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She dropped her chin. “What about the letter you sent to me, confirming your desire to wed?”

Charles stared. “That-that was entirely different. Satirical.”

“Satire, truth-stretching,” Father began,” it is all one in the same.”

That settled it. Charles really was the only sane one left in this world. Did they not think he deserved an apology? Simple understanding? Compassion, even? Obviously, they did not. Obviously, they took Marie’s side in all of this.

Heavens above. Was he jealous of the woman now?

He held his hands on his head, as if to keep his thoughts from bursting out around him.

“I cannot imagine how you even came to choose her for me,” he said. “Yes, she is gorgeous. As perfect as a portrait. I’ll credit you for that. But I care not for that or for her many accomplishments as much as I care about how I am now shackled for the rest of my life with the last woman I ever would have chosen to marry.”

Marie had thought what she’d needed was to be alone, to rest. But being within the confines of her new bedchamber with only her thoughts for companions—with Charles no doubt resting peacefully a mere door-width’s away—she could not find respite.

Instead of attempting to force herself to sleep, Marie left her chamber behind and went in search of Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd, as she always enjoyed their company.

She wandered down the corridor, reaching the bottom step of the grand staircase. Grendale Manor was much larger than Westburn House and her family home in Somerset—the home they left in order to travel across England in an attempt to find Marie a husband. How strange it was to imagine that one day, she would be mistress here.

Mistress with Charles as the master.

Childish Charlie.

She smiled to herself, heading toward the drawing room. She’d concocted the little name for him after reaching her bedchamber. It suited him rather well.

Her footsteps were soft as she reached the carpeted corridor leading toward the drawing room, and her ears perked as she heard voices coming from within.

Blast. Charles was not asleep in his bedchamber after all. He was arguing with his parents, by the sound of it.

Marie turned directly around, not wishing to intrude. But more than that, she knew listening to Charles’s grumbling would certainly not deliver the rest she so desired.

“A relationship between me and that woman does not stand a chance.”

Marie’s footsteps froze. She slowly turned to face the closed doorway of the drawing room, the voices slipping out beneath the crack at the bottom.

“She has clearly chosen to begin our marriage with deception,” Charles continued. “Lying to me about what she does and does not like, boasting about her accomplishments, refusing to reveal who she truly is. It would not surprise me if I soon learned that she is the one who has orchestrated this entire affair.”

Marie frowned. Leave it to Childish Charlie to even concoct such a preposterous proposition. She would have told him earlier how desperately she had not wanted the marriage to occur, but she hadn’t wished to offend him.

Obviously, he did not share the same concern.

“She did nothing of the sort, Charles,” Mrs. Shepherd said, her voice sharper than Marie had ever heard. “This was my doing more than anyone’s, and with your father’s staunch approval, I moved forward. Marie did not express a single desire or inkling to marry you until after she read your letter.”

Marie raised a triumphant chin. What do you think about that, Childish Charlie?

“That blasted letter,” he growled. “Would that I had never written it. I should have known you’d take your imaginings and run wild with them. You’ve been badgering me for years to meet with her. Little did I know I’d have less in common with her than I do a debutante!”

“I don’t know, son,” his father piped in. “Debutantes can be quite demanding, too.”

Marie pressed a hand against her lips before a laugh could slip out. Silence followed, and she could only imagine the scowl on Charles’s features as his parents no doubt beamed with amusement.

“You will find what you have in common, Charles, in time,” Mrs. Shepherd said. “It may take work, but⁠—”

“I do not wish to work to find what I have in common with my wife.” His voice lowered to the point where she could hear just a whisper of sorrow. “I wanted a marriage filled with love from the first day to the last.”

Marie’s heart twisted. The pain hidden beneath all of his sharp words was apparent. She had longed for the very same but had given up hope the moment she’d read Charles’s letter. Her parents had encouraged her to pursue the marriage, but ultimately, it had been her choice.

But Charles had been given very little choice at all—destroy a woman’s reputation or ruin his future. And he’d chosen her.