Chapter 3

It had been a fortnight since Felicity had first set her eyes on the Duke of Dawton, and today was their wedding day. Thanks to the acquisition of a special license, they were able to rush the ceremony, and as she stood now, a lovely dress draped around her slender figure, Felicity could hardly believe how fast time had passed.

"Is it not lovely?" Tabitha gushed where she stood next to Felicity. "A winter wedding. It is beautiful, Felicity."

Indeed, it was. The grand estate was draped in the cold embrace of the season, and yet the reality was devoid of any romantic sentiment. Instead, Felicity had been thrown into a whirlwind of hasty preparations alongside her mother and sister, and it felt as though she had been swept away by an unyielding current.

"It is time," Tabitha whispered.

Felicity followed her sister into the dimly lit chapel. It was beautiful—adorned with flickering candles and the soft scent of winter flowers. She quietly made her way to the front of the chapel, where she halted next to her groom.

The air was heavy with anticipation, and her heart pounded within her chest as she gazed ahead, her eyes fixed on the altar. She looked beautiful, she knew this. An exquisite gown cascaded around her like a waterfall of silk, and her deep brown hair was carefully arranged beneath a delicate lace veil.

Where he stood next to her, the Duke of Dawton was seemingly impervious to the emotional undercurrents and anxiety of his bride. His countenance was stoic, a mask that betrayed no sentiment, no joy, and certainly no excitement. Dressed in a meticulously tailored black suit, he cut a formidable figure. His icy blue eyes seemed distant, focused on some invisible horizon.

The ceremony began, and the solemnity of the occasion cast a heavy shadow over the chapel. The minister, a man with a wispy white beard, spoke in measured tones as he conducted the ceremony. The traditional vows, laden with a sense of duty and obligation, echoed through the sacred space.

Aiden's deep voice resonated as he recited his vows, a monotone delivery that offered no glimpse into the man beneath the polished exterior.

"I, Aiden Kingsman, take thee, Felicity Pike, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from that day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

As it came time for her to respond, Felicity's voice, though steady, carried a subtle undercurrent of defiance.

"I, Felicity Pike, take thee, Aiden Kingsman, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from that day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

The rings, symbols of an unbroken circle, were exchanged. Aiden's gloved hand brushed against Felicity's as he slid the simple band on her finger. The touch, fleeting and impersonal, sent shivers down Felicity's spine.

"By the power vested in me," the minister concluded, "I now pronounce thee husband and wife."

Wife. She was a wife, the realization shot through Felicity as Aiden turned to face her, his gaze unyielding. It took all she had not to scowl at him as he smiled woefully at her before taking her arm and leading her through the blissful crowd, to a waiting carriage.

Felicity's heart hammered wildly against her chest as he helped her into the carriage. Aiden took a seat opposite her before facing her head on, his icy eyes seemingly looking right through her.

"I take it you remember, Your Grave," he said softly, "that this is a mere marriage of convenience. I would hate for you to have… expectations."

Felicity gasped audibly at this. "Expectations?"

"Indeed." Aiden nodded. "You will remember the rules we discussed before the wedding."

The word rules burned through Felicity, and she shifted uncomfortably. This man had a way of making her feel like a child.

"Rules, Your Grace?"

Aiden sighed, as though he was dealing not only with a child but a child that was particularly tiresome. "You simply must call me Aiden now that we are married," he asserted and then shifted in his seat. "Also, yes—the rules. No love, no partnership. We will live entirely separate lives. You will have yours, and you are, of course, free to use the estate as you wish. For tonight, I will be at the estate, but tomorrow, I shall leave for Scotland—for a business meeting. You will take control of the estate while I am gone."

"You are leaving?" The outburst left Felicity's lips before she could stop it, and she shook her head, surprised by the ease with which he had mentioned it. "You are leaving for Scotland the morning after your wedding? That is absurd!"

His gaze did not falter even for a second. Instead, he merely looked at her with those icy eyes, and a small scowl appeared around his lips.

"Indeed, I am. What seems to be absurd about it?"

"I just…" Felicity shook her head, frustration coursing through her. "It is an abject humiliation in the eyes of the ton… leaving me alone right after marrying me!"

A short bark of a laugh burst from Aiden's lips, and he shook his head. "You may rest at ease. No one will know. I do not plan to advertise my leaving. But I have learned something about you now, my dear wife."

Felicity looked at him with a furrowed brow. "Forgive me, Your G—Aiden. But I do not understand what it is you believe to have learned about me."

He leaned a bit closer, a smirk playing on his lips, as though something about this situation was amusing to him. "Yes, my dear wife," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion, save for the hint of amusement. "I know now that you are rather concerned—if not preoccupied—with how the ton sees you, while you know that I could not care less if I tried."

Anger coursed through Felicity at this, and she looked at the infuriating man with narrowed eyes. She was quite certain that she would get used to being angry if she were forced to spend much time around Aiden Kingsman.

"Not everyone is born with the privilege to ignore the opinions of the ton," she said, not bothering to keep the scathing, irritated tone from her voice. "We are not all born the children of dukes, we are not all born with the knowledge that we can do whatever it is we please and be forgiven thanks only to our family names. If you would, for one minute, not allow your judgment to be utterly clouded by your privilege and think for a second of the people around you, you might see that."

"I…" Aiden's mouth opened and closed in shock, and Felicity looked down at her hands—entangled on her lap—as a self-satisfied smile formed on her lips.

It seemed as though no one had ever bothered to challenge the Duke. It was time he learned, she decided.

It took him mere seconds, however, to gather himself, and he stared back at her sternly, his voice cold. "As much as you may despise me for being a duke, might I remind you that you yourself are now a duchess? I suggest, dearest wife, that you start acting like it."

Felicity was certain that he was the only man on the face of the earth who had the ability to make the word wife sound like an insult, and she raised her hand, anger coursing through her and her arm itching with the urge to slap the man for his condescending cruelty. He caught her wrist mid-air, however, his eyes fastened on her coldly.

Felicity could not help but waver under the directness of his stare, and she lowered her wrist quietly before turning away from him and looking out the window, biting down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying.

What on earth, she could not help but wonder, had she let herself into?

She kept her eyes fixed on the world outside the carriage window as they drove down the winding road. The winter landscape, blanketed in snow, seemed to stretch endlessly. Leafless trees stood like sentinels, their skeletal branches reaching towards the cold, gray sky.

Felicity's mind was a whirlwind of emotions. How cruel had he been to her. How awful of him to reprimand her in that silent gaze.

As they approached the estate, it emerged like a specter in the wintery dusk. The grandeur of the manor was undeniable, but it carried an air of imposing antiquity. It looked, Felicity thought, almost foreboding—as though no light or joy could survive here.

The carriage came to a halt, and Aiden stepped out, offering Felicity a curt nod before walking to the door. She followed him wordlessly.

Inside, the air carried the weight of history, a history that Felicity was now a part of, willingly or not.

She could not help but wonder where the Duke's brother was. The reason she was brought to this horrid place. Marcus had been oddly absent from the wedding, as he was missing now. The boy remained strangely elusive. A quiet unease settled over her as the house echoed with the distant creaking of floorboards—the whispers of the past.

Aiden's farewell was brief, his tone unyielding. "Goodnight, Felicity." He looked at her coldly. "Your lady's maid will show you to your chambers." With that, he disappeared into his study, the door closing with a final thud.

Felicity looked around uncomfortably and then breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed the silent figure standing alone in the dimly lit corridor.

"Welcome, Your Grace," the woman said softly. "My name is Margery, and I shall be your lady's maid. Whatever you need, please, do not hesitate to ask."

The friendliness of the voice made tears well up in Felicity's eyes, and she blinked them away hurriedly before forcing herself to smile. "Thank you… Margery."

Margery nodded before waving her hand in a small gesture. "Please, Your Grace. Do follow me."

Trepidation filled Felicity's heart as she slowly made her way up the grand staircase. Portraits of stern faces looked down at her from the walls.

"Who are these people?"

Margery glanced at Felicity and smiled gently—almost sympathetically. "Those are the Dukes and Duchesses of Dawton, Your Grace. One day, your portrait will hang here, too."

It suddenly hit Felicity, and she hesitated. She was a duchess now.

She looked at the face next to her. This one looked different. Her eyes were soft and kind, and a gentle smile played on her lips.

"Who is she?"

A shadow crossed in Margery's gaze. "The Duke's mother."

Felicity looked at the kind face silently. "She looks gentle," she remarked.

Margery nodded. "I never knew her, but by all accounts… she was. Come, Your Grace. We must get you to your room."

Felicity followed Margery silently now, though the eyes of the beautiful woman followed her every step of the way. Finally, Margery pushed against a door, revealing the most beautiful bedchamber Felicity had ever seen. Her eyes widened in awe as she took in the opulence of the room.

The bed, draped in silk, beckoned to her, and she suddenly felt a tired aching in her bones.

She stood motionless as Margery helped her undress. As the layers of the elaborate wedding gown were shed and fell to the floor one by one, Felicity could not help but feel a strange combination of both liberation and entrapment. The loosening of the ornate corset allowed her to breathe more freely, while the reality of the circumstances she was trapped in tightened its grip around her heart.

She watched quietly as Margery left, then made her way to the luxurious bed, where she lay down with a sigh. The manor felt rather grim. This place was devoid of the true touch of a woman, Felicity thought with a grimace. Would Aiden allow her to change anything? Would he be satisfied if she turned it into a home, or was she meant to be satisfied with the prison she was caught in?

As sleep began to claim her, Felicity couldn't shake the image of Aiden's stoic face. The brute of a man, as she had labeled him in her thoughts. Fortunately, he would depart for Scotland in the morning, and she would not have to face him until his return—not that he cared to mention when that would be.

She hoped the ton would not find out. Perhaps his absence would make the manor feel less suffocating. She hoped he would have the presence of mind to introduce her to Marcus first, but she was rather certain that it would not be the case. The prospect of a few days without his presence felt like a reprieve.

Closing her eyes, Felicity drifted into a restless sleep, hoping that the dawn would bring not only a new day but perhaps a glimmer of clarity in the shadows of her uncertain future.

It was a short, rather restless sleep.

A jolt brought Felicity awake, her heart pounding with the echoes of the dreamworld. The room, steeped in morning light, offered no solace from the lingering unease. As consciousness fully embraced her, she became aware of a thin layer of sweat that clung to her skin, a testament to the tumultuous dreams that had haunted her slumber.

With a heavy sigh, Felicity pushed back the covers and sat up, her gaze drawn to the glow beyond the curtains. The morning had arrived, a deceptive serenity masking the turmoil within the ancient walls.

Curiosity mingled with a touch of trepidation as Felicity approached the window. Drawing the curtains, she was met with a scene of pure enchantment. The world outside had transformed into a winter wonderland, the landscape blanketed in pristine white.

Snow, three feet high, draped every surface in a hushed stillness that muffled the usual sounds of life.

The realization dawned upon her: they were snowed in. The vastness of the white expanse rendered the world beyond the estate invisible, a cocoon of isolation in the heart of winter.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Felicity's lips. The irony was not lost on her—a marriage of convenience now compounded by the capricious whims of nature.