Page 16 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

“Don’t worry, I read it beforehand,” he said with a smile that was just a little smug, seeming to enjoy himself. “Your parents have heard from your sister, it seems. She assures them that she is fine, but that she doesn’t wish to be found.” He chuckled. “She really is a handful, isn’t she? It must run in the family.”

Charlotte eyed her husband coldly, knowing exactly what he was doing. This was a powerplay. A reminder of where she stood in this household—very much beneath him. And a test to see if she would push back or if she could hold her temper.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she said through gritted teeth. She was indeed happy to hear that her sister was fine, but that happiness was forced to take a backseat to the anger she was feeling. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Think nothing of it.” He stood up suddenly. “And while I would love to stay and chat a little more, I’m afraid I must be off.” He lingered by his chair, but she refused to look at or acknowledge him. “Are you not going to ask where?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, smirking, so he would know that she wasn’t beaten. “But have fun.”

He hesitated by his chair a moment longer, no doubt annoyed at how effortlessly she was dismissing him. But he deserved it. After the way he had treated her last night, and just now for that matter, it was high time he got a taste of his own medicine. The only regret Charlotte had was that she couldn’t help but smile to herself as he finally stepped around the table and left her—a smile that she was certain he saw.

She ate the rest of her meal alone, feeling rather proud of herself. Now, she hoped, he knew better than to mess with her. And now, she really hoped, they might be able to drop this feigned disinterest they held toward one another and get to work on building some sort of relationship. Nothing sexual—last night was but a moment of weakness, that was all, and she told herself that again and again and again. But they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, so, at the very least, they might get along. Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask?

Apparently, it was.

Charlotte didn’t see Henry for the rest of the day. And not because he left their home and went to only God knew where. But because he shut himself in his study and didn’t leave. Not once. Was he hiding? Was he working? Had he snuck out the window and gone into town? All were possible, but seeing as she wasn’t allowed to ask him, there was little she could do to find out.

When night fell and they joined one another for supper, it was colder than she had hoped, more tense—a purposeful effort made by Henry to avoid having a conversation at all.

“How was your day?” she asked once he sat down.

“It was fine,” he said sharply, not looking at her once.

“Mine was nice, too,” she made sure to point out. Then she waited for him to follow up, but he gave her nothing.

This, she realized, was partly her fault, as she’d cut him down this morning when he had asked what she was doing.

It seemed that Henry, her husband, was still insistent on testing her. Or maybe he was just that indifferent? Impossible to tell because he refused to talk to her!

The next day was much the same. As was the day after that. Awkward breakfasts. Tense suppers. Not so much as a word exchanged between sun-up and sun-down. He didn’t seem mad at her. He wasn’t angry or spiteful or mean. He just wasn’t present.

It was lucky then that for those first few days at least, Charlotte had plenty to keep herself busy. Henry had told her she was in charge of turning their house into a home, and she was committed to doing just that. No small task either, she learned on her first day.

Hayward Estate was an old castle built on vast tracks of land that ran for miles in every direction. The garden that surrounded the castle, while sizable, was diminished and uncared for. The many rooms in the castle, of which there were scores, were either empty or piled with old furniture that looked to have been there for generations. Dust and cobwebs covered nearly everything. Old paintings and statues and suits of armor were the primary decor, with a few old rugs and throws placed without any sense of style or flair.

She spent the first day walking through the many halls and inspecting the many rooms. She spent the second day making a list of all the furniture, all the decor, all the things that were broken, dirty, destroyed, and needed to be thrown out. She spent the third day building on this list, writing down what she thought would be needed to make this castle livable, that being who needed to be hired, what staff needed to be on retainer, what each room could be used for, and what to do with all the excess.

It was on the fourth day that she chose to act. This game of pretending that the other didn’t exist wasn’t working. She knew it. Surely, Henry knew it. And while he might have been willing to test the limits of how long the two could go without speaking to one another, she certainly was not.

Her husband’s study was on the third floor of Hayward Castle, at the top of a small tower that was located in the back-right corner of the great keep. The stairs that led to it wound upwards, seeming to go on forever. Each step creaked and cried as she climbed higher and higher, almost as if warning her off this venture. But she would not back down, and so she soon found herself at his closed study door.

A firm knock rattled the ancient timber. A pause. A moment when she wondered if he might not even be in there.

“Come in!” his voice called from the other side of the door.

A deep breath, and Charlotte entered the study. It was a cramped space but rather simple. Just a chair and table toward the back and too many shelves crammed with books and scrolls and all manner of things she assumed didn’t need to be there. And among it all was her husband, hunched over his desk, scribbling away, sparing her a quick glance before lowering his head again.

“Your Grace,” she said softly as she crept into the room, “I was hoping we might have a word?”

“Concerning?” he said without looking up. If he had, he might have seen the sheets of paper she held, the lists and plans of action she wanted to take with the estate.

Charlotte bristled at his tone and the general lack of interest he was showing her. Funny that just four nights ago, he had lured her into a false sense of seduction so effortlessly, such that she had very nearly given herself over without care because at that moment, there had been a flame of attraction building between them that she couldn’t have expected but had let take hold. While now… well, she might have said she hated him.

“Mywifely duties,” she said mockingly. He started at that, and she swept into the room and was at his desk before he could speak. “You asked me to take a look at the estate, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. Here.” She dropped the sheets of paper on the desk in front of him.

“What’s this?” He leaned back, eyeing the mounds of paper with confusion.

“A list of… well, a list of everything. This castle is in a state of disrepair, and what you will find here is what is needed to fix it.” She put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him.

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