Page 1 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

CHAPTER1

This had truly been her worst idea yet. Thalia would never admit such a thing out loud, however, as that invited doubt into a mind which couldn't afford it. It should have been enough to have a lead to follow, to finally find the proverbial light at the end of a long and tumultuous tunnel.

Unfortunately, that tunnel led straight back to Oslay Hall, a place where Thalia both dreamed of and dreaded returning to. And as the wheels of her familial carriage rumbled across the stone pathway, and the gates of the manor swung open to greet her, she found herself quickly catastrophizing within the confines of her mind.

She very much doubted Giles sent the invitation to welcome her back home with open arms. No. After the scene she’d made, the wound she’d delivered against his pride, Thalia was quite certain her cousin had no intention of making things easy. It was possible—entirely likely, if she were being honest—that he was to present some new information regarding the will of her family’s estate.

Perhaps some horrific clause her parents (God rest their souls) had included to ensure their daughter wouldn’t grow old and alone within Oslay Hall. But there was no reason now to assume the worst. For now, all she could do was sit in the carriage and contemplate her next move as she slowly approached the front of the manor.

Thalia glanced down at her gloves, fingers just about to pick at a fraying seam across her thumb. With a huff, she folded her hands tightly against her lap, noting the slight wrinkles across her open-robed dress while seated in place. It was dyed a plain shade of olive, the bodice decorated in clusters of artificial eglantines that mimicked the look of a proper sash.

In the seat beside her sat a straw-gold bonnet, similarly covered in the same florals as a pink ribbon sprawled up across the cushion. The entire ensemble was beautiful, but entirely tainted, as the box had been delivered earlier that day with her cousin’s grand signature across the letter of address.

Thalia sighed, tucking a loose curl of briar-black hair behind her ears as she carefully patted her updo. Something about dressing up for Giles—in clothing he specifically picked out for her—felt horrendously wrong.

But her wardrobe could hardly fit in her brother’s home in Whitechapel, and she wouldn’t dream of forcing him to make any further accommodations on her behalf. It’d been a fight just to keep him at bay, as Giles would certainly not speak to her with him present. “I love you, Robin,” she murmured under her breath. “But this is something only I can do.”

Finally, her carriage rumbled to a halt, her door pried open by the manor’s footman. She exhaled quickly, gathering her bonnet and placing it atop her head before giving the ribbon a quick tie beneath her neck. Then, after a beat to reconsider the entire ordeal, she extended a gloved hand, allowing the footman to help ease her out of the carriage.

Two lines of servants stood attentively along the manor’s front step, leading up to the front door where an older lady and gentleman waited—the head housekeeper and butler, respectively.

The former wasn’t anyone Thalia recognized, though it didn’t surprise her at all that Giles had replaced members of staff with his own people. The latter, however, was someone she was relieved to still see working within Oslay; she wrestled with her smile, tempering it to appear far more uninterested than she was.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sutton.” The butler spoke with a professional briskness to his voice, as if Thalia was as common a guest as any other. “Lord Tilbury was pleased to hear of your quick acceptance of his invitation.”

Thalia nodded gently in return. “It pleases me greatly to be invited back to Oslay for a visit, Mr. Cooke.”

George—she so desperately wanted to address her only ally left in full. But, for both their sakes, she remained at arm’s length, even if every nerve in her body screamed to rush forward and embrace him.

As long as Giles believed her to be without any ally, she and Robin could move about with a bit more freedom. If not for George’s—Mr. Cooke’s—interference, today’s visit would have taken Thalia completely by surprise; the extra few days had done wonders for her nerves, and now, she could face Giles with a little more confidence.

So, as much as it burned to simply accept Mr. Cooke’s invitation inside, to not even thank him for the care package given for her first few nights at Whitechapel, Thalia persisted.

Instead, she took the opportunity to inspect the mansion’s interior, relieved that it appeared to be in working order. The main hall looked ready to receive guests, with one maid dusting the golden banister of the grand staircase. Though, as she was led to one of the many parlor rooms, Thalia took note of the empty spaces along the wall, the displays that obviously once held artwork.

“Lord Tilbury has ordered the staff to partake in early spring cleaning,” the head of housekeeping offered quickly. “He insisted on decluttering the home of its more…ostentatious decorations.”

The excuse stabbed worse than any blade ever could; Thalia recognized the missing pieces as family portraits featuring her, or items specifically purchased by herself or Robin. Her smile thinned, and she coaxed as much warmth as she could into her reply. “Oh, of course. A new lord’s manor is a reflection of himself, is it not?” Bare and entirely void of personality—but she kept that part to herself.

Eventually, they arrived at the parlor, which appeared far more decorated than the other rooms Thalia had peeked into. A pair of paisley settees were positioned around a crystal coffee table, tiered serving trays full of delicate sweets, and a large teapot serving as an amicable example of a proper, afternoon tea. Thalia inhaled deeply, the rich and earthly tang of black tea drawing her to sit.

“Lord Tilbury is finishing some work within the study,” Mr. Cooke explained. “But he invites you to begin without him.” Both he and the head housekeeper offered a bow and curtsy before heading on their way, but Thalia caught a brief, over-the-shoulder smile from the butler before she was left to her own devices.

She then turned her attention to the table, determined to take advantage of it before Giles’ arrival spoiled her appetite. Candied fruits, pontefract cakes, strawberry and rhubarb biscuits— she eventually settled on a lemon tart with almond crusting, and a cup of tea. The urge to simply pile her plate and rush to the door was so terribly strong; Giles hardly deserved any of the niceties the title of marquess had gifted him.

Before she could even take a bite, a boisterous ring of laughter numbed her entirely. She delicately placed the pastry onto her plate, opting to move her cup and saucer into her lap, as her cousin finally made his grand entrance.

She observed him quietly, gingerly taking a sip to explain her lack of greeting. It was hard to claim Giles was anything other than attractive. His tall frame was always dressed in beautiful suits, and colorful neckties played into his persona of being excitingly eclectic. He was the approachable sort, the kind of man you find pleasant and charming; someone you’d want within your inner circle.

But Thalia knew her cousin personally, and he often reminded her of a lanky goat prancing about the stud’s farm. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if a pair of curling horns hid beneath his flaxen hair, as they’d perfectly match the unnatural ice frozen within the blue of his eyes. It was an excellent comparison, and she was quite proud of it. Giles Tilbury embodied the beauty of winter, but could easily kill any man or woman who spent too long in his frigid presence.

“Dear cousin!” Giles beamed, crossing the room quickly to take a seat directly across from her. “I’m so thrilled you took me up on my invitation.” His gaze lingered upon her longer than she would have liked, a smile cutting across his lips. “You look quite lovely in that ensemble.”

“Well, you do have impeccable taste, my lord.” Thalia chuckled lightly, trying desperately to clear her throat without making it obvious. “I daresay no other woman will look as fresh as I do on this lovely spring day.”

More laughter tumbled out from Giles, as if the entirety of life was one, endless joke. “No, no, there’s no need for titles here, sweet Thalia. We’re family, after all! And family doesn’t make blood bend a knee before them.”

She wanted nothing more than to wrinkle her nose at the hypocrisy, but Thalia remained pleasant. “Yes, well, it isn’t everyday one gets to greet a marquess. Allow me to address you as such, my lord; I fear I may become forgetful in public otherwise and cause quite a stir.”

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