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“I know,” Charles said. “But a ball sounds rather dreary right now. And I’m exhausted from my travels. Perhaps I will simply take refuge in my bedchamber this evening and retire early.”

The Shepherds exchanged concerned glances. Marie caught his gaze, his eyes holding a challenge she couldn’t begin to understand. Was this his way of saying he wished to retire with her or without her?

She hoped it was the latter, for at this rate, there was nothing on this earth that would prompt her to keep her side of their bedchamber unlocked.

But not attending the ball that evening? She could certainly support that idea. She hadn’t wanted to go anyway. Lying to all in attendance about her supposed love for her new husband was becoming more and more unappealing by every turn of the carriage’s wheels.

Still, she would never hear the end of it if she didn’t make an appearance that evening. Father would be furious, and Mother and the Shepherds, disappointed.

“You must go, Charles,” Mrs. Shepherd said with a smile, clearly attempting a more cheerful approach than before. “This will be your first appearance as man and wife, a celebration.”

“That is just the thing, Mother. I do not feel as if there is much to celebrate.”

Marie’s tolerance of his childishness vanished. Of all the despicable ways to behave. The man was a complete reprobate.

“Charles, where are your manners?” Mother asked, shame in her tone.

“You are required to go, son,” Mr. Shepherd said next. “You gave your word.”

Charles moved his attention out the window, his jaw working ever harder. “Very well. If I must, I must. I will go to the ball, be on my best behavior, and ensure everyone believes our marriage to be one of love.” He glanced at Marie. “However difficult that may be.”

“I’m certain you’ll find the strength you need to carry on, son,” his father said threateningly.

Charles didn’t respond. Marie pretended not to notice Mrs. Shepherd’s apologetic smile in her direction. She was finished conversing. She was finished trying to get to know Charles and pretending to be happy with this arrangement.

All the Shepherds had said for months was how happy Marie would be with Charles, how much they had in common, and how wonderfully he would treat her.

Thus far, not a single one of their promises had been true. All Marie could think of was how terribly she’d been duped. And all for what? For their parents to get what they wished.

This marriage was not what she wanted. Not anymore.

Charles remained in the drawing room for a half hour after the carriage had arrived at Grendale, waiting for Mother and Father to join him for their customary cups of tea his parents always took after journeys.

They were showing Marie her new living quarters—and taking their sweet time doing so. Charles supposed he could have joined them. After all, his bedchamber would be new to him, too. But if he had to spend another moment with that conniving, sneaking, lying Marie Oakley Shepherd, he was going to truly unbridle his tongue.

He paced the room back and forth, his boots thumping between the wooden flooring and the red rug in the center of the space. He’d always felt quite comfortable in this room, its golden walls, white hearth, and red chairs warm and inviting. But now, all he could think of was how this space was to be shared from this day forward with his wife, whom he could barely tolerate.

He fisted his hands, attempting to dispel any pent-up frustration as he rehearsed the words he’d say, all about how he’d been tricked into this marriage, how he and Marie had nothing in common, and—worse than anything—how she’d lied in the carriage.

“Charles?” Father said as he and Mother, sure enough, entered the room a moment later. “What are you doing here?”

“We thought you’d wished to rest,” Mother said.

“I do. But I must speak with you both first.”

His parents exchanged looks, as if to give one another strength.

“Very well,” Father said. “Sit with us, please.”

“I am happy to stand, thank you.”

Neither of them responded. Both were used to Charles’s desire to always be moving in some form or another.

His parents sat down, sighing deeply before facing him with weary looks and motioning for him to begin.

So Charles did. As soon as the tea had been delivered and the servants had departed, Charles released everything as calmly as he could—how injured he had been, how unfair the situation was, and how frustrated he was with the entire affair. He expressed how they must not know him at all, for they never otherwise would have assumed his letter was in earnest—nor matched him to a female so unlike himself.

Throughout it all, his parents remained silent, which he was grateful for, as any defense on their part would have been rendered moot. This was, after all, entirely their doing.