The Duke watched her as she slowly walked down the aisle towards him. His expression was plain, no emotion whatsoever. Did he think that she looked beautiful? Was he regretting what had happened? Did he have any thoughts at all?
At least he does not appear upset. I suppose that is something…
When Ophelia reached the altar, she stood with her father, as was proper. The priest began the ceremony, his tone low, no emotion or force behind it. Again, it was as if this was a business meeting, and he was reading through a contract.
Is this what my life is set to become? I might have avoided being involved in another scandal, but surely that would not be nearly so bad as this…
It was becoming harder and harder for Ophelia to convince herself that this was the best option available to her. It had sounded like it at the time. The Duke saving her. Her name andreputation intact… or at least not as ruined as it could be. But what was the point if her life was not worth living?
More than once, Ophelia looked at her soon-to-be husband, searching for any proof at all that there was something in this marriage to look forward to. And she did not even want to fall in love with him! She just wanted…something. Anything to give me hope.
She could only guess that he was doing his best not to look at her. He stared ahead, a gaze that looked just over her shoulder, a furrow in his brow that made it seem as if he struggled with a thought that he could not make sense of.
And yet… every now and then, she would catch his blue eyes flick toward her. It was always quick. Even then, he did not let any emotion pass behind his eyes. And then, he was back to looking away.
But what of two nights ago with that loose thread… There had been something there… something unexpected and real.
The priest’s words washed over Ophelia as she recalled that moment. Since meeting the Duke, Ophelia had tried to discover who he really was and what he wanted. His coldness and his anger always felt a little forced to her, as if he felt that was how he had to act. But when he had plucked that thread loose, and when his eyes had drifted to her lips and held them, there was a brief moment when she had seen through his hardened outer shell. She had seen… truly, Ophelia could not say.
Just as she could not say how it made her feel. Her heart had raced. Her body had trembled. But was that from surprise, or something else?
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest announced suddenly.
The announcement dragged Ophelia back into the room. She started to brace herself for a moment that she did not consider. What would the Duke do? What did she want him to do?
Trembling, she looked right at the Duke and waited for his eyes to find her own. They did so, something passed behind them, and he reached forward and took her hand. But his touch was awkward; it was not a firm grip, and she knew that was all that she might get from him today.
The crowd clapped appropriately. Ophelia saw her father beam. But the Duke did not offer so much as a smile.
And there it is, I am officially married, and it feels even less important than I had thought it would.
After that, the crowd slowly rose and began to gather at the base of the altar as they came to congratulate the couple. The Duke strode forward to meet them, leaving Ophelia, his wife, behind.
“He is a cold fish, isn’t he?” a voice spoke from beside her.
Ophelia started and turned to find the Duke’s friend looking at her. He had a long face and thin lips but his black eyes wore a coy smirk as if he was in on a joke that nobody else understood. There was something cold about the man, distant and detached. Not quite as much as the Duke, but still noticeable.
“I did ask that Vermont introduce us before the wedding,” the man said in a drawl. “But he showed little interest.” He scoffed. “Not that such a thing should be a surprise. The only time I have ever seen the man interested in anything is when…” He frowned and chuckled. “Actually, I cannot think of a single instance at all.”
Ophelia had no idea what to say.
“Duke Northcliff,” he said as he reached down and took her hand without asking. “But you may call me Rupert as my friends do. Seeing as you and Vermont are wed, we are now friends, yes?”
“I…” She cleared her throat. “Yes, that would be lovely.”
“Wonderful,” he said, still holding her hand. “Now, I know better than most the peculiarities and proclivities of your husband, just as I know how lonely life with him will likely be.” He chuckled as if he had made a joke. “So, if you need anything at all… I may call you Ophelia, yes?”
She blinked. “Please.”
“Ophelia…” He squeezed her hand and held her eyes. “If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask it of me.”
“Thank you,” she said slowly. “That is very kind.”
Indeed, the man’s words were kind, but there was something about the way he said them that sounded false to Ophelia. She could not say why exactly, only that he appeared the type who said nice things because he knew that he must, and not because he believed them.
“Rupert…” A dark voice spoke from over Rupert’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
Rupert’s eyes lit up and he turned and flashed a smile at the Duke. “Ah, Vermont. I was just becoming acquainted with your dear wife. I might have waited for you to do the honors, but I likely would have starved to death first.”
