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In truth, she would have been just as happy holding a quiet ceremony at home, but her parents had insisted that her wedding to the duke should be a grand affair.

Her nerves twisted in her stomach as she exited the carriage on the arm of her father, who was smiling. Crowds of onlookers had gathered outside the church, and inside, the high ceiling made her feel small and insignificant. It felt as if she were standing in Parliament from the number of lords and ladies present as wedding guests in the wooden pews. She grew self-conscious about her lack of bridesmaids. But the truth was, she didn’t have many friends. Her parents had not really wanted her to befriend other young ladies, and the truth was, other women thought her odd. They had no interest in conversing about plants, so she’d found herself alone more often than not.

Her sister waited with her husband in the front row, offering a sympathetic smile. Evelyn knew that Charlotte hated being the centre of attention.

But then her attention was caught by His Grace, the Duke of Severn. He wore all black with a snowy cravat and beside him stood a younger man, who then took his seat in the front row. Possibly his brother Thornton? She’d never met the man, though she vaguely recalled the duke’s mention of him during the past fortnight.

As Charlotte walked down the aisle towards her bridegroom, she savoured the scent of flowers. She carried a posy of lilies, roses, and ivy. All around the church, more hothouse flowers filled the space. It was the one condition on which she would not yield. She’d cared nothing about what she wore or the ceremony itself—but she’d wanted flowers of every colour and variety.

She smiled at the sight of all the blossoms, a smile that her betrothed probably thought was meant for him. She liked the duke well enough, although she didn’t truly understand what he wanted from her, aside from her dowry and an heir.

The fear inside her magnified at the thought of a wedding night. She couldn’t deny that the duke’s very presence had awakened something in her. The smallest touch of his hand on hers made her heart stumble with uncertainty. And possibly a sense of yearning.

Her mother had said that it wouldn’t hurt any more after the first few times, and then it was only necessary to engage in marital relations once in a while.

Courage, she told herself. She would have courage to face what lay ahead.

The duke took her hand in his, and the warmth of his hand steadied her. But then she noticed a sort of sadness in his demeanour. Why? He was gaining a vast income through this marriage and would now have the means to pay off his father’s debts and repair the ducal estate. Did she…displease him as a bride? Perhaps the diamonds and pearls were too much.

Behind her, everyone was watching them. She felt their gazes upon her, and her cheeks burned with the fear that she wasn’t enough for him.

But then, for no apparent reason, he squeezed her hand. And somehow, it calmed her nerves.

They spoke their vows, and he slid the ruby ring on her finger. It fit her hand now, but it was so large, it spanned the space all the way to her knuckle. Quite honestly, Charlotte didn’t like it at all. But the duke had chosen it, so she would wear it.

Part of her wished she could have told him what she liked. She would have much preferred a smaller wedding ring, something delicate that would not interfere while she was digging in the dirt.

The wedding continued, and when it was over, His Grace pressed a light kiss against her cheek.

She tried to smile again, but it didn’t quite feel real. Could he not have kissed her lips, just this once?

Polite applause sounded within the church, and they turned to face the guests. ‘Are you all right, Your Grace?’ she murmured beneath her breath.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ His tone was slightly cool, as if he’d taken offence to the question.

‘You’re glowering again.’ She turned to look at him and smiled. It was meant to be teasing, something to lift his mood. But instead, his expression remained aloof.

Charlotte kept her smile, holding back the disappointment. Her husband led her down the aisle, barely acknowledging the good wishes of guests, and they continued outside to his waiting coach. It seemed bewildering to realise that she was now a duchess and was married.

It would be all right, she told herself. She would grow accustomed to her new life. Instead of dwelling on disappointment, she reminded herself that she could build the garden of her dreams and it would be enough.

Within moments, she was inside the coach with her new husband as they rode towards the wedding celebration at her parents’ house. She tucked her feet beneath her gown and pelisse, wishing the vehicle were warmer. For a moment, she waited for her husband to speak, but the duke seemed lost in his own thoughts. She wanted to talk with him, to understand why he seemed so frustrated about their wedding.

‘Sometimes I wish it had been a smaller ceremony,’ she ventured. ‘Maybe at a chapel with only our families. I could have worn a simple blue gown and not…all this.’

He turned his attention to her and gave a slight nod of agreement. But then his voice was rough when he spoke. ‘You look beautiful.’ His grey eyes were solemn as he regarded her.

Charlotte had never expected him to say such a thing, but the compliment warmed her entire body. ‘And you are very handsome, Your Grace.’

Maybe it didn’t matter if he hadn’t enjoyed such a large ceremony. They were wedded now, and it was time to turn their attention towards their lives together.

She lifted her posy to her nose and breathed in the familiar fragrance of roses and lilies. The scent brought her comfort, and she reminded herself again that she would build her life the way she wanted it to be. The duke had already given her the freedom to begin planting flowers and tending the grounds.

But it was turning into winter, and that meant she would have to find another means of occupying her time. She wondered if they grew crops on the estate and whether she could help her husband with planning those. It was something she could ask him, but not now.

She studied him closely, but the duke seemed uneasy in his demeanour. She remembered how much he disliked balls or social gatherings—his second rule—and wondered if he was dreading their wedding breakfast.

When he said nothing else, she ventured, ‘Would you rather…not stay very long at our wedding celebration?’