Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Charlotte twiddled her thumbs, occasionally looking at her husband as their carriage rumbled towards his home. She had seen it in the distance before but had never been inside. Her parents, however, had called upon the dowager duchess at her request at least twice, which led to her now being a married woman.

Tempted to hum something to keep her occupied, she quickly decided against it. William looked like a man who would grow annoyed, which wouldn't be a good start to their marriage. He already seemed so tense and uncomfortable and had barely looked at her since she entered the church.

She could count on one hand the number of times he had looked at her beyond reciting their vows. Truthfully, she had been disappointed that he hadn't reacted like someone impressed with his wife's appearance. He had certainly looked at her, but she had not seen any appreciation. He had simply been still.

Charlotte looked out the window, wishing Hermione had attended the wedding and was with her in the carriage. Her good friend had been married the year before and would have been the perfect person to tell if William's behavior was normal.

Charlotte didn't want to ask her mother because she would say it was perfectly normal, which wasn't helpful. She wanted to get to know her husband, so allowing him to continue keeping to himself simply wouldn't work for her. Louise definitely wouldn't be able to help since she was just as inexperienced as Charlotte, and speaking to her mother-in-law about her stepson didn't seem wise.

It seemed silly that she couldn't invite her friend to her wedding, but her mother had been adamant about doing everything just as the dowager duchess wanted. Charlotte was a little worried that the woman would wish to control the marriage, especially as they would live together. Hermione often talked about her mother-in-law, saying she meant well but interfered far too much.

Perhaps if Charlotte found favor with the dowager duchess, she might be able to have more freedom in the house. She was the mistress of the home, after all, but at nineteen, not many would believe she could handle a household of several family members and dozens of servants.

It always amused her that people decided that young women were old enough to get married and have children, but they were not old enough to make decisions for themselves. Considering both options required much time, effort, and responsibility, it was ridiculous that people couldn't see the irony of the situation.

Glancing at her husband again, she was glad he was handsome. One either had to have a lovely disposition or an attractive appearance. If one were fortunate, they had both.

William was a quiet man who couldn't rouse himself to speak to his new wife—that made for a dull marriage unless she could convince him to be at ease around her and speak his mind. Charlotte wanted to be a good wife, which meant understanding her husband, so she would if he didn't start the conversation.

She wracked her brain for a moment, thinking about something witty to say. She didn't know much about the war besides her country's deep hatred of Napoleon and his supporters, so that wouldn't be a wise choice. Biting her lower lip, she noted he had luscious brown hair that curled at his nape. She couldn't tell if he used a pomade to keep his hair back because soft curls like that tended to flop on one's forehead.

"You have lovely hair, William," she said. "It's a very rich brown, like the hot chocolate I drink every morning. Do you like hot chocolate?"

William slowly turned his equally rich brown eyes to her, his expression unreadable. "I do not like sweet things," he said.

Charlotte's eyes widened. "You do not?" she asked. "What do you usually eat for breakfast?"

"Plain toast and tea," he said. "Sometimes egg and fried meat."

Charlotte was surprised. Breakfast was one of her favorite meals because it was a mixture of everything right in the world of food—cakes, bread, eggs, meat, fruit, preserves—everything. To eat so plainly was foreign to her.

"What about dinner?" she asked. "What do you usually like to eat?"

"Whatever is served is fine," William replied.

"But do you have a favorite meal?" she pressed. "Perhaps roasted lamb and new potatoes, or pork pie, or fried mutton with thick gravy and Brussels Sprouts—"

"Anything is fine," William interrupted, his voice brooking no further discussion.

Charlotte deflated, her shoulders slumping slightly. At least she knew he wouldn't mind whatever he was served. She could probably have the chef boil chicken and serve it with day-old bread, and he would still eat it. Perhaps being in the military had taught him to be content with whatever food he received. However, being a commanding officer should have afforded him better rations than the lower military members.

Inwardly sighing, she continued observing her husband from beneath her eyelashes. Charlotte had noticed he favored his left profile, often keeping his right side somewhat hidden. Perhaps it had to do with the scar on his cheek. She had thought nothing of it when she first noticed, other than briefly admiring it.

Charlotte had once read a story about a handsome pirate with a scar on his face and she had fallen in love with the character. Since then, she grew to like battle scars. Louise thought it was an odd fixation, but not all fixations could be explained.

In Charlotte's opinion, the scar made William appear more mysterious and attractive. She wanted to tell him he didn't need to feel uneasy around her, but she doubted she could broach the subject without offending him. He appeared sensitive about it, or he wouldn't try to hide it.

"I am excited to see your home," she commented, hoping that would pique his interest. "Well, our home. My parents mentioned it was beautiful. I understand Russell Manor was built in the 1300s?"

"Yes," William replied.

Charlotte waited a moment, hoping he would elaborate, but he didn't. She had been almost certain that talking about his home would encourage a conversation. Topics about food and home were not good enough, so—

"We've arrived at the estate," William announced.

"Oh!" she cried, shifting to the window to stick her head out.

She had been so absorbed trying to get him to talk that she didn't notice her surroundings. Up ahead was a house straight out of a faerie tale book. Gargoyles, perched on the roof, stared down at approaching visitors, their menacing faces reminding her of demon depictions she had seen in a restricted book at the church library. Charlotte enjoyed translating old languages into English, so she had a plethora of resources that others could never imagine.

Pointed arches and flying buttresses were another common feature of the medieval era, but what she adored and couldn't see were stained glass windows. It seemed rather odd, considering the rest of the house adhered to the architectural style of the era. Charlotte wanted to ask William about it, but she recalled he didn't seem interested in discussing his home. She would just have to ask someone else.

Their carriage stopped, and he helped her down, letting go of her hand as soon as her feet touched the ground. Charlotte glanced at him. He wasn't even looking at her but at the approaching carriages. Their families had arrived, hopefully alleviating the awkwardness between her and William.

Perhaps he was the kind of man who took some time to warm up to someone. Charlotte wanted to run to her sister, but her mother would disapprove. She would have to find some time later and speak to Louise.

Instead of going inside, they waited for their families since they arrived around the same time. Charlotte noted how Lord Henry alighted from the carriage and didn't bother to turn around to assist his mother. The groom helped her. Even at the church, he had appeared aloof and uninterested.

She had not spoken to him yet and was trying not to have a lousy first impression of him, but it was challenging. She had to wonder if the men of the family all had some sort of problem communicating with people. Charlotte loved talking and made friends with almost everyone, but perhaps she would have to restrain herself when in her new family's company.

"Now that we're all here," the dowager duchess began as they congregated outside the house, "shall we go inside and celebrate this happy occasion with a wedding feast? Everything should be ready."

"Certainly, Your Grace," said Charlotte's mother, smiling.

They entered the foyer, where waiting servants took their coats. Charlotte took in as much as she could as they were led to the dining room, impressed by how clean and coordinated everything was. Colors, furniture positions, flower arrangements, paintings—everything flowed well but also appeared impersonal. She quickly understood the house lacked warmth, which didn't surprise her. Only the dowager duchess seemed willing to make conversation and smile.

The dining room appeared a little more colorful, with more flower arrangements and a table laden with enough food for many more people than their current party.

"This is lovely, Your Grace," Charlotte's mother commented as they took their places.

"Oh, it's just a little something the chefs managed to put together," the dowager duchess replied. "I hope my daughter-in-law is happy with everything. After all, this is her home now."

The audible turning of necks met her ears as everyone looked expectantly at her. Well, everyone but her husband. He was already sipping wine and appeared miles away. Heart sinking, she smiled at her mother-in-law.

"Everything is beautiful, Your Grace," she said. "Your home is beautiful."

"It's now your home as well," the dowager duchess reminded her. "And please call me Mother. We are family."

Charlotte smiled in answer, and everyone soon tucked into the feast. Moments later, a servant entered the room, handing Lord Henry a note. He read it and promptly excused himself, his mother frowning as he quickly left the room.

"You'll have to excuse my son," the dowager duchess said. "Something unavoidable must have come to his attention."

"We understand, Your Grace," said Charlotte's father. "A man must attend to matters if need be."

An odd expression passed across William's face, one Charlotte caught because she was contemplating asking a servant to give her the buttered asparagus near him. She wasn't certain, but the expression looked like annoyance.

It was a change from the polite but reserved expression she had grown accustomed to in the last few hours. She didn't think he would care if his brother left the celebration because he didn't appear particularly bothered by it. One would think they didn't just get married.

Eventually, everyone had their fill and moved to the drawing room. However, Charlotte wished to admire a piece of artwork in the hallway. Her mother frowned at her, but the dowager duchess didn't mind. Charlotte just wanted a little time alone to process that she was now a married woman, and this was her new home. It was overwhelming, primarily because her husband had barely spoken to her.

Inwardly sighing, she stood before a landscape and stared at the painted meadow with an angry sky looming over it. It was gloomy and fit her mood rather well.

"Do you like it?"

Charlotte jerked slightly, unprepared for Lord Henry's sudden appearance. "My lord," she said, recovering from surprise. "I didn't hear you come in."

He grinned, his green eyes crinkling at the edges. "I can be stealthy when I want to," he said. "So, the painting?"

"It's a lovely painting," she said, looking at the artwork. "I'm not very knowledgeable about art, but I can appreciate it."

"I prefer moving artwork," said Lord Henry.

She frowned, turning to him. "Moving artwork?"

She found him staring at her rather intently but didn't have a chance to react because William entered the hallway, his eyes narrowing slightly when his eyes fell on his brother.

"Henry, you have returned," he said.

"It was merely a small matter to attend to," Lord Henry explained. "I was just getting to know your wife. We haven't been formally introduced despite being one big family."

Charlotte could have pointed out that he had been aloof and uninterested, so no one had bothered including him in the greetings and conversations, but she held her tongue. Upsetting her brother-in-law on the first day of their new relationship wouldn't be wise.

"Henry, this is Lady Charlotte Huntington," William replied, standing before them. "Charlotte, this is Lord Henry Russell, my brother."

"Do you not mean the Duchess of Richmond?" said Lord Henry. "She is now your wife, after all. Or are you not yet accustomed to calling her that?"

William stiffened. "I know she's my wife," he said.

"Then I'm happy for you," said Lord Henry, grinning.

Although he was smiling, Charlotte sensed it was fake. In fact, the entire situation seemed filled with tension. One might even say the brothers did not get along as well as they should, but she might be wrong. William turned slightly in what she had quickly recognized as his subtle way of hiding his right profile. Evidently, she wasn't the only one who recognized the movement.

"Hiding again, I see," said Henry. "You are now a married man, brother. You shouldn't hide from your wife. Do you sincerely think she hasn't noticed your scar? It's rather obvious."

Charlotte frowned at her brother-in-law, finding his comment unacceptable. The tension between them was no longer so difficult to understand.

"Shall we return to the drawing room, Charlotte?" William asked. "I was asked to come and have you join us."

So, he was asked to find her—it didn't come from him. Disappointment sat like a lump in her belly. Perhaps she needed to stop expecting too much from her husband.

"Yes," she replied. "I am done looking at the painting."

He gave her his arm, but it was more a perfunctory maneuver than a sincere wish to escort her. Charlotte was truly beginning to question her decision to marry the duke. She had trusted her parents to find the right man for her, but perhaps the idea of their daughter being a duchess had made them overlook William's faults.

This thought stayed with her for the rest of the evening, barely paying attention to the conversation around her, so when her family announced they were leaving, she nearly cried for them to take her with them.

"You be a good girl," her mother said as she leaned closer and kissed Charlotte's cheek. "We will see how you're settling in later this week."

Charlotte nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat. She embraced her sister and received a peck on her brow from her father before they climbed into their carriage and left. She watched their carriage disappear into the night, the urge to run after it so great that she might have done it if not for William's presence beside her. He had insisted on seeing them off with her.

"We should retire for bed, Charlotte," said William.

His words sent a flurry of butterflies straight to her belly. Other than her sister, she had never shared a bed with anyone, let alone a man. Sometimes, Charlotte and Louise would have the kitchen put together a basket of sweetmeats and hot chocolate, then send it to one of their rooms for a little midnight feast.

They would spend the night talking, watch the sunrise together, and promptly fall asleep until a servant would rouse them for breakfast. Charlotte wondered if that would ever happen again.

"Of course," she said when she realized he was waiting for her to say something.

They turned and entered the house, silently climbing the stairs until he stopped at the second floor and led her to a bedroom.

"This is your room," he said, not bothering to open the door. "Please call for a servant if you require anything."

He was confusing her. He had said her room and to call for a servant if she required anything. Was he not going to share the room with her?

"Well, goodnight," he said before heading in the opposite direction and entering a room toward the end of the second floor.

He didn't pay her a second glance. This was supposed to be a happy day for her, but all she wanted to do now was cry.