Stolen by the Cursed Duke (Stolen by the Duke #3)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

“ Y our fiancé, My Lady. Lord Kinfield.” Polly stopped and turned to face her, her cheeks flushing.

“My fiancé?” Charlotte repeated, rising to her feet. A knot began to tighten in her chest. “Polly, what are you talking about?”

The maid fidgeted nervously, clasping her hands in front of her apron. “I thought you knew, My Lady. It’s been the talk of London for days now. Lord Kinfield has been seen at several events, hinting that he’s reached an understanding with your family.”

Charlotte stared at her, her mind racing. “I haven’t reached an understanding with anyone,” she said firmly. “And I certainly haven’t agreed to marry Lord Kinfield. What on earth gave you that idea?”

Polly hesitated then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“It’s in the gossip sheets, My Lady,” she said, her voice almost apologetic.

She held it out to Charlotte, avoiding her gaze.

Charlotte took the sheet, her stomach twisting with a mix of anger and disbelief. Unfolding it, she scanned the article, her eyes catching on the familiar swirl of her name.

A New Match for the Earl’s Daughter? it read. Sources close to Lord Kinfield suggest that a betrothal to Lady Charlotte Shelton may soon be announced. With her beauty and wit, she would make a fine addition to his household though this writer remembers keenly Lady Charlotte’s extended trip to France. It’s such things that lead to whispers of her rebellious nature, leaving some to wonder if she is much of a lady at all.

Charlotte’s hands tightened on the sheet, crumpling the edges. “This is absurd,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Lord Kinfield has no right to make such claims.”

Polly bit her lip. “Perhaps it’s just rumors, My Lady. These sheets aren’t always truthful, you know.”

Charlotte didn’t wait another moment.

She crumpled the sheet in her hand then marched back down the stairs, straight into the drawing room.

“What now?” her father said, his tone moaning and discontented.

“ What is this ?” Charlotte bellowed, dropping the offending paper onto the low table in front of her father.

The sheet unfurled, revealing the scandalous headline about her supposed engagement to Lord Kinfield.

Lord Shelton raised a brow, peering down at the scandal sheet with an air of casual indifference.

“Why, your engagement announcement, my dear,” he said, his voice mild. “Why are you so cross? Have they misspelled your name?”

Charlotte stared at him, her disbelief quickly morphing into a new wave of anger. “What on earth are you talking about? What engagement? What is going on?”

Her mother looked up from her embroidery, her gaze cool and appraising.

“Don’t shout, Charlotte. It’s unbecoming,” Lady Shelton said, as if that were the greatest of her concerns.

“It is true, then?” Charlotte demanded, turning her attention to her father. “You have betrothed me to Lord Kinfield without even consulting me?”

Lord Shelton leaned back in his chair, the picture of unconcerned authority. “There’s no need for all this fuss. It’s a fine match. Kinfield is well-connected, and his estate is substantial. You’ll be quite comfortable.”

Her mother gave a small nod of agreement, her hands deftly stitching as though they were discussing nothing more consequential than the weather.

“Really, Charlotte, why are you acting like this? It’s most unbecoming of a young lady engaged to be married.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlotte said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps my corset is too tight today. Or perhaps it’s that I am engaged, and I am the last one to find out about it!”

Lady Shelton’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. “Surely we told you three days ago at tea,” she said, glancing at her husband for confirmation.

Charlotte let out an incredulous laugh. “Three days ago at tea? What tea, Mother? I hadn’t even arrived from France yet!”

Her parents exchanged a shrug as if this detail were entirely irrelevant.

“Oh well, it must have been your sister we told,” Lord Shelton said, waving a hand dismissively. “What difference does it make? The arrangement is done. You should be pleased, my dear, that I have managed to secure such a fortuitous match for you.”

“Pleased?” Charlotte repeated, her voice rising. “How could I possibly be pleased when I have had no say in the matter? You have handed me over like some… some parcel to be bartered!”

Her father sighed, rubbing his temples as though her protestations were a personal inconvenience. “Charlotte, you’re being dramatic.”

“Enough,” Lady Shelton snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. “You will marry Lord Kinfield. This childish outburst serves no purpose.”

Charlotte’s mouth opened to argue, but her mother raised a hand to silence her.

“I will not tolerate any more defiance. You have already caused enough trouble for this family. From now on, you will remain in your room except for meals or social outings. William!” she called, and a footman appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Ensure that Lady Charlotte’s door is locked. She is to remain there unless I say otherwise.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am entirely serious,” Lady Shelton replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You have a tendency to run off when you don’t get your way, and I won’t risk you doing something foolish to jeopardize this engagement.”

Louisa, who had been lingering nervously by the doorway, stepped forward. “Mother, surely that’s unnecessary! Charlotte’s just upset?—”

“Louisa,” Lady Shelton interrupted sharply. “Do not meddle in matters that don’t concern you. Your sister has made her bed; she must lie in it.”

Louisa’s cheeks flushed, but she bit her lip and stepped back, casting Charlotte a sympathetic glance.

“Furthermore,” Lady Shelton continued, “you will accompany me to every event from now on, Charlotte. You will smile, behave, and ensure that no one has cause to suspect anything improper. Do I make myself clear?”

Charlotte swallowed hard, the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her.

“Fine,” she said, her voice taut with barely restrained anger. “If I must endure this farce, may I at least visit Lavinia?”

Lady Shelton’s expression hardened further. “Absolutely not. It would be highly improper to impose on the newlyweds.”

“She is my best friend?—”

“And you will respect her new station,” Lady Shelton interrupted. “You will not visit her, secretly or otherwise. Do not test me, Charlotte.”

Charlotte clenched her fists, biting back the torrent of words threatening to spill from her lips.

Instead, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room, her heart pounding with both fury and despair.

The door was locked, as per her mother’s orders, and Charlotte could hear the faint murmurs of the household bustling below, a world that now felt far removed from her own.

I should never have left Thornvale.

She stared at the blank sheet of paper before her, the quill trembling in her hand.

Finally, she dipped the quill into the inkwell and began to write.

Dearest Lavinia,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and, more importantly, in good spirits. I must admit, I am writing to you with a heavy heart and an even heavier sense of failure. You must know that I tried—truly, I tried—to stop your wedding. Had circumstances been different, perhaps I could have succeeded. But alas, the world often conspires against us when we most wish to act.

That said, I cannot help but worry about you. I fear for what lies ahead, knowing the character of your new husband. Should you ever find yourself in need of a friend, of assistance, or even of escape, please know that I am here for you.

I will not intrude upon your newfound life, but I beg of you to write to me. Tell me you are well, my friend. I would endure anything to hear from you.

Your loyal friend,

Charlotte

Charlotte read the letter over twice, her heart aching with every line.

She couldn’t bring herself to mention the Duke of Thornvale—or the whirlwind of emotions he had stirred within her. Nor could she bring herself to confess the engagement her parents had thrust upon her. This was about Lavinia, she reminded herself. Not her own tangled mess of a life.

Folding the letter carefully, she sealed it with wax and set it aside to be sent in the morning.

She leaned back in her chair, exhaling deeply, and allowed herself to think of the Duke for the first time since she’d stormed out of the drawing room.

It was impossible not to. His piercing gaze, the way his strong hands had held her, the feel of his lips against hers—it all came rushing back with a force that made her pulse quicken.

He’s a brute , she reminded herself, trying to temper the heat rising in her chest. A cold, arrogant, insufferable brute who cares for no one but himself.

Even as she chastised herself, her thoughts betrayed her, wandering back to the fire in his eyes, the way his voice dipped when he was angry, the way her name sounded on his lips. Her cheeks burned, and she pressed her hands to her face in frustration.

“This is madness,” she whispered to herself. “He is nothing to me.”

Yet the memory of him lingered, and no matter how hard she tried to push it away, it only seemed to grow stronger, filling the quiet of her room with an undeniable, infuriating longing.

With a groan, Charlotte pushed away from the desk and crossed the room to her bed, collapsing onto it with a huff.

The soft linens offered little comfort, and as she stared up at the canopy overhead, she silently cursed Duke of Thornvale for haunting her thoughts so completely.