Page 12 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

“I find that I cannot eat as well when there is so much on my mind.”

“I understand. Turmoil seems to have that effect on most. Listen to the conversation. Let it lull your nerves. I’m sure you’ll find your appetite soon returned.”

He does not eat. Not until I do the same. Even from across the table, he coaxes me to put food in my body, fueling me up. No words need be said. Not when his commanding presence comes across the table as if his hands are there, feeding me himself.

Bite by bite, I fill myself up, forcing food into my empty stomach. Around me, the others eat with hearty gusto, not at all noticing how Norhaven’s eyes never leave me. It’s as if we are in our own world even though we are surrounded by all his family. It’s intimate, far too intimate for words.

Finally, Norhaven breaks his gaze and turns to his mother. “In which room did you put Miss Campbell?”

Sophia sets down her spoon and tilts her head. “Why would that be of any consequence?”

“I simply want to make sure her stay is pleasant and due a woman of her rising station.”

His mother chuckles as she dabs at the corner of her lips with her napkin. “Really, Charles. As if I would shove poor Miss Campbell upstairs with the servants.”

“No,” he muses as he stabs his fork into his meat. “But some rooms here are nicer than others.”

She chuckles again. “Miss Campbell, do you find any objection to your room?”

“Certainly not, Your Grace.” I stumble through my words as I take a sip of my claret. “In fact, the blues on the wall seem to mirror the flowers outside the window with such precision.”

The dowager duchess gives her head a firm nod before turning back to Norhaven. “There now. You see? She is quite well and happy with her accommodations.”

“You have certainly given her a lovely room, Mother.”

“Did you expect less?”

“No, but it does my heart good to see her in such finery while she prepares for the dregs of Henhaven.”

“Charles,” his mother chides. “Do not scare the poor girl.”

“What?” I ask, all desire for food forgotten. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“She deserves to know, Mother. She’s marrying the man.”

“Then that is for him to reveal,” she hisses. “Do not stir trouble where none needs to be meddled with.” She turns to me, a soft smile tilting her lips. “Pay him no mind, Miss Campbell. I’m sure you will make his house a wonderful home.”

The food blurs in front of me as I hold a napkin to my lips. Reality comes crashing in as I sit there, unable to see, unable to blink, unable to breathe, and certainly unable to think.

“Cynthia?” Penelope asks as she lays her hand on my arm. “Are you well?”

“I- I think I need to lie down,” I manage to rasp out as I push away from the table.

“But your food!” Georgiana cries out. “Cook has made such a lovely cake.”

At the mention of cake, my stomach rebels. Cake. Twelfth Night. The bean and pea. The first time I ever saw Norhaven in all his manly glory. The first time I had hope that I could possibly mean enough to him to be his bride.

It’s too much. It’s all too much.

Clutching my stomach, I move from the table, winding my way through the home I know so well, the one that’s been my place of comfort but is now a hell filled with nothing but torment.

“Should I go after her?” I hear Penelope ask through the buzzing in my brain.

“No, my dear. She needs to be alone for a bit. Give her some time. She’ll come around. Soon, she’ll be the friend you knew and loved. Just let her grieve. Let her have this moment of peace.”

Peace. As if I will ever get any peace once I’m Henhaven’s wife. Dregs of Henhaven. Charles’s voice pounds in my head just as surely as my heart pulses in my brain. In only a few weeks, I am to be a bride.

I will run a house that is not my own.