Page 22 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

“Oh, there he is!” she cried as she strode into the foyer. “And where have you been?”

Henry looked a fright, and that was putting it nicely. His clothes were dirty, crinkled, untucked, and hanging from his body as if they were two sizes too big. His dark hair was messy and unkempt. His skin was an off-grey color. And the bags under his eyes were dark and heavy-looking. The way he walked, also, was as if he might topple over at any moment.

“Out,” he groaned as he walked right past her.

“And where are you going?”

“To bed,” he said without pause.

She opened her mouth to snarl, but no words came out. Such was the dismissive nature of his entrance that had she thrown a rock at his head, he might not have noticed. This left her standing alone in the foyer, steaming, confused, not knowing how she felt but knowing it wasn’t good.

Charlotte spent the rest of her day figuring out what she might do and how she might do it. What action could she take to let her husband know that he had crossed a line with her? How could she show him how angry she was? She wandered the castle alone, moving from room to room, her mind rattled and her mood fluctuating. Ideas came and went. Schemes of petty revenge filtered in and out.

By the time it was all done and said, as the sun set and night took hold, Charlotte came to realize something that shifted her mood entirely, completely changing the way she looked at what happened and setting her on a new path that she knew right away to be the correct one.

What was she going to do? Absolutely nothing. She was going to do nothing because she simply didn’t care about Henry and what he thought of her. She had wanted to. She had tried to. But he had spurned her time and time again, and now she was done.

It was thus that when supper was announced, Charlotte chose to ignore it. She had already bathed and dressed in a white muslin gown, not dinner-appropriate but perfect for bed. And seeing as she was in her bedroom, reading by the fire as she sipped at a cup of warm tea, she saw no reason to change. Nor did she see a reason to let her husband know she wouldn’t be joining him.

“Are you sure, Your Grace?” Miss Barrow asked when Charlotte told her to inform Henry that he would be dining alone. “His Grace has said?—”

“I am very sure,” Charlotte said with a polite smile. “Please, inform my husband that he will be dining alone tonight. And thank you.”

Another smile for the elderly housekeeper and a touch of guilt at the wrath she was going to have to endure for delivering the bad news.

But then Charlotte went back to her book, making it about halfway down the page when she heard it.

“What?!” Henry cried out like the clapping of thunder.

The sound of his feet echoing through the castle soon followed, so very clearly headed to her room. Charlotte sighed and put her book down. Then she stood up and faced the closed door. Bracing herself, feeling a small thrill that she could not explain because, for some reason, she really did enjoy frustrating her husband.

“What is the meaning of this?!” The door flew open, and Henry stormed into her room.

“Husband,” she said simply, ignoring the storm that gathered around him, “you look well. Remarkably better than earlier, anyhow.”

He had been angry when he threw her door open, likely thinking to sweep through her room like a tempest and scare her into apologizing. But upon seeing her acting so calmly, completely unconcerned about what she had done, she could see his anger turn into pure confusion.

“Did you not hear me?” He stopped in the middle of the bedroom. “I said, what is?—”

“The meaning of this. Yes, I heard you.” She remained perfectly calm, which only confused him further, a sight that she relished as her mind drifted to obvious places that she didn’t want it to drift. “And I can only assume that you’re referring to my refusal to join you for supper. Unless something else has you in a frenzy?”

“Of course, that’s what it is!” He threw a hand about wildly, forcing himself back to anger. “I don’t ask much of you, Charlotte. In fact, I’ve asked almost nothing. But the one requirement I do have is that you join me for supper! Is that too much to ask?”

“And what about the morning, when we break our fast?” she asked coolly.

“What?”

“Am I to join you then also?”

“Yes, obviously.”

“But only when it’s convenient for you?” she shot back, folding her arms and raising a challenging eyebrow at him. “Is that right? Only when you deem to bother being here.”

He opened his mouth to retort. A finger pointed. Fire on the tip of his tongue… only to choke on his words, as if he suddenly realized the trap he’d walked into. One that he’d lain himself.

“That’s what I thought,” she said with a satisfied smirk.

“It’s not the same thing,” he grumbled, his anger fading further as embarrassment took over. Oh, he tried to maintain the rage, but it came across as forced. “This morning, I was… I was busy.”

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