Page 84 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

"Forgive the intrusion, My Lord," Mosley said, his voice low, almost tremulous. He stepped forward, producing a sealed letter from within his coat. "This arrived for you, posthaste, from Cheshire Hall."

"Cheshire Hall? What on earth brings you all the way here, Mosley, rather than send it by courier?" Charles demanded,his tone sharper than before. Phoebe could see the tension creeping into his shoulders, the sudden rigidity in his stance. "Is something amiss?"

Mosley hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Huxley before returning to Charles. "I... I thought it best to deliver this myself, My Lord. The contents are... of a grave nature."

Charles stared at him, the room growing colder by the second, the air thick with unspoken dread. "Grave? What are you saying, Mosley?" His voice was edged with impatience, but underneath it, Phoebe detected a thread of something else—something darker.

"Please, My Lord," Mosley urged, pushing the letter toward him with trembling hands. "Read it. You must read it."

Charles hesitated, the silence between them crackling with tension. Then, with a curt nod, he snatched the letter from Mosley’s hand, breaking the seal with an impatient flick of his fingers. Phoebe watched, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to decipher the emotions flickering across his face.

His eyes scanned the letter once, twice—then a third time, as if the words were too impossible to comprehend. His face paled, his hand tightening around the parchment until his knuckles turned white.

"Charles?" Phoebe whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with fear of the unknown. "What is it? What has happened?"

"My father..." The words came out strangled, as if they were being forced from his throat. He looked up at her, eyes wide with shock, horror. "My father is dead."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Duke of Cheshire had already been rather frail since before their wedding and had even been unable to make the journey to Wentworth Estate. He had sent in his congratulations, however—a fact that had cost Phoebe some of her dignity as there were some who speculated that His Grace did not look favorably upon his only son being forced to marry her due to a scandal.

Yet, Phoebe had given him the benefit of the doubt and graciously accepted his congratulations without a word of complaint, choosing instead to find some humor when the Duke had exhorted his son to “treat his bride with much care”.

For Phoebe, he had not found many words, save for the hope that she would be able to bring Charles happiness and peace.

She looked up at her husband, who had taken to staring out of the windows of the parlor with a cold look in his dark eyes, his mouth pressed into a grim line. His broad shoulders stood out in stark relief as he clasped his hands behind him.

“Charles,” she murmured, as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He seemed to stiffen at her touch, before turning to her with a softer expression. “My father and I did not share the closeness that you had with your family,” he told her softly. “He was a very strict man and demanded only the very best of his heir.”

“He must be very proud of you.”

Charles let out a laugh tinged with bitterness. “I would not really know, my dear. He was not exactly fond of displays of emotion, in spite of what he wrote in that letter of his for our wedding.”

Phoebe had heard of many men like the late Duke of Cheshire—men who shuttered away their emotions to paint a portrait of strength to the whole world.

“I am certain he was,” she insisted gently. “He…was just not very good at showing it, I suppose. Most men are.”

He smiled a little at that and ran a finger down the side of her face. “Have you always believed the best of everybody?”

“I believe that people always have a choice,” she replied. “They can do good or evil. I just hope they make the right choices.”

It was a very optimistic view of the world, and one that his experience might not have necessarily aligned with. For Phoebe, however, it was better to live with such hope than to believeonly the very worst in people. Such an existence would be nigh unbearable to her.

“You know what this means,” he sighed, covering her hand with his own.

She nodded. It meant that they must head to London, so that her husband could settle the affairs of his father with the Duke’s solicitor. The man had already sent in his card and a letter to Charles, along with the news of his father’s death.

“I will go with you,” she told him firmly. When she saw that he was about to refuse, she pressed a finger to his lips. “I will feel better knowing that I am beside you at this time.”

He groaned and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his tight embrace. “What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful wife?”

Phoebe smiled and buried her nose into his chest. “On the contrary, one should ask what sort of vile mischief I had done to be married to you.”

His answering laugh was soft and a little hoarse, but she was thankful for it, nonetheless. She wanted to be able to always make him laugh. To open the curtains into the bleakness of his dark world.

“You should see your family before we leave early morning tomorrow,” he murmured.