Page 42 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

“Cold baths,” the Dowager said firmly, her rheumy blue eyes boring into Charlotte’s. “Encourage him to take them too, ideally before bed. He might not agree, but you must take them. Blocks of ice under the pillow work wonders.”

Charlotte cast her mind back through the conversation, trying to work out what this ‘trick’ was meant to achieve.

Or discourage, perhaps?

“Wouldn’t a block of ice melt and make the bed wet?” she ventured gingerly.

The Dowager seemed offended. “Wet bedding is a small price to pay for balanced humors, my dear. Now, I recall …”

“Do excuse me, Dowager,” Charlotte interrupted, before another lengthy anecdote could begin. “I must greet my other guests.”

She hurried off, not giving the poor Dowager a chance to recover. Finding a quiet corner, Charlotte snatched up a glass of wine and took a long sip.

I haven’t had the chance to drink or eat anything at all at my own wedding breakfast, she thought grimly. What was the time? Did it matter?

No, she supposed that it did not. A bride and groom could hardly slip away early from their own wedding. Out of everyone, their absence would surely be noticed.

Charlotte was just calculating how soon she could seek out her close friends and surround herself with them when someone cleared their throat behind her.

She turned, a polite smile already pinned on her face. She took in a somewhat threadbare gown from several Seasons ago, and a pair of thin hands encased in grayish lace gloves, wrapped around an empty wine glass.

Then she met the woman’s eye, and the smile dropped off her face like a stone.

“You,” Charlotte gasped, the word coming out more loudly than she had intended. “How did … Why have … Why are you here?”

The former Duchess of Stonewell was looking rather the worse for wear. Besides her old, poorly darned clothes, her face was thinner than it had been before. Was that gray in her hair?

She smiled tentatively at her daughter. “Why am I here? Heavens, how can you ask such a thing? My darling, you are my only daughter, and this is your wedding day. I should not have missed it for the world.”

She took a step forward, arm outstretched as if to take her daughter’s hand. Reflexively, Charlotte stepped back. Her mother paused, the smile fading from her face.

“Ah,” she murmured. “Still so much venom towards me, eh? I suppose your brother has gotten to you in that respect.”

Charlotte’s temper flared. “You must be mad. You … You are responsible for our father’s death, and you believe it is my brother who has turned me against you?”

The former duchess flushed deeply. “The man who killed your father languishes in prison now. I write to him, to be sure, but only …”

“Does Gabriel know you are here? I know you weren’t invited.”

There was a moment of silence. Her mother cleared her throat.

“I call myself Dowager, now,” she said at last, her voice trembling.

“You may call me that too, if you can’t bear to speak the word Mother.

Nobody has been Dowager Stonewell in my line for generations.

If my parents could see me …” she broke off, clearing her throat.

“Well, they can’t. And if you must know, I slipped in through the back kitchen. I can find my way around.”

Charlotte nodded, swallowing hard. Silence descended between them, sharp and unbreakable. She cleared her throat, not wanting to meet her mother’s unblinking stare.

“I see.”

“Are …” The Dowager paused, licking her lips. “Are you going to tell Gabriel that I am here?”

“Perhaps not. He would only make a scene.”

The Dowager gave a forlorn smile. “He gets that from me, I suppose. Well, Charlotte, I am only here to congratulate you. Catching a Duke is no small feat. Learn from my mistakes, won’t you? And … And I wish you all happiness, my dear. You do look so very beautiful today.”

Charlotte swallowed thickly. Words buzzed in her head. She should say thank you, or perhaps smile. At the very least, she ought to embrace her mother.

I daresay she regrets what she has done. Killing my own mother in my affections will not bring Papa back.

But she could not bring herself to take a step towards the woman. She could not even conjure up a smile.

“You… you shouldn’t have come.”

“I am still your mother, whether you like it or not.”

“Ah, of course you are. And because of you, Mother,” Charlotte managed, her voice trembling, “I thought I would never get married. And I’ll never have children, of course.

I will most likely be cruel and selfish, because you are cruel and selfish, and you are the only mother I have ever known.

I know you are sorry now, but I am not sure that sorry will ever be enough. ”

The Dowager nodded slowly. “I see how this is. Well, I shall leave now, before Gabriel catches a glimpse of me. Go with my blessing, my dear. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

“No,” Charlotte found herself saying, her voice stronger. “I hope we will not meet again, Mother. I don’t wish you ill, but that is all I can say.”

The Dowager flinched, just a little, as if from a physical blow. Her eyes widened, as if in pain. Charlotte braced herself for a screaming row, for a scene.

Instead, the Dowager only nodded.

“After all I have put you through,” she said slowly, her voice cracking, “I believe I owe you this much. Goodbye, Charlotte.”

Not waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked away, her drab gown melted away into the sea of silks and satins.

Charlotte stood there, staring after her for a moment, until someone coughed behind her.

Flinching, she spun around to find Isaac watching her, his eyes narrowed. He had Tommy in his arms, the little boy having fought his way out of his velvet jacket at some point in the day.

“A curious guest,” he said aloud. “Rather a dull gown to wear for a wedding party, don’t you think?”

Charlotte summoned a smile. “An old friend, nothing more. What can I help you with?”

To her surprise, Isaac broke into a smile, jiggling Tommy up and down on his hip.

“What on earth do you think I require, Duchess? This is our wedding. It’s time to dance.”