Chapter 6

"Are you ready, dear?" Her father appeared in the doorway, watching her as if he had been there this whole time.

Virtue, having been lost to her thoughts, spun about, startled by the sight of him. "N-now?" she stammered, hand clutching her pearl necklace. "Already?"

"He's ready for you," her father replied curtly. "If you are ready for him."

What a thing to say. And what a way to say it! No well wishes. No excitement or eagerness or sense that her father was having second thoughts. It was spoken as if this was some sort of business transaction, something that he wanted to get over with because it was taking up valuable time that could have been spent elsewhere.

Indeed, this entire week, that was precisely what Virtue had felt. A pawn to be moved by her father, a game piece that had been played, and now all that was left was to await its dividends. The week leading up to one's wedding should have been filled with excitement and grandeur and that feeling that life was moving forward toward unexpected but welcome places. If she had been marrying Lord Prescott, she had no doubt the manor would have been in a flutter all week as the staff buzzed with anticipation, with visitors pouring in to offer their congratulations and blessings.

Yet, there was none of that now. No excitement stirred the air, no festive whispers filled the halls—only a stark, oppressive silence that weighed heavily on her spirit.

She had tried her best to be positive. Despite its childishness, she had even spent the week reading various romance novels that were built on similar themes to what she was going through! Marrying men who at first glance were villains but turned out to be misunderstood, and brides forced into marriages that grew into things of beauty. She reminded herself over and over that the unsettling rumors swirling about the Duke couldn't possibly be as bad as they said, and that surely, she had a chance at happiness as she well deserved...

Now, the wedding day had finally arrived. She stood in a small antechamber just off the side of the church. Dressed and ready. Nerves tempered by fear wrapped in worry. A commitment to not judge the Duke by first appearances. A desire to present her best self and get this marriage off on a promising note. It was all she could do.

"One moment," she murmured to her father, turning about so she might double-check her dress. Partially to ensure everything was flawless before stepping out to face her future, and partially to delay her final moments of freedom before stepping into this unknown chapter of her life. "I just want to make sure..."

Her reflection was resplendent and beautiful and as stunning as she could have ever dreamed. Dressed in a striking shade of green that complemented her fiery red hair perfectly, her gown flowed elegantly, simple yet stately, accented with gloves of a lighter green that reached her elbows and delicate braids woven through her hair. The emeralds at her neck and ears glittered, enhancing the natural flush of her cheeks and the lively sparkle in her eyes. In that moment, Virtue truly looked and felt like a princess stepping into the first chapter of what she hoped would be a transformative life story.

"Ah, you should know, too," her father began as he stepped into the antechamber. "Your things are packed and ready. Miss Reid shall accompany them in a separate carriage, as you and His Grace are set to leave from here directly."

"Right away? How far is the journey?" Virtue asked, barely masking the tremor in her voice, staring now absently at her reflection, feeling her chin wobble and commanding it to stop.

"Roughly five hours. You should arrive shortly before sunset."

"Good." Virtue nodded more firmly now, mustering the poise she needed. "That ought to give us plenty of time to get to know one another."

Her father smiled as he came in behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I am proud of you, Virtue. Truly, I am."

"Thank you, Papa," she responded quietly.

"And while I realize that this might not be the matching you dreamed, few ever are. You know that my marriage to your mother was of a similar design, and you also know how deeply I cared for her."

"I know, Papa." She placed her hand atop his, drawing comfort from his touch.

"Give him a chance," her father urged her gently, surprising Virtue with its sincerity. It was the first sign of genuine concern he had shown since the arrangement was made. "And I promise, you will be happier for it."

Her resolve wavered as her chin quivered uncontrollably, and she quickly sniffed, touching her nose to ward off the tears threatening to spill. There was no sense delaying the inevitable any longer. No sense standing here and letting herself fall to pieces. She took a deep breath, puffed out her chest, turned about, and smiled through red-tinged eyes.

"I think I'm ready," she whispered, her voice a soft murmur to conceal her true emotions.

"Good." Her father took her hand gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Oh, and you look beautiful, by the way. Your mother would have been very proud."

For a few fleeting moments, as they began their walk, Virtue allowed herself to be swept away from what she was walking into. As her father guided her from the antechamber, as she heard the soft melodies filtering from inside the church, her mind drifted and she imagined how she might have felt if the circumstances were different. The day of her wedding. Any little girl's dream. For a moment, happiness seemed to lend a grace and lightness to her every step...

But the illusion shattered as they turned the corner into the nave of the church.

There wasn't a decoration in sight. There were no floral wreaths, no vibrant bouquets adorning the walls or pews, not even a simple archway over the altar. It was the church as she saw it every Sunday, devoid of flourish or flair, making no concessions that today was supposed to be the most magical day of her life. And the same went for the guests, or lack thereof. She counted five people sitting in the pews, three of whom were servants of the household, the other two cousins of hers who she didn't know very well but her father had insisted on inviting. This was not a wedding celebrated with fanfare or joy, but a quiet, almost secretive affair that her father clearly had no desire to publicize or revel in.

So taken aback with the simplicity of the church was Virtue that it was not until she reached the start of the aisle that she thought to look up, finally seeing her future husband for the first time.

He stood far back, beside the pastor, his back turned to her, a hulking figure by the looks of things and one who seemed completely disinterested in her arrival.

But then the man standing beside him tapped on the Duke's shoulder and whispered in his ear. The Duke stiffened suddenly, straightened, seemed to hesitate, only to finally turn around and give Virtue her first true look at the man she would be spending the rest of her life with.

And when she saw him, her breath caught in her throat.

There was so much to take in. His size was one thing. Tall. Big. Broad in the shoulders and wide in the back. He was a hulking mass, seeming to dwarf the man beside him. Dark hair worn longer than what was fashionable, tousled and unkempt—there was an animalistic air about him, one that made him stand out in the church for he so clearly did not belong there.

But beyond it all, it was the mask that he wore that had Virtue staring, her heart racing, her mind running. Crafted from white marble-like material, it covered the entire right side of his face. All of it. From brow to chin, it molded to his features as though it was a part of him. And what lay behind the mask, she could only guess. She had heard whispers about the reasons for the mask, the scars it was rumored to conceal, but seeing it in person didn't frighten her as she had anticipated. On the contrary, there was something thrilling about the mystery and the unknown, something that stirred a curiosity within her she hadn't expected to feel.

More so when she saw a faint—yet carefully suppressed smile touch his lips. He visibly liked what he saw in her, and this brought her a flicker of reassurance. Enough that she was able to ignore the gloomy state of affairs that the church had wrought and focus on the task ahead.

Her father, still grasping her by the hand, began to lead her down the aisle. She fell into line gracefully with a terribly suppressed smile of her own, holding the Duke in her gaze, savoring the way he seemed to be captivated by her. Yes, he was terrifying. Yes, he appeared like something of a villain out of a storybook. And yes, it was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. Yet, as she walked closer to him, memories of the romantic tales she had devoured over the years—the stories of misunderstood men turned beloved heroes—fluttered through her mind, offering a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she was stepping into a story of her own.

Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all...

The ceremony itself was a brisk affair. Few words spoken. Fewer vows read. And not a word exchanged between man and wife. As was tradition, she was given to her new husband by her father, made to hold the Duke's callused hands as the pastor read from the bible and ordained them under God's watchful eye. She tried repeatedly to catch a glimpse of the Duke's eyes behind the mask, but he refused to match her gaze this time; perhaps from nerves, perhaps from disinterest? She could not tell.

Once the ceremony concluded, she was promptly escorted by Lucy, who guided her back to the very antechamber where earlier she had been adorned and meticulously attired in her bridal finery.

"He is certainly mysterious," Lucy had whispered with a hint of excitement in her voice. "And rather… imposing. And I don't know if you noticed how his eyes lit up at the sight of you. He seemed quite taken, indeed.

Virtue was only half-listening to her friend. Her mind was back on the ceremony, as she tried to recollect how the Duke had behaved when he had first set eyes on her, and then later, when they'd stood side by side. He had seemed withdrawn and unsure. Not upset or disinterested, rather… awkward, perhaps? As if he hadn't known how to behave around her. Truly, he didn't seem like the monster that she had imagined, and she didn't sense any malice there. But she didn't feel any warmth either.

It was still too early to tell. That was what she decided. This enigma of a man would become clearer with time, a mystery she was now bound to unravel. A problem that would soon be remedied too, as within twenty minutes of the ceremonies' end, her father arrived to collect her once more.

"It's time," her father stated simply. "His Grace awaits."

Nerves took hold as Virtue rose and made her way from the antechamber. Lucy linked her arm and helped lead her from the church to the avenue outside where her carriage awaited. Her husband stood beside it, an impressive figure as tall as the carriage itself, still masked, still emotionless. He watched her as she approached. He looked akin to something of a statue—stoic and unsmiling—as she bid her father farewell, the reality setting in that it might be a long while before she saw him again.

"I will write you, Papa, I promise," she assured him, or more so assured herself.

"If His Grace allows it," her father cautioned gently.

"But—Yes, of course," she conceded. She cast a glance over her shoulder, catching the unwavering gaze of her husband, feeling a chill now as he studied her meticulously. "But I am sure he will."

"Then you will write me." His smile was soft, a sense of love hidden behind relief. His daughter was wed to a Duke, and despite who that Duke was, this was the best he could have hoped for.

"Until I see you," Virtue breathed, her voice quivering. She planted a soft kiss on his cheek, smiled, firmed her chin for she felt it wobbling, and then turned and started toward the carriage. Her eyes glistened with tears, but she made no effort to rub them away.

The Duke remained where he stood, making no move to greet her or accept her from her father. He simply observed, a silent sentinel. For a moment, as she neared the carriage, his hand wavered, as though he might assist her in stepping inside, but it quickly returned behind his back in a coached maneuver.

Climbing into the carriage alone felt like crossing the threshold into an unknown realm, a world where she couldn't fathom, let alone imagine of what might await. Virtue reminded herself of the vow she had made a week ago—a commitment to enter this marriage with optimism, and it began this moment. The journey to the Duke's estate would take five hours, time enough to begin adjusting to her new role and perhaps start to unravel the enigma of the man she had married.

It was time that she began her new life.