Page 8 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

Who was the Duke of Hayward? A relatively simple question, one would think. A question that should have been easy to answer, seeing as he was now Charlotte’s husband. But as she studied her new husband from across the room, watching him speak now with the guests and laughing among his friends with a smile on his face as if this was the happiest day of his life, she realized that she knew next to nothing about him.

A stranger to her. An enigma that she could not solve simply because she didn’t have enough information to do so. Handsome, yes. Rich, definitely. The type of man who could command a room and who seemed to own the attention of all those he came into contact with, undoubtedly. But those points all felt facile and shallow to Charlotte, things learned the first day she met him and not at all important, if she was being honest with herself.

There were, of course, the rumors that she had heard, also. That he was born without a title. Raised as a commoner. That he spent his days philandering and his nights sleeping with as many women as he could. She remembered seeing him in the tavern, the way he flirted with those women as if it was second nature. Rumor was one thing, but her own eyes did not deceive her.

Charlotte was now a married woman. She would spend the rest of her life with him. And yet, in the two weeks since their engagement was decided on, they hadn’t spoken so much as a word to one another.

“You must be awfully pleased with yourself,” Miss Agnes Jennings spoke from the corner of her mouth so that nobody but Charlotte would hear.

“What was that?” Charlotte tore her gaze away from her husband, only just now realizing that Agnes was sitting beside her.

“I said, you must be awfully pleased with yourself,” Agnes repeated, making sure to smile so that if anybody was watching them, they would think the two were engaged in a most pleasant conversation.

“And why is that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come now, no need to play coy. I’ve heard the rumors. We all have.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Charlotte looked ahead, doing her best to seem disinterested.

The fact that her sister had run away and Charlotte was marrying in her stead was a secret, for it would be a devastating scandal if the truth was found out. But that didn’t mean people wouldn’t speculate, seeing as this marriage was thrown together so quickly and her sister, a more obvious choice of bride, was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is your sister, by the way?” Agnes asked coyly. “I haven’t seen her.”

“She’s sick.”

Agnes’s smile was smug and arrogant. “I bet she is. But still, one would think she’d make it out to see her younger sister marry. And a duke, no less. I can’t imagine how you managed to pull such a thing off. I’malmostjealous.” She tittered as she reached for a glass of wine and took a small sip.

“Oh, there’s no need to be jealous, Agnes,” Charlotte responded coldly while smiling, as if she was saying something pleasant. “In fact, I saw some lovely cows grazing by the church earlier. Perhaps you can ask one of them to marry you? It’s about time you found a mate.”

Agnes’s lip curled, and she had to work overtime not to turn and snarl at Charlotte—only because she didn’t want people seeing her do so. It wasn’t as if she cared for Charlotte one way or the other.

“I do hope you two are happy together,” she continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a couple soperfectly matched. One made in heaven.” She tittered. Then she rose, leaned over, and planted a soft kiss on Charlotte’s cheek as she whispered, “Just as you deserve,” in her ear before stepping away from the table and waltzing back through the room.

Charlotte watched Agnes go, eyes narrowed on her back, wishing that she might be able to follow and respond with one of the many insults that came to mind. Anything she could do to get on the wrong side of the woman because the two were not friends, even if they were forced to act that way.

So combative was this relationship that Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder why the woman had even bothered to come today. Or better yet, who had invited her.

She supposed that went for most of the people here. The ceremony earlier was one thing, but now, they were back at her family’s estate, here to break their fast with what were supposed to be close friends and family only. And while that might have indeed been the case, few people who Charlotte could see might be considered friends or even family.

She might have liked to have wandered the room and socialized, but she didn’t for two reasons. The first one was her mood, dour and sodden, and not at all feeling up to the task, while the other was the fact that she was the blushing bride, and thus it was on her to remain seated so that the guests and well-wishers might come and speak to her.

Which was exactly what happened. Not that she knew half the people who did so.

“You must be thrilled,” a man who introduced himself as Lord Humphries slurred as he fell in beside her. “His Grace! How you must be counting your blessings.”

“Indeed, I am,” she responded politely, leaning back to avoid his rancid breath.

“It’s a shame your sister is ill,” Lord Newstead said when he stopped by to pay his respects a few minutes later. “But I’m sure she is proud of you nonetheless.”

“She is very proud,” Charlotte agreed politely, wondering how she knew his name and where from.

“You look lovely, dear,” Lady Tarrow gushed next, not bothering to sit down but choosing to stand across from Charlotte, so she could size her up. “His Grace must be pleased.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Charlotte responded with a forced smile.

It was all so surface-level. So very fake. Everyone knew what this marriage was. Everyone knew how it had come about. Everyone knew that the Duke didn’t care for her one way or the other. But nobody seemed to give a damn.

At least that was what Charlotte thought, until she was paid a visit by a woman whom she knew by sight but hadn’t had the chance to meet yet, which was strange in itself, considering who she was.

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