Chapter 2

As Benedict arrived at Augustine Chapel, his irritation grew with each passing moment. The throng of people gathered outside the chapel only served to exacerbate his mood, and he pushed his way through the crowd with a scowl.

"There are too many people," he muttered to Jeremy beside him, and the other man patted his shoulder in a manner he supposed was meant to be comforting. It wasn't — instead, it only served to aggravate him even further.

"Let's get this over with," he insisted before making his way inside, followed by Jeremy, who smiled good-naturedly despite his friend's grumpy demeanor.

Once inside the chapel, Benedict took his place at the front, his gaze fixed on the ornate altar before him. He fidgeted impatiently, his mind consumed by thoughts of the impending ceremony and the woman who would soon become his wife.

As a soft melody began to play, Benedict moved irritably. Why must a wedding be so formal, he could not help but wonder. He stood rigidly in place, his eyes fixed on the doorway through which his bride would soon appear.

And then, she was there — gliding down the aisle on the arm of her father, her face concealed beneath a delicate veil. Benedict merely lifted a brow as he watched her move towards him. Though her features were obscured by the veil, he could see even from the distance that she was slender and delicate.

He watched silently as she moved forward and turned to him. And then, the veil was lifted, revealing her face to him for the first time. Benedict's breath caught in his throat as he beheld her stunning beauty. Despite his usual stoicism, he could not hide his surprise at her appearance. Her father had been eager to marry her off, and he had assumed it to be because she was not fit to be married off to anyone else. He had been wrong.

She was ethereal with blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires and dark hair that formed a stark contrast to her fair skin. Her features were delicate, her skin fair and luminous in the soft light of the chapel. Dark lashes brushed against her cheeks, casting shadows that only served to accentuate her beauty.

She was stunning, and he couldn't help but be taken aback at this. Still, he managed to draw his attention back to the formalities of the day.

"Dearly beloved," the officiant began, and Benedict turned to face the man with a stoic expression, "we are gathered here today to witness the union of two souls in holy matrimony."

Benedict shifted at this. There was nothing holy, he realized, about this specific union — and as though the arrangement being severely lacking in any prospect of love wasn't bad enough, something else gnawed at him.

Caroline Dright.

Benedict's eyes turned back to his bride, and the frown between his brows deepened. Her father had assured him that she had no other prospects whatsoever, but this seemed quite preposterous. If her beauty was anything to judge by, there should have been men all over London who wanted her hand in marriage. What was wrong with her?

There was no time to ponder this question, however, Benedict realized as the officiant continued, his voice steady and unwavering. "Marriage is a sacred bond, a union of hearts and minds," he intoned. "It is a promise to stand by one another through joy and sorrow, through laughter and tears."

Benedict gazed at the officiant so intensely that the next question almost shocked him. "Do you, Benedict Yeats, Duke of Saunton, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Jeremy's hand on his shoulder shook him to the present, and he nodded quickly. "I do."

"And do you, Lady Caroline Dright, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the officiant asked, turning his attention to the bride.

Caroline's response was barely a whisper, her voice trembling with emotion. "I do," she declared, her eyes never leaving Benedict's.

As the wedding ceremony drew to a close, Caroline couldn't shake the image of Benedict's shocked expression from her mind. The way his eyes widened as her veil was lifted filled her with a sense of unease, a nagging fear that she had somehow displeased him.

Had she done something wrong? Despite her silent vow to herself that she would not, she turned her head to where her family sat in the pews. Her father sported a dark frown and her mother's lips were pursed. Sitting between the pair, her blonde curls piled atop her head, was Penelope — looking angelically beautiful.

"And now," the officiant's voice broke through her thoughts, "by the power vested in me by the Church of England, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Caroline paled at this. As much as she knew that it was bound to happen — all weddings ended with a kiss — she could not imagine kissing this man — and in front of anyone. However, before she could find it in her to object to the notion, his face came closer, and his lips brushed against hers in a cool peck.

Only when he stepped back did she notice the rather grotesque scar trailing from his neck up to his cheekbone. It looked like it had been carved into his skin with a sharp blade, leaving behind jagged edges and faded red lines.

Caroline's gaze fixated on Benedict's scar, a stark blemish against his otherwise flawless visage. The jagged line commanded her attention, whispering untold tales of battles fought and secrets kept. She followed its winding path with silent curiosity, her mind swirling with questions she dared not voice.

Her new husband seemed unaffected by the brief brush of their lips against each other, Caroline thought as she watched him. He seemed as though he hardly noticed her — turning away from her and facing the crowd.

Caroline could not help but think back to the conversation she had had with her mother, early that morning, as the older woman reluctantly helped her get ready for her wedding.

‘You ought to be a good wife,' Selina Dright had commanded. ‘You are lucky that the Duke was willing to marry you; you would not have found another husband.'

Caroline had not responded to this. She had long ago learnt that it was no use — any response to her family's certain statements ended up in ridicule.

‘You are not fair like me or your sister,' Selina had continued. ‘You look more like the child of a commoner than the daughter of a Viscount. It is unfortunate, but luckily for you, the Duke is a man in need of a wife — and he, unlike all the men who hope to marry Penelope, does not care much what his wife looks like. But you will not fill your father and myself with shame by being a bad wife to him, do you understand me?'

Of course, Caroline had done her best to understand — but in all honesty, she did not. What did it mean, she could not help but wonder, to be a good wife? If her new husband's nonchalant reaction to their wedding kiss was anything to go by, she was not off to the best start.

Benedict's voice sliced through her thoughts, suave and commanding as he turned to address their assembled guests. "I invite you all to Yeats Manor for the Wedding Breakfast," he proclaimed with practiced elegance, his gaze briefly flickering over Caroline before returning to the crowd. Polite applause rippled through the air, mingling with Caroline's unease like a discordant melody.

"Follow me," Benedict commanded suddenly, and it took Caroline a few seconds to realize that he had addressed her.

"Yes, Your Grace," she whispered shyly, and he shook his head with a deep sigh.

"Lady Caroline," he insisted, his voice heavy with what she could only assume was irritation. "You are my wife now, and it is hardly appropriate to call me by my title. Please," he continued though his voice sounded pained — as though it hurt him to say the words. "Call me Benedict."

"Benedict," Caroline whispered obediently before following him to the carriage. "I suppose," she continued as he held his hand out to her to help her into the carriage, "I suppose you should call me Caroline."

"Yes," he agreed coolly, "Indeed, I suppose I should."

The cool response silenced her effectively, and she looked out of the carriage window as it started moving. This, she thought with a slight frown, was not at all what she had expected of a marriage.

Were they not meant to talk warmly about their lives together or make plans? She glanced up at her husband nervously.

His large frame filled the carriage — so much so that there was no escaping his presence, and she took her time to study him cautiously. The Duke of Sauton — Benedict, she mentally corrected herself — had quite the reputation, and she could see why. The man was impossibly intimidating — and it was not only his strong frame that caused this, but the stern expression on his face as well. His eyes were a deep blue — quite like the middle of the ocean in a storm — and his shoulders were broad and stiff. It was his mouth, however, that drew her attention.

The lips that had brushed against hers as though it was an insignificant matter looked as though they did not know how to smile, and Caroline frowned.

"What is it that you are looking at?" he asked suddenly, and Caroline jumped in her seat.

"I apologize," she exclaimed, words that came rather easy to her.

"I did not ask for your apology," Benedict asserted. "I was merely curious about what it was you found so fascinating. You were staring."

"I was just… thinking," she lied quickly. She could not exactly tell him that she was studying him, wondering what type of husband he would be or why he looked so angry.

She was spared his answer when the carriage came to a halt in front of what she knew could only be Yeats manor.

The Wedding Breakfast whisked by for Caroline, the guests' voices blending into a soft hum as she sat next to Benedict at the head of the grand dining table. She pushed her food around absentmindedly, her appetite suppressed by the uncertainty lingering in the air.

Throughout the meal, Caroline sensed curious glances directed at her and Benedict. Bits of hushed conversations reached her ears, revealing the guests' intrigue about the Duke and his estate. It felt like everyone was eager to uncover some secrets about their enigmatic host.

Surveying the room, Caroline felt a wave of solitude engulf her. She silently wished Marian could have been by her side, providing some comfort amidst all these unfamiliar faces. She knew, however, that it was improper for her to wish for a servant's presence, and she pecked at her food once more — the chattering around her providing a wistful ambience to her thoughts.

"I do apologize for this," a whisper fluttered towards her, and she turned to face her husband, surprised. Benedict gestured to the guests irritably. "You look about as eager to have them all here as I am," he explained, and Caroline laughed softly.

"I'm not very social," she admitted softly, and Benedict flashed her a stiff smile.

"Well," he said, his frown disappearing for a mere second, "luckily for you then, neither am I. Unfortunately, it was made clear to me that this preposterous breakfast was not optional."

He turned away from her abruptly after this, and Caroline sat back silently — watching as the guests slowly started trickling out of the manor once they realized that no further entertainment awaited them.

Soon the last guests had left, and though her husband had long gone as well, Caroline remained seated at the table long after it was cleared.

She was all alone in her new home with her new husband — and she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.