Page 12 of In Need of a Duke
While many women she had grown up with wished to be married well, a fair share had held on to the desire to reach for more. Like Lily with her scientific writings or running the school, or now with Kate helping run an inn and distillery in Scotland alongside her husband.
Charlotte had desired something much simpler. She wished for a family of her own. She wanted to lean forward and smell the top of her baby’s head while she rocked and sang to them, watching as they grew and laughed. She dreamed of flying a kite out by the garden as dogs raced about while her children giggled, and her husband wrapped his arms around her and whispered things best left between her and her heart.
Ghosts.
But that wasn’t entirely accurate because ghosts were echoes of what was. And while it was her only desire in this life, she had never shared even a glimpse of such a future with the duke.
There hadn’t been time.
It had been a quick courtship before their wedding.
And it had ended here, in this very room, that wedding night.
“Your Grace?” A voice called out from her room.
Charlotte jumped to her feet, wiping at her eyes. Eight years agothis very day, the duke had brought her into his room, had undressed her, then left. Leaving her standing alone to shiver in the grand room, dimly illuminated by a crackling fire.
Humiliated as she waited.
Until her lady’s maid had informed her the duke had left for London and helped a stunned Charlotte dress. It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that she fell apart in her bed quietly.
A secret kept between herself and her bedroom. She would never give the duke the satisfaction of knowing he had cut her legs out from beneath her that evening.
Eight years later, and she felt as if she were still stumbling around, desperately trying to orient herself north as the world spun on without her.
“In here,” Charlotte answered.
Her lady’s maid, Susan poked her head in, her hazel eyes blinking hard beneath thick spectacles. “Is everything well? Is there something you need in here, Your Grace?”
Charlotte tucked a stray curl behind her ear and forced a grin. It was a small gesture that was almost natural now. She didn’t wish to be a burden or a bother. No one wanted to truly hear how she felt, anyway.
“No, nothing serious, Susan. I’ve decided to move rooms. This room has a spectacular view of the garden.”
Susan straightened, slipping through the doorway to clutch her hands by her skirts. Beneath thick, ashy brows, her eyes narrowed on Charlotte as if she had gone daft. Perhaps she had.
Or maybe her heart had finally hardened itself, and she discovered a sliver of bravery.
“You wish to move from your room to the duke’s room?”
“Yes.”
Her lady’s maid cleared her throat, the older woman slumping forward slightly. “Do you believe that’s best? What if he…”
“I will answer for it.”
“Excuse me for speaking plainly, Your Grace, but that is precisely what I am afraid of.”
It was an absurd idea and one which would send the duke into a rage if he ever returned. Imagine, the duke returning to discover he had been turned out of his rooms. His birthright?
He would be livid, though the only tell would be the unwavering sharp way he spoke. With razor-like precision. Intending to cut, and to leave those on the other side of the conversation to bleed. The man was the personification of ice. His almost-black eyes were void of emotion.
“I will sleep there tonight, and tomorrow I can assist in moving my things.”
“No, no need. I will be glad to have everything moved over if you wish.”
Still, Charlotte detected the wavering concern in Susan’s voice.
“It’s not as if I have hired someone to undo his beloved naturalist park in front of the house. I promise…” she stopped herself, sighing. “I will sleep in the duke’s room tonight, but please note it is no longer to be referred to as his bedchamber. I do not care where you move his effects, but they no longer belong in that room.”
