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

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

T he chapel was a modest one, its high ceilings and stained-glass windows casting soft, muted colors over the small gathering. The air was thick with tension, every whispered breath and rustling fabric amplified in the hushed space.

Magnus stood at the altar, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, his face impassive. This was not how he had envisioned his wedding day. Then again, he had never envisioned one at all. But what choice had he had?

The sparse crowd seated on the polished wooden pews was a stark reminder of how hastily this had been arranged.

Lady Shelton sat stiffly at the front, her expression carefully neutral though she dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.

Lavinia and Christian, seated beside Lady Clifton and Lady Galbury, exchanged furtive glances. Christian offered him a subtle nod of encouragement though Magnus barely acknowledged it. His focus was on the heavy silence in the room and the weight of the moment.

Aren’t weddings supposed to be happy occasions?

The sound of soft footsteps drew his attention, and Magnus turned his head slightly.

Lady Charlotte appeared at the entrance of the chapel, her small figure framed by the carved archway.

Her father, stiff and unemotional, stood next to her.

Charlotte’s gown was simple, made of fine cream silk with no excessive embellishments, but it clung to her form in a way that demanded his attention. Her auburn hair was pinned neatly at the back of her head with only a few tendrils escaping to brush against her neck.

Her eyes, however, were what held him captive. She wasn’t crying, but they were full of emotion.

She was beautiful and spirited, and she deserved so much more than a quick wedding to get out of a scandal. She had not even done anything wrong to deserve such a punishment. Neither of them had. He had merely saved her from perishing in a storm.

She walked forward slowly, her steps steady despite the tremor he could sense in her.

When they finally reached him, Lord Shelton let his daughter go and went to sit with his wife.

There was so much he wanted to say to her. So many ways he wanted to make it better. And yet at the same time, the family curse swirled around in his mind, his father’s warning not to trust any woman.

Was he now passing that curse on to Charlotte? To their children? His eyes darkened at the thought.

There will be no children.

The clergyman cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

Magnus barely listened. His attention was fixed on the woman beside him, her rigid posture, and the way her hands clenched the fabric of her gown.

She was nervous, yes, but he could see it went deeper than that. She was fighting something—him, the situation, perhaps herself.

“Do you, Magnus Hurston, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the clergyman asked.

Magnus turned to her fully, his voice steady, though his throat felt tight.

“I do.”

The words echoed in the chamber, final and unyielding.

The clergyman turned to Charlotte. “And do you, Charlotte Hargrove, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Magnus felt the pause more keenly than he expected. Time seemed to stretch as she lifted her chin, finally meeting his gaze.

Her eyes searched his, as if daring him to flinch. He half expected her to come back with some quick-witted retorted, some sarcastic put-down such as she was famous for.

But she didn’t.

“I do,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

The clergyman nodded and continued with the vows. Magnus repeated his part with precision, each word falling like a stone into a still pond.

“To have and to hold, from this day forward,” he said, his tone low and monotonous. “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…”

He paused, his voice softening just slightly. “…to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

His gaze remained locked on hers, daring her to look away. She didn’t.

When it was her turn, Charlotte hesitated again. A faint color rose to her cheeks that gave her a look of sweet innocence, but she spoke her vows with surprising clarity, her voice steady despite the fire in her eyes.

Magnus felt something stir within him as he watched her. It wasn’t triumph, exactly, nor was it satisfaction. It was something deeper, darker—pride and an inexplicable ache.

She belongs to me now.

The realization sent a lightning bolt down his body—a bolt of arousal.

For Christ’s sake, Thornvale. Not in a church.

“With the power vested in me,” the clergyman intoned, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Magnus turned to her as if on instinct, stepping closer. He could feel the heat of her body, the tension radiating from her like a tightly coiled spring. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. Her fingers were cold against his, but she didn’t pull away.

The murmured congratulations that followed felt distant and insignificant. Magnus turned to face the small group, his expression unreadable.

When the ceremony concluded, he leaned toward her, his voice low. “Go and greet your family,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll be leaving very soon.”

Charlotte looked up at him, her lips parting as if she wanted to respond, but whatever words she’d intended to say died unspoken. She nodded once, stiffly, before stepping away from him.

Magnus watched her go, his chest tightening.

He wondered whether the feisty young lady he had once stopped from ruining a wedding would ever return or whether the event had turned her into this meek thing forever.

He hoped she would return—for his sake as much as for her own.

Magnus stood near the chapel’s doorway, half-obscured by a marble pillar, his sharp gaze fixed on Charlotte—his wife —as she moved toward her family. Her steps were measured, her chin high though he could sense the stiffness in her shoulders. She was bracing herself.

Lady Shelton was the first to react, rushing forward with a lace handkerchief pressed dramatically to her face. Her sobs echoed faintly in the quiet chapel, drawing the attention of even those who weren’t inclined to notice.

“Oh, Charlotte!” Lady Shelton wailed, clutching at her daughter’s hands. “What a relief this ordeal is finally over. To think of the scandal—avoided, yes, but barely!”

She dabbed at her eyes before continuing, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that Magnus could still hear.

“Married to a duke… but of all the dukes in England, it had to be the cursed one!”

Charlotte’s lips tightened, her calm facade threatening to crack, but she held her composure, nodding faintly as her mother rambled on.

Lord Shelton approached next, his gait slow and deliberate, his expression impassive. When he spoke, his voice was curt, practical, and devoid of any warmth.

“Now that you’re a duchess, see that you act like one,” he said. “You have caused enough trouble for one lifetime, Charlotte. This family cannot afford further embarrassment.”

Charlotte blinked, clearly taken aback by the bluntness, but she quickly schooled her features. “Yes, Father,” she said, her voice even.

Magnus noted the way her hands clenched at her sides, the only visible sign of her frustration.

With a family like that, it is no wonder she is the way she is.

The cold indifference of her parents was tempered only by the warmth of an adolescent girl. The girl darted forward, wrapping her arms around Charlotte in a tight hug that Magnus could see caught her off guard.

“Oh, sister!” the girl said, her voice a hushed whisper as her tears wet Charlotte’s shoulder. “I shall miss you ever so much! I must put up with Reggie alone now!”

Charlotte’s expression softened for the first time, and Magnus could see the genuine affection between the two sisters.

She murmured something in reply to her young sister, her tone soothing though Magnus couldn’t catch the words.

Lady Clifton followed, moving with her usual grace and elegance though Magnus noticed the faint lines of worry etched into her features. She placed a hand on Charlotte’s arm, squeezing it gently.

“My dear, remember what I told you,” Lady Clifton said, her voice low but steady. “There is always a way.”

Charlotte nodded, her eyes glistening as she replied, “Thank you, Grandmother.”

Lavinia stepped forward next, her smile warm and genuine as she enveloped Charlotte in a brief but heartfelt hug. “I will write to you,” Lavinia promised, her voice quiet but full of meaning. “Anything you need, Charlotte. You’re not alone.”

Magnus noted the way Charlotte’s shoulders seemed to relax, if only slightly, at her friend’s words.

“Thank you, my friend,” she murmured. “That means more than you know.”

A young man about the age of twenty-five was the last to approach, his grin crooked and mischievous as he looked his sister up and down.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing. “The mighty duchess. Shall I bow before you now or wait until you have grown accustomed to your lofty new title, sister?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes, a small smile breaking through her otherwise solemn demeanor.

“Don’t ever change, Reggie.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. “If he gives you trouble, just send word. I shall bring the cavalry.”

Charlotte’s smile grew wider, and for a moment, the tension in her frame seemed to ease.

“Thank you, Reggie,” she said, her voice soft.

Magnus watched the exchange from his post, keeping his expression neutral. The contrast between her siblings’ warmth and her parents’ calculated coldness wasn’t lost on him. It was clear who valued her for herself and who viewed her as a mere pawn in their social ambitions.

As Charlotte turned back toward him, her eyes briefly met his. There was a flicker of something there—gratitude, perhaps, or resignation—then she made her way toward the waiting carriage.

Magnus turned his attention to the others who lingered in the chapel, his mind already turning over the many challenges that lay ahead..

Lady Galbury approached him first, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief as always. Christian followed close behind, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“Congratulations, Magnus,” Lady Galbury said, her voice as smooth and measured as ever. “A small affair but elegant, nonetheless. Exactly as I’d expect from you.”

Magnus only inclined his head in response.

“And to think,” she continued, tilting her head, “you, of all people, finally bound by matrimony. I confess, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

Christian chuckled, stepping forward and clasping Magnus on the shoulder.

“I couldn’t agree more, Lady Galbury,” he told Magnus’ aunt and then turned to him. “Congratulations, old friend. I daresay you looked more nervous up there than I did at my own wedding.”

Magnus shot him a glare. “Hardly.”

“Oh, come now,” Christian said, his grin widening. “What was it you told me when I was about to marry Lavinia? Ah, yes: Marriage is a battlefield. Tread carefully, or you’ll find yourself on the losing side before the fight’s even begun .”

Lady Galbury let out a soft laugh, clearly delighted by the exchange, while Magnus’ expression darkened.

He narrowed his eyes at Christian, his voice low and cutting. “And yet, here you are, still very much alive. Perhaps I overestimated the risks.”

Christian raised a brow, unfazed by Magnus’ tone. “And perhaps you’ll find the battlefield more rewarding than you imagined.” He clapped Magnus’ shoulder again, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Though something tells me your bride will give you quite the challenge.”

Magnus’s jaw tightened, and he straightened his posture. “If you’re quite done, Arkley, I believe my attention is needed elsewhere.”

Christian chuckled again but stepped back, clearly enjoying himself. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your lovely wife.”

Lady Galbury smirked, her sharp gaze flicking between the two men.

“Do play nicely, Magnus,” she said lightly. “You wouldn’t want to start your marriage on the wrong foot.”

Magnus shot her a look but said nothing, instead turning his attention toward the carriage where Charlotte was waiting.

His footsteps were deliberate as he made his way forward, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders. There would be no wedding breakfast which only added to the somber feeling of the day.

The carriage rumbled forward, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestones filling the tense silence. Charlotte sat rigid, her hands folded tightly in her lap, while Magnus leaned back against the seat, his posture casual but his eyes sharp as they watched the scenery pass outside.