would not put it past him to set them up in a nasty, spider-infested cellar or something like that.

She found herself thinking uneasily of all the rooms in Mrs. Radcliff’s novels, all of which seemed to have hidden trapdoors and secret entrances behind tapestries, through which villains could come and go.

Mrs. Radcliff had a habit of making readers think that there was a ghost in her novels, only to reveal that there was no ghost at all, and in fact, the ‘ghost’ was a person, generally a man. Privately, Charlotte thought that the man was more terrifying than a ghost.

However, she imagined that she would feel differently, should she find herself in a dark, creepy old room in the dead of night, with a candle guttering beside her bed, a storm banging on the windowpanes, and a mysterious groaning and rattling coming from somewhere in her dark room.

Oh, stop it, she told herself fiercely. This isn’t a Gothic novel. You aren’t going to a haunted abbey. You are simply going to spend some time with the man you intend to marry. You are going to understand what it might be like to be his wife. His duchess.

A shiver rolled down her spine at that. Perhaps that, too, was more frightening than the prospect of a ghost. Charlotte had spent a good deal of time already thinking of what it might mean to be a wife. To be his wife.

For some reason, she had found herself thinking about marital duties.

Of course, such a subject was not discussed amongst polite Society.

Amongst female polite Society, that is. She imagined that gentlemen brought the matter up whenever they could.

Marital duties were never far from the minds of ladies of marriageable age, or newlyweds, or even harried, tired-looking women who managed to birth a child every year like clockwork.

There were secret whispers in corners and musings aloud about the business, although Charlotte never had the opportunity to listen to it. None of her friends were married. Of course, Thalia was married, but Charlotte had no intention of listening to what she had to say about the marital business.

Charlotte’s education had been well-rounded and thorough. She had been told in frank detail how the matter worked between men and women. For this, she was grateful. Some ladies weren’t told until the eve of their marriage, or perhaps not even then.

They were left to discover it upon their wedding night and endure onwards in horrified silence.

It was generally understood that nice ladies, or at least respectable ones, did not really enjoy their marital duties.

They were just that—duties. Necessary. If they were lucky, they’d be rewarded with a little baby at the end of it and a sense of a job well done.

Neither of those things appealed to her. Not one bit.

Some women seemed to find the whole business rather nice.

Charlotte was determined not to think of Thalia’s experience in the matter, considering that she was married to Gabriel of all men.

However, she had judged from little looks, smiles, and careless touches that her brother and sister-in-law had a rich, full, and happy marriage. In all respects.

She shifted in the carriage seat, uncomfortable.

The Duke of Arkley was taunting her, she thought.

No, teasing seemed like a more appropriate word.

He would be rough, no doubt. The very idea made her stomach tighten in the strangest way.

And, of course, Charlotte had no inclination to share in such a business.

No proper lady did, according to Society.

Then why did she feel such a strange heat in her chest when her eyes met his? How could she explain the … the heaviness which seemed to land in her lower abdomen when he smiled at her? Even that wolfish, mirthless smile he’d flashed now and then made her shiver in a strange way.

It wasn’t a feeling Charlotte had wrestled with before, and it had come on rather suddenly.

She wasn’t sure what to do with it. There was a sense of wrongness that she ought not to be feeling that way, but really, she could not help it.

The feelings had just descended upon her, not unlike a rock landing on her head from a height. She hadn’t even seen it coming.

The man was handsome, or at least she thought so; perhaps it was a natural reaction.

It was simply an unavoidable matter, and it did not mean anything.

Handsome men made women feel strange, and that was that.

Men were allowed to speak of how beautiful women made them feel, so it made sense that the feelings would go the other way round.

In short, it was not her fault. With a little effort, she was sure that such troublesome feelings could be dismissed altogether. No doubt the duke’s own abrasive personality would free her of such unpleasant feelings.

Abruptly, the ground beneath the carriage wheels changed from rough, uneven pavement to smooth, well-raked gravel.

“We are almost here,” Thalia said curtly.

“Now, I have been meaning to talk to you, and I had better do it now. Charlotte, you must know that I cannot stay here for days on end. I must return to Gabriel. Joan will stay to chaperone you, but there should be someone else. You must be careful, of course. You must be mindful of your reputation.”

“There isn’t much left of it,” Charlotte muttered.

Thalia leaned forward. “Don’t be so hasty.

There is always more for a woman to lose in this world.

I know you think that Society has been harsh on you until now, but just wait and see how you are treated if you were to truly disgrace yourself.

A man like the duke cannot be expected to think of such things.

He might think nothing of being alone with you in a room, or of putting you in the most improper situations. ”

Charlotte considered this. “What sort of situations?”

Thalia flushed. “Never you mind. Best that you don’t know.

I am only saying that, while he probably does not intend to compromise you, the duke is not going to be much of a protection.

You must rely on your own wits and instincts.

And once I am gone, you’ll only have Joan.

A servant really is not enough.” Thalia leaned back in her seat, nibbling her lower lip, thinking.

“You ought to have somebody else. Why do you not ask your friend, Madeline, to stay with you?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I thought of that. But Madeline is so very shy and timid, and her confidence is so easily knocked. I don’t wish to introduce her to a man like the duke.”

Thalia sighed. “I suppose you are right. Madeline is a little feeble.”

“She is not feeble , Thalia; she is reserved . It’s very different altogether.”

Thalia snorted, shaking her head. “Well, I shan’t press you. I cannot think of anybody else I’d trust to go with you, but I suppose we are at an impasse. The duke wouldn’t dare enrage Gabriel too much, as all the anger of the Orions would come down on his head. That’s something.”

“Ah, yes,” Charlotte muttered. “I forgot that in my life, I must always be connected to a man in some way.”

She tutted. “Promise me you will be sensible, Charlotte. I must hear it from you.”

“Of course I’ll be sensible. I am always sensible, aren’t I?”

Thalia shot her a wide-eyed, incredulous stare at such a phenomenal lie.

“Gracious,” she gasped. “I am amazed that lightning does not fly down from heaven to strike you for such a shocking speech.”

Charlotte gave a gurgle of laughter, kicking at her sister-in-law with one slippered foot.

“Oh, hush, Thalia, I don’t wish to be laughing when I see the duke again.”

Thalia lifted an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“Well, I want to be regal and composed. An ice queen.”

“An ice queen, you say?” Thalia chuckled. “An odd thing to want to be, when one is about to come face to face with a devil.”