Her words felt stiff and unfeeling, and she cringed at his tight grimace as he took her hand, sliding her wedding band onto her ring finger. The cold of the ring was a grounding thing, a weight that told her: she was now the Duchess of Blackthorn.
The duke did not let go of her hand, instead held it for longer than necessary, even as Amelia was aware of all of the eyes on them. His own gaze met hers, and she felt it—that spark of connection, the jump ofsomethingbetween them, distanced by the rushed ceremony neither were ready for.
Bernadette stepped forward; her smile warmer than before but hesitant. “May I invite you all to join us in the dining hall for Their Graces’ wedding breakfast?”
Her focus lingered on the duke, as if she was still trying to unravel what secrets he hid, but soon turned away when the dowager duchess called for her to enter the hall together. Amelia was left alone with her new husband—husband, Heavens, the title shuddered through her—and she did not quite know what to say.
“They say you are a seductress and that us being found at the maze was a ploy for you to be married into my family.” The duke’s voice was low, quiet, not quite accusing but not entirelynot, either.
“It was not,” she whispered. “I only wanted a moment of peace, as did you. And now… now I fear I have brought you a lifetime of never believing it.”
He said nothing, only gazed back at her, his expression hard and unreadable. Nerves crawled through her stomach.
He offered her his arm. “Shall we, Duchess?”
The title struck her silent, leaving her only nodding, as he led her into the dining hall.
The wedding breakfast was already served on covered silver platters but nobody seemed to have touched anything yet, and Amelia had a suspicion that it was more the discomfort of the day rather than the politeness of waiting for the duke and her to arrive.
“A toast to the newlyweds!” Amelia’s father called out, standing, as did everybody else, and Amelia’s face burned beneath the attention. In her wedding dress she had not chosen, on the arm of a husband who did not want her, she took her seat, trying to not wither beneath all the changes.
The other guests called out, and wine was drunk, and plates were filled. Again, Amelia noticed they were barely touched. Next to her, the duke was a silent presence, his gaze fixed ahead. He mostly spoke to his own mother when she addressed him, but everybody else he was curt with. Feeling more and more awkward and out of place, Amelia felt herself lapsing into her own silence.
She could not help noticing how Lord Owen and Eleanor sat together, their faces bright with happiness as they spoke, as if they were the ones celebrating. Contrasting with the duke and her, Amelia felt a stab of jealousy as she turned her focus back to her husband.
“The food is excellent,” she said quietly. “The cook has done well, do you think?”
He blinked, as if not realizing she had spoken. Stiffening, he nodded. Amelia slumped, having hoped to coax him into speaking to her. But as if he realized that a moment too late, he cleared his throat.
“Will you miss the food?” he asked, gesturing at their plates. “I can assure you that the Blackthorn cook is very apt at her role.”
“I shall miss it, indeed, but I am certain the cook here can pass on any favourites of mine.”
She hoped he would ask her what they were but he only nodded, and Amelia was left to realize that she would be moving into the townhouse with the very man who seemed so reluctant to even look at her for longer than a moment.
In a moment of panic, she glanced towards her sisters. “I will miss them most,” she said, almost idly.
The duke followed her gaze. “You shall have my sister, and I assure you that she will fill your brain with so much nonsense that you will not have time to miss your sisters.” He cringed, as if realizing how his words sounded. “Forgive me, I did not mean to sound insensitive.”
“I understand,” she assured him quickly. “I look forward to knowing Lady Daphne better.”
And you, she thought, but did not dare say.
Around them, conversation flowed, but Amelia noticed the pitying glances they received. In response, the duke’s jaw clenched so hard she thought he would break his teeth. Her father attempted to draw him into conversation but the attempts soon tapered off, and even Lord Owen looked lost as to how to fix the situation.
There was no fixing it, though, and Amelia knew that as sure as anything.
CHAPTER TEN
All too soon, the wedding breakfast ended, and Amelia’s departure was upon her. Her heart ached when she realized she would have to bid farewell to her family. Even though she would not be geographically far from them, the full absence pained her, knowing it would not be Hawthorne Manor that she would wake up in every day, and that it would not be her family’s dining table that she would remain at.
“You are already the most beautiful Duchess in all of England,” Clara declared, her eyes glassy as she hugged Amelia tightly. “And do know I am only supportive of you leaving us because I find this whole arrangement terribly romantic. It is like something out of a novel.”
“Clara,” Elizabeth admonished, “a wedding from scandal is not romantic!”
“But it is, for they can grow to love one anotherdespitethe scandal.”
“Clara.” Amelia’s mother’s voice was soft yet authoritative, as she came up behind her younger daughters.
