Forgotten & Remembered - The Duke's Late Wife

  Her hopes were dashed though when Rosabel woke once more in her own bed and realized that her wedding day had come at last. Only a shell of herself, she went through the motions. After breakfast with her family, she was led upstairs to her room where the maids had already laid out her wedding dress. Seeing it, Rosabel’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away before her aunt could lecture her.

  “You will be a beautiful bride,” Ellie beamed, giving her hand a slight squeeze. “Smile for me, will you?” she whispered.

  Feeling the corners of her mouth tuck up at her cousin’s emphatic words, Rosabel tried her best. “Thank you.”

  Rushing into the room, her aunt took charge immediately, and before Rosabel knew what was happening, she was looking at herself wearing a wedding dress in the tall mirror brought in from her aunt’s room. Busy hands tucked here and smoothed fabric back there. Her hair was drawn up and pinned up in the latest fashion, a few strands, forced into bouncing curls, softening the somewhat rigid structure.

  “Well, you look handsome enough,” her aunt mused, looking her up and down. “Do try to smile. This is a happy occasion after all,” she reminded her. “As unexpected as this is, we could not have hoped for a better match. He is quite amiable, and you are lucky to have caught his eye. Although I still cannot fathom why.”

  “Mother!” Ellie chastised.

  Lady Harlowe completely ignored her daughter’s words, but instead looked at her and said, “You have to admit that you would have made a more desirable bride. How any man can favour Rosabel over you I cannot understand.”

  “Mother!” Ellie exclaimed, a deep red creeping up her cheeks as she looked back and forth between Rosabel and her mother.

  Rosabel, however, was used to her aunt’s attitude toward her and had expected nothing less. “Do not worry yourself, dear cousin. I have wondered the same thing myself.”

  Her aunt’s face brightened. “There you have it, my child. At least Rosabel has enough sense to see the truth.”

  Before Ellie could intervene on her behalf once more, Rosabel put a hand on her shoulder and slightly shook her head. Nothing her cousin would say could change the impression her aunt had of her. They would never be close. Rosabel had accepted that long ago. She was all the more thankful for her cousin’s affection.

  Looking at herself in the mirror, Rosabel saw the slight tremble in her hands as she brushed them down the front of her dress. The face that smiled back at her didn’t seem genuine, and she hoped her betrothed would not hold it against her. He could not expect her to go into this marriage with a joyous heart, could he?

  As another thought struck, Rosabel closed her eyes to maintain her composure. Before she had gone to bed the night before, her aunt had come to her room. At first, Rosabel had been surprised to see her, but then her feelings had quickly changed as her aunt began to speak. In but a few, short, clipped sentences, that showed no consideration for Rosabel’s feelings, she had informed her of what her future husband would expect of her on their wedding night. Sinking deeper into her seat, Rosabel had listened, fighting the deep desire to put her hands over her ears. Terrified beyond compare, she had barely slept a wink. The thought of allowing that man into her bed had purged all breath from her body, and the shivers had started anew. Would his hands be as cold as his eyes?

  ***

  In the carriage, Rosabel clung to her cousin, squeezing her hand as though she would be swept away if she didn’t hold on tightly. But Ellie didn’t mind. Gently, she held her hand, here and there stroking her arm and murmuring words of comfort. Pointing out the window, she tried to draw Rosabel’s attention away from her jittery nerves and to the beautiful flowers growing by the side of the road and across the meadows they passed. But Rosabel could not appreciate what she saw. Her gaze was focused at what awaited her once the carriage came to a standstill. At times she did her best to raise her own spirits, lecturing herself harshly for entertaining all these gloomy thoughts. Giving in to her fear and allowing it to surround her, extinguishing every rational thought, every chance of calming herself in order to see things clearly, was a child’s way of dealing with the world she didn’t understand. And she was anything but a child. From a young age she had been forced to deal with a reality as harsh as any she could have imagined in her mind. And she had persevered. She would persevere again.

  Thoughts like these made her feel strong, if only for a moment. Then the dark fear returned, stronger than before, and Rosabel once again succumbed to it, feeling her hands tremble and a sickening sensation settle in her stomach that threatened to expel the meagre breakfast she had eaten that morning. In these moments Rosabel thought she would not be able to get through the day. She thought she’d pass out any second. Strangely enough that thought seemed desirable. Then, at least she would be free from her emotions, at least for the moment.

  Was life only about moments? She wondered. One changing into another, turning your life upside down, defying gravity and setting everything ablaze. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Rosabel hoped that the moment her heart would finally stop tormenting her would come sooner rather than later. She longed to feel at peace again. The past fortnight had taken its toll, and Rosabel wasn’t sure how much longer she could force herself to function and play the role everyone, most of all her aunt and uncle, expected of her.

  As the carriage wheels churned to a stop, Rosabel’s head flew up. Peeking out the window, she found herself at Camden Hall, the estate her betrothed had let when coming to the county. When would she see his real home? She wondered, realizing she didn’t even know where it was located. Would she soon be forced to leave her friends and family behind? Another shiver ran down her spine.

  A footman opened the door, and Ellie stepped outside. For just a second, Rosabel felt frozen to the spot and thought that no force on this earth could persuade her to move. But then her uncle’s voice reached her mind, “Rosabel, may I escort you inside?” Suddenly years of complying with everyone’s wishes and expectations took over. Rosabel felt herself move from the carriage and step outside into the late autumn sun.

  Although she had only seen Camden Hall from a distance before, Rosabel drew in a breath at the stately home that was to be hers by the end of the day. Grand and magnificent, the manor loomed into the sky before her, and Rosabel wondered if only the way her own fate was tied to this house made her consider it with unease. She couldn’t help but see something dark hiding in the shadows behind the rows upon rows of windows, and even the door opening to the small chapel seemed like a doorway into hell itself.

  “Don’t be absurd!” she called herself to reason once more. “Take a deep breath! Your fears are running away with you again!”

  As her uncle tucked his arm around her, Rosabel fell into step beside him. Watching Ellie and her aunt enter the small chapel without being struck down or sucked into the earth, Rosabel glanced around trying to see inside and spot the man she was to marry in a matter of minutes.

  Her uncle led her through the door, and they proceeded down the aisle. To her right and left, the few guests that had been invited to observe the ceremony did not fill the pews facing the altar. More were to arrive to the festivities later.

  Rosabel’s eyes glided over her family: her aunt’s distant smile, the shining eyes of her young cousins fidgeting in their seats, unable to keep still, and Ellie’s encouraging smile, anchoring Rosabel to the here and now. She saw people she had known all her life, people who had never quite looked at her with open, unprejudiced eyes. Then there were those, only a few, she had never seen before and assumed them to be family or friends of her betrothed. One of them she recognized as the tall, blond gentleman she had seen in her future husband’s company at the Davenport’s engagement celebration.

  As they proceeded further down the aisle, Rosabel’s eyes met his, and a charming smile lit up his face. Through her veil, Rosabel saw his head bow ever so slightly, and she was touched by this simple, yet most welcome gesture of kindness.
Again, he reminded her of the sun, a sun that shone so bright, not even the night could subdue it; for a moment, just a moment, Rosabel wished he were the one awaiting her by the altar.

  Instantly, she chastised herself for such a terrible thought, reminding herself that he was her betrothed’s friend. Wasn’t he titled as well? A duke? She tried to remember, but couldn’t quite recall his name.

  Taking another deep breath, Rosabel reluctantly directed her gaze to the front where the Duke of Kensington stood tall and expressionless by the altar. His dark hair smoothed back, he looked at her with the same cold eyes she had seen in her dreams for many nights now. And again they did not fail to conjure all the apprehension she had felt the first time she’d seen him.

  Once more, Rosabel wondered why he wanted to marry her, for it clearly did not contribute to his happiness. If anything at all, he looked about as miserable as Rosabel felt herself. Coming to stand beside him, she wondered if there was something pressuring him into his marriage as well. Had he not chosen freely? Did he resent her because unknowingly she was the means to force his hand?

  As her uncle released her arm and stepped back to sit down with his wife and children, Rosabel suddenly felt the loss of the only family she had remaining. Standing beside a stranger, she barely heard the priest’s words as he bound them together. Her sense of loss was too acute, and tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. Grateful for the veil hiding her emotions from her husband and the few people gathered to celebrate their union, Rosabel tried to compose herself. Blinking back the tears, she took a deep breath, but as much as she tried, her heart would not slow down, hammering in her chest as though she was prey hunted by a fierce predator, desperately seeking to escape.

  Murmuring her ‘I do’ as though some unseen force had taken control of her, Rosabel watched in utter shock as her new husband turned toward her and lifted her veil. As she fought to put a smile on her face, Rosabel saw no answering expression on his countenance. The breath caught in her throat and the lump in her belly grew heavier and heavier as the Duke of Kensington slowly leaned toward her for the celebratory kiss, sealing their marriage vows. His breath brushed over her cheek, and as though an icy chill had caught hold of her, Rosabel closed her eyes, hoping for it to pass as quickly as possible.

  When his lips brushed hers, Rosabel was surprised to find them soft and warm. As she opened her eyes, however, he had already turned toward their audience. Then he took her hand, drew her arm through his and led her out of the chapel and into the light of day.

  ***

  The wedding celebration was short-lived. For all the impact it had on Rosabel’s life, it appeared a mere trifle to everyone else. Her new husband kept to the shadows whenever possible, occasionally nodding to people, accepting their congratulations with a quick and not at all heart-felt smile and seemed to avoid his new bride at all costs. Her aunt and uncle looked mildly pleased that she had made a good match after all. However, whenever they looked at her, Rosabel still saw the resentment on their faces that her new husband had not instead taken their daughter for his bride.

  Nonetheless, her uncle made a gallant speech, wishing the newlyweds a lifetime of happiness. The other speaker was her husband’s friend, Edmond Dunsworth, Duke of Cromwell, as he introduced himself to those who were not familiar with him. A sparkle came to his eyes as he raised his class and offered his congratulations. For a second his gaze turned to her, and Rosabel thought for her a moment that he had winked at her. However, her eyes had to be deceiving her for nothing could have been more ridiculous. Nonetheless, Rosabel thought him a pleasant, young man. Why? She did not know. But whenever he glanced in her direction, there was something in his eyes that suggested that he saw her pain and felt for her. Whenever their eyes happened to meet, Rosabel glanced away quickly, unsure how her husband would react to such behaviour. The Duke of Kensington, however, did not notice since he was paying his new bride no attention at all.

  When the orchestra began to play, the groom led the bride to their first dance as husband and wife. And while a courteous smile was plastered on his face for the duration of the dance, Rosabel could feel in the stiffness of his hands how much he resented having to touch her. A shiver ran down her body as she realized how much her husband detested her. What had she done wrong? He had asked for her hand after all. Had she somehow encouraged him? It wasn’t possible. They had never even spoken to one another. How could she have possibly forced his hand?

  Deep down at the core of Rosabel’s being, under layers and layers of obedience and complacence, a tiny spark of anger ignited. How dare he blame her for anything that had happened?

  As he led her around the dance floor, reluctant though sure-footed, she glanced at his face from under her eyelashes and saw that his eyes were distant. He was not looking at her. He seemed to have forgotten that she was in his arms that very second. Looking at him more openly, she wondered where his mind had wandered off to, on his wedding day of all days.

  Before long the dance ended, and while their guests heartily engaged in the festivities, her husband remained seated for the rest of the day, not even glancing in her direction. After her uncle asked her for another dance as was tradition, Rosabel thanked him and followed him to the floor again. Never having been a talented dancer, she was relieved when the music ended once more and intended to return to her seat at the table, when the Duke of Cromwell suddenly appeared before her as though he had shot out of the floor.

  A gasp escaping her lips, her hand flew to her chest. “My,” she exclaimed. “You startled me.”

  He bowed low, a charming smile on his lips. “My apologies, Your Grace.” Rosabel’s heart skipped a beat as she heard her new address for the first time. Your Grace, how strange it sounded. Not at all right. “May I ask for this dance?”

  Seeing the slightly mischievous twinkle in his eyes that made him so endearing, she dared not decline. Again he bowed to her and, taking her hand, led her back the way she had tried to escape.

  As they stood up together, Rosabel’s face broke into a smile, and for the duration of their dance, she forgot the occasion that had them all gather under this roof. The Duke of Cromwell was all politeness and looked at her as though she was the answer to his most fervent prayers. Feeling a slight blush creep up her cheeks, Rosabel more than once felt the need to avert her eyes.

  When the music stopped, he led her off the dance floor, but remained by her side, offering her a glass of punch. “You make a lovely bride,” he said, reminding Rosabel of a reality she had all but forgotten. “My friend is in a most fortunate position to call you his wife.”

  Turning her eyes to the floor, Rosabel didn’t answer, didn’t know how.

  “Do not worry,” the duke continued. “He growls, but he does not bite.”

  Observing him carefully, Rosabel again detected a faint twinkle in his eyes as though he was jesting with her. “What makes you say that?”

  The duke laughed. “The sour countenance he cannot seem to shake.” His eyes turned to his friend, still sitting in his seat at the table, scowl still on his face. “I believe I am not revealing a secret by stating that he does not yet appreciate your becoming his wife, but−,” His eyes sought hers with an intensity that made her catch her breath, “But he will. Give him time.”

  Feeling herself nod, Rosabel was tempted to ask why on earth his friend had chosen her for his bride if so obviously he did not want her. But she didn’t. The words wouldn’t come. After all, it was not proper to ask such a question, and besides it would neither change the fact that she now was married to a man who did not want her.

  Not long after the sun had taken its leave for the night, most of the guests departed, once again offering their congratulations to the happy couple. Her uncle and his family were the last to leave. After a few curt words from them, Rosabel turned to Ellie, clinging to her as though afraid to drown. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” she whispered, squeezing her cousin’s hand in a way that had her sinews stand out white.
“I wish I didn’t have to stay.”

  An apologetic smile on her face, Ellie drew her into an embrace. “Do not worry. Nothing is ever as bad as it might seem at first. Who knows? He may be the most gentle of men, and it’s only large crowds that make him uncomfortable.” She stepped back and looked into Rosabel’s eyes. “I am certain everything will turn out all right. Have faith.”

  Rosabel nodded, but her cousin’s words seemed a hopeful wish at best, and deep down she did not believe them to be true.

  After waving their goodbyes, her uncle’s carriage soon vanished from sight, and when the door closed, Rosabel turned around…and was alone with her new husband. Swallowing hard, she raised her chin and looked at him, waiting for him to give her any clue as to what would happen next.

  For a second he held her gaze, though she felt like he was looking right through her at something only he could see. Then he cleared his throat and rang the bell to call the housekeeper. “Mary will show you to your room,” was all he said before he turned around and, without a look back, walked away in the direction of his study.

  Rosabel remained alone in the dimly lit hall until a middle-aged woman appeared and begged her to follow. Walking up the winding staircase, they turned to the east wing, walked down a long darkened hallway, decorated with landscape artistry, until the maid stopped before a heavy-set door. Gesturing to the left at a door farther down the hall, she said, “This is the master suite.” Then, without any further remarks, she opened the door to Rosabel’s new bedchamber.

  Were the circumstances different, Rosabel would have enjoyed the simple, yet, elegant furnishings of the room. The windows looked to the east, so she would be able to wake with the sun. A four-posted bed stood at the back wall. Smooth rugs were laid out across the floor, leading up to two armchairs sitting snugly under the bay windows. She would have felt at home here. If only.