The morning of the wedding dawned grey and softly raining, which felt appropriate somehow. Celine dressed with mechanical precision, her hands steady though her thoughts whirled. The dove-grey gown fit perfectly, the pearls lay cool at her throat, and the reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger—pale, composed, eerily calm.
“You look beautiful,” Anne said softly. “Like a heroine of some old romance.”
“Romances end happily,” Lucy murmured, adjusting Celine’s veil. “This feels more like a cautionary tale.”
“Lucy,” their mother warned.
“It’s all right,” Celine said. “She isn’t wrong. Though cautionary tales have their uses. They remind us of choices, consequences… and the prices we pay for what we want.”
“And what do you want?” Lucy asked.
Celine paused. What did she want? Security, certainly. Safety for her family. Freedom from the gnawing dread of poverty. But beneath that, something else stirred—curiosity, perhaps. Or something more perilous.
“I suppose I’ll find out,” she said at last.
The Duke’s carriage arrived precisely at nine, as promised. A magnificent vehicle of black lacquer bearing the Rothwest arms, drawn by four matched greys. The interior was dark leather and velvet—more luxurious than anything Celine had ever known.
“At least you’ll be comfortable in your captivity,” Lucy muttered, running her hand along the upholstery.
The journey to St George’s passed in silence save for the rain tapping against the windows. Celine found herself counting the droplets racing down the glass—a childhood game that now felt like marking the last minutes of her former life.
The church was nearly empty. The Duke had been true to his word: only family and the required witnesses. He stood at the altar in severe black, looking like a particularly elegant undertaker. When he turned to watch her approach, his expression revealed nothing.
She walked alone—her father had offered to give her away, but she had refused. If she was choosing this, she would choose it under her own power.
The ceremony was brief, the vows familiar. Celine heard herself promising to love, honour, and obey—words that felt brittle in her mouth. When it came time for the ring, the Duke produced a band of white gold set with diamonds and dark sapphires—unusual, bold, nothing like the plain gold of most brides.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” he said, sliding it onto her finger. His touch was brief, almost clinical, yet her skin burned where his fingers had been.
Then the vicar was pronouncing them husband and wife, and the Duke stepped toward her for the customary acknowledgement. She braced herself, though she wasn’t sure for what—coldness, indifference, some inscrutable gesture of possession.
What she received was control.
He lowered his head and pressed a single, deliberate kiss to her forehead—light, brief, but so startlingly intimate her breath caught. The touch lasted no more than a moment, yet her skin tingled as though he had marked her.
It was a gesture that promised nothing… and threatened everything.
When he straightened, his eyes held hers, and she saw that banked heat again, swiftly shuttered.
“My lady wife,” he murmured, low enough for only her to hear.
“My husband,” she replied, surprised by the steadiness of her own voice.
He offered his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her back down the aisle. Behind them, her family followed—Lucy sniffling despite her bravado, Anne openly crying, her mother stiff with composure, her father looking like a man who had just watched his daughter walk into a dragon’s lair.
Which, Celine supposed, was not entirely inaccurate.
Outside the church, a second carriage waited for her family. The Duke handed her mother in first, then her sisters.
“The house remains yours,” he told her father quietly. “The papers were filed this morning. Your debts are cleared.”
“I… thank you, Your Grace.” Her father’s voice was thick with equal parts shame and relief.
“Don’t thank me. I’ve gained far more than I’ve given.” His gaze shifted to Celine. “Shall we, wife?”
Wife.
The word sent an unexpected shiver through her. She was his wife now—irrevocably, for better or for worse.
