Page 14 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
“Covered head to toe so no one has to see those gruesome marks. The wonderful thing about a wedding is that we can even hide that shameful face of yours behind a veil. That poor duke of yours is in for the shock of his life when he tries to have an heir!” The countess cackled as the blood drained from Rosaline’s face.
Lord and Lady Claridge continued to fuss over her. “Remember, Rosaline, be charming, be submissive, and most importantly, be grateful,” her aunt admonished. “Treat him better than you ever treated us, you ungrateful creature.”
Rosaline forced a smile, though her heart was heavy. She knew that her fate was sealed.
She would become the Duchess of Oldstone, a title that would bring her wealth and status, but at what cost? She would be a prisoner in her own gilded cage, bound by the chains of duty and expectation, locked away by a recluse who would surely bind herto the same solitude, especially once he discovered the shame of her appearance.
As the carriage drew closer to the chapel, Rosaline’s anxiety grew. She could feel the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders, but a flicker of defiance ignited in her chest.
She had dreamed of a different life, a life filled with love and happiness, one where her intellect and wit were celebrated, not stifled. But now, it seemed that those dreams were forever out of reach.
She adjusted her gown, a small smirk playing on her lips.
A pity, really,she thought,that such a grand stage is set for such a mundane performance.
The carriage finally came to a halt, and the coachman opened the door. Rosaline stepped out, her posture straight and her head held high. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her expression remained composed.
The chapel was a magnificent structure, its Gothic architecture a stark contrast to the modern world.
As she walked up the steps, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of both dread and anticipation.
A fitting stage for a reluctant heroine.
The ceremony was a blur, a rushed affair with only a handful of witnesses. Rosaline’s aunt and uncle, the stoic duke, his younger brother—who looked baffled by the entirefarce—and two solemn servants.
The priest’s words echoed in the chapel, their meaning lost in the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.
A forced marriage. A gilded cage. How very romantic.
As the final vows were exchanged, Rosaline felt a strange sense of detachment. She had mechanically uttered the words, her voice a mere whisper in the grand hall.
Her gaze, fixed on the stained-glass window, was a stark contrast to the joyous smiles of the others present.
The ceremony concluded, and the couple was ushered out of the chapel. Adam, the Duke of Oldstone, walked ahead, his steps deliberate and his expression unreadable—a man of few words, and even fewer emotions. A perfect match, then.
Rosaline followed, her head held high, her chin tilted slightly upward.
This is merely a chapter in my story, not the end.
She glanced back at her aunt and uncle, their faces etched with a mixture of relief and satisfaction. They had successfully brokered this union, securing their ties to the influence of the duke.
A pawn in their game, perhaps, but a pawn with a mind of her own.
Lord and Lady Claridge approached the newlyweds, their faces plastered with the widest of smiles.
“Congratulations, my dear,” her aunt gushed to Adam and Rosaline, her voice laced with false warmth. “You look absolutely radiant.”
Rosaline forced a smile in return, her heart sinking. She knew their words were empty, a facade to mask their true intentions.
She sighed, glancing at her new husband out of the corner of her eye.
Not only a duke, but not decrepitly old and certainly handsome.
He stood tall at her side, broad shoulders imposing at he watched the room, intense and stern.
So if he has his choice of a match, why did he agree to marry one of the three cursed ladies of the ton?She tilted her head slightly, a subtle show of defiance.
Genevieve had indeed married a duke herself, but that was an entirely different situation.
