Page 11 of The Duchess and the Beast
She had tried her best to be positive. Despite its childishness, she had even spent the week reading various romance novels that were built on similar themes to what she was going through! Marrying men who at first glance were villains but turned out to be misunderstood, and brides forced into marriages that grew into things of beauty. She reminded herselfover and overthat the unsettling rumors swirling about the Duke couldn’t possibly be as bad as they said, and that surely, she had a chance at happiness as she well deserved...
Now, the wedding day had finally arrived. She stood in a small antechamber just off the side of the church. Dressed and ready. Nerves tempered by fear wrapped in worry. A commitment to not judge the Duke by first appearances. A desire to present her best self and get this marriage off on a promising note. It was all she could do.
“One moment,” she murmured to her father, turning about so she might double-check her dress. Partially to ensure everything was flawless before stepping out to face her future, and partially to delay her final moments of freedom before stepping into this unknown chapter of her life. “I just want to make sure...”
Her reflection was resplendent and beautiful and as stunning as she could have ever dreamed. Dressed in a striking shade of green that complemented her fiery red hair perfectly, her gown flowed elegantly, simple yet stately, accented with gloves of a lighter green that reached her elbows and delicate braids woven through her hair. The emeralds at her neck and ears glittered, enhancing the natural flush of her cheeks and the lively sparkle in her eyes. In that moment, Virtue truly looked and felt like a princess stepping into the first chapter of what she hoped would be a transformative life story.
“Ah, you should know, too,” her father began as he stepped into the antechamber. “Your things are packed and ready. Miss Reid shall accompany them in a separate carriage, as you and His Grace are set to leave from here directly.”
“Right away? How far is the journey?” Virtue asked, barely masking the tremor in her voice, staring now absently at her reflection, feeling her chin wobble and commanding it to stop.
“Roughly five hours. You should arrive shortly before sunset.”
“Good.” Virtue nodded more firmly now, mustering the poise she needed. “That ought to give us plenty of time to get to know one another.”
Her father smiled as he came in behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I am proud of you, Virtue. Truly, I am.”
“Thank you, Papa,” she responded quietly.
“And while I realize that this might not be the matching you dreamed, few ever are. You know that my marriage to your mother was of a similar design, and you also know how deeply I cared for her.”
“I know, Papa.” She placed her hand atop his, drawing comfort from his touch.
“Give him a chance,” her father urged her gently, surprising Virtue with its sincerity. It was the first sign of genuine concern he had shown since the arrangement was made. “And I promise, you will be happier for it.”
Her resolve wavered as her chin quivered uncontrollably, and she quickly sniffed, touching her nose to ward off the tears threatening to spill. There was no sense delaying the inevitable any longer. No sense standing here and letting herself fall to pieces. She took a deep breath, puffed out her chest, turned about, and smiled through red-tinged eyes.
“I think I’m ready,” she whispered, her voice a soft murmur to conceal her true emotions.
“Good.” Her father took her hand gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Oh, and you look beautiful, by the way. Your mother would have been very proud.”
For a few fleeting moments, as they began their walk, Virtue allowed herself to be swept away from what she was walking into. As her father guided her from the antechamber, as she heard the soft melodies filtering from inside the church, her mind drifted and she imagined how she might have felt if the circumstances were different. The day of her wedding. Any little girl's dream. For a moment, happiness seemed to lend a grace and lightness to her every step...
But the illusion shattered as they turned the corner into the nave of the church.
There wasn’t a decoration in sight. There were no floral wreaths, no vibrant bouquets adorning the walls or pews, not even a simple archway over the altar. It was the church as she saw it every Sunday, devoid of flourish or flair, making no concessions that today was supposed to be the most magical day of her life. And the same went for the guests, or lack thereof. She counted five people sitting in the pews, three of whom were servants of the household, the other two cousins of hers who she didn’t know very well but her father had insisted on inviting. This was not a wedding celebrated with fanfare or joy, but a quiet, almost secretive affair that her father clearly had no desire to publicize or revel in.
So taken aback with the simplicity of the church was Virtue that it was not until she reached the start of the aisle that she thought to look up, finally seeing her future husband for the first time.
He stood far back, beside the pastor, his back turned to her, a hulking figure by the looks of things and one who seemed completely disinterested in her arrival.
But then the man standing beside him tapped on the Duke’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. The Duke stiffened suddenly, straightened, seemed to hesitate, only to finally turn around and give Virtue her first true look at the man she would be spending the rest of her life with.
And when she saw him, her breath caught in her throat.
There was so much to take in. His size was one thing. Tall. Big. Broad in the shoulders and wide in the back. He was a hulking mass, seeming to dwarf the man beside him. Dark hair worn longer than what was fashionable, tousled and unkempt—there was an animalistic air about him, one that made him stand out in the church for he so clearly did not belong there.
But beyond it all, it was the mask that he wore that had Virtue staring, her heart racing, her mind running. Crafted from white marble-like material, it covered the entire right side of his face. All of it. From brow to chin, it molded to his features as though it was a part of him. And what lay behind the mask, she could only guess. She had heard whispers about the reasons for the mask, the scars it was rumored to conceal, but seeing it in person didn’t frighten her as she had anticipated. On the contrary, therewas something thrilling about the mystery and the unknown, something that stirred a curiosity within her she hadn’t expected to feel.
More so when she saw a faint—yet carefully suppressed smile touch his lips. He visibly liked what he saw in her, and this brought her a flicker of reassurance. Enough that she was able to ignore the gloomy state of affairs that the church had wrought and focus on the task ahead.
Her father, still grasping her by the hand, began to lead her down the aisle. She fell into line gracefully with a terribly suppressed smile of her own, holding the Duke in her gaze, savoring the way he seemed to be captivated by her.Yes, he was terrifying.Yes, he appeared like something of a villain out of a storybook. Andyes, it was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. Yet, as she walked closer to him, memories of the romantic tales she had devoured over the years—the stories of misunderstood men turned beloved heroes—fluttered through her mind, offering a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she was stepping into a story of her own.
Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all...
The ceremony itself was a brisk affair. Few words spoken. Fewer vows read. And not a word exchanged between man and wife. As was tradition, she was given to her new husband by her father, made to hold the Duke’s callused hands as the pastor read from the bible and ordained them under God’s watchful eye. She tried repeatedly to catch a glimpse of the Duke’s eyes behind themask, but he refused to match her gaze this time; perhaps from nerves, perhaps from disinterest? She could not tell.
Once the ceremony concluded, she was promptly escorted by Lucy, who guided her back to the very antechamber where earlier she had been adorned and meticulously attired in her bridal finery.