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

Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

“ Y our Grace!” Lady Galbury swept into the room, her blue brocade gown rustling with each purposeful step. “You look well, my dear. I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion, but I had to come. Your abrupt departure from the ball last night left me quite concerned.”

It was later that afternoon when Lady Galbury arrived at Thornvale, her carriage wheels crunching against the gravel drive announcing her presence before she even stepped foot inside.

Charlotte adjusted her gown, smoothing non-existent creases as she waited for the butler to bring her guest into the drawing room where she was reading. Magnus had retreated to his study earlier, leaving Charlotte to her own devices.

Charlotte offered a practiced smile and gestured to the sofa opposite her. “Of course, Lady Galbury. Your visit is most welcome—as always. Please, have a seat.”

The older woman settled herself, her sharp eyes scanning Charlotte’s face with curiosity. “I hope all is well between you and my nephew?”

Charlotte’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, but she quickly recovered. “We are adjusting as I am sure you understand. These things take time.”

Lady Galbury nodded though her expression suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Well, that’s to be expected, I suppose. A marriage under unusual circumstances can present its own challenges, I am sure.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said lightly though her stomach tightened at the reminder. “But please, let us not dwell on the past. You must join us for dinner tonight. It’s been too long since we’ve had the pleasure of your company.”

Lady Galbury’s face brightened. “I’d be delighted. A proper meal will do us all good, I think.”

The dining room was illuminated with a warm glow from the candelabra, their flickering light reflecting off the polished silver and pristine china.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, filling the room with a comforting warmth that did little to thaw the tension in the air. Magnus sat at the head of the table, his shoulders stiff, his jaw set, and his gaze fixed resolutely on his plate.

Lady Galbury, seated on his left, was the picture of poise, her sharp eyes darting between Magnus and Charlotte as though cataloging every unspoken thought.

Charlotte sat on Magnus’s right, her posture immaculate and her eyes flickering between her plate and the older woman. Despite her outward calm, her stomach twisted with unease. The unspoken tension in the air was as thick as the soup before her, the quiet clinking of silverware the only sound as the meal began.

She knew Magnus was unhappy about their visitor and even more unhappy about the fact that he was required to join them for dinner, but she hadn’t known what else to do. Besides, Lady Galbury might bring them the light relief Charlotte so desperately craved.

Ever the seasoned hostess even when a guest, it was Lady Galbury herself who broke the silence with an air of practiced ease.

“So, Your Grace,” she said brightly, her voice breaking the silence, “how are you finding Thornvale? Has my nephew been a suitable host?”

Charlotte blinked at the question, caught off guard at how openly probing it was. Her lips curved into a polite smile though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s a beautiful home,” she replied softly. “The staff has been wonderful. And Magnus… well, he has his moments.”

Magnus’ fork paused briefly in mid-air, his eyes flicking toward her. There was no mistaking the subtle tightening of his jaw though he said nothing, resuming his meal with the deliberate precision that he showed in everything.

“Ah, Magnus always has his moments,” Lady Galbury said with a warm laugh, waving a hand as if dismissing any perceived flaws. “A stubborn man but a good one at heart.”

Charlotte’s gaze lingered on Magnus, her smile softening despite herself. She had, in her way, come to truly feel something for him, even if he shut her out so consistently.

She caught the slightest twitch of his mouth—an almost imperceptible reaction to his aunt’s words. “Yes,” she said quietly, her voice laced with something genuine. “I believe he is.”

Lady Galbury leaned back in her chair, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“Ah, Charlotte, I must tell you about the time your grandmother and I decided to escape a particularly dull ball to have a midnight picnic in the gardens. Your little escape from my own ball last night reminded me of it.”

Charlotte tilted her head, intrigued despite the lingering tension in the air. “A midnight picnic? That sounds wonderfully scandalous.”

But not as scandalous as last night.

Lady Galbury laughed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “It was! We smuggled out an entire tray of tarts and champagne—mind you, I was a bit younger than you are now. Of course, our absence was quickly noticed, and our poor mother nearly fainted when she discovered us lounging under the stars with grass stains on our gowns.”

Charlotte laughed softly, imagining the scene. Her own mother would have been nothing short of furious. “I can’t imagine you as anything other than composed, Lady Galbury.”

“Oh, appearances are deceiving, my dear,” Lady Galbury said with a wink. “There was a time when I was the very picture of youthful rebellion.”

Magnus, who had been silently nursing his wine, interjected dryly, “I find that difficult to believe, Aunt. You have been meddling for as long as I can remember.”

Lady Galbury gasped in mock indignation, her hand fluttering to her chest. “Meddling? Is that how you describe my guiding hand? I’ll have you know, I have been the architect of many a successful match.”

“Successful for whom?” Magnus retorted, raising a brow. “Yourself?”

Charlotte bit her lip, stifling a laugh at the exchange. Lady Galbury noticed and pointed her fork in Charlotte’s direction. “See? At least someone here appreciates my tales. Magnus, you could stand to loosen up, you know.”

“I don’t believe that loosening up has never been one of his strengths,” Charlotte remarked, unable to resist the jab.

Magnus’s gaze flicked to her, his expression unreadable but charged. “I prefer structure to chaos, Duchess. Some of us find comfort in stability.”

“And some of us find stability rather dull,” Charlotte quipped, her tone light but pointed. “Though a midnight picnic does sound delightful. Perhaps Thornvale could benefit from a little scandal now and then.”

“Another one?” Magnus asked, eyebrows raised.

Lady Galbury chuckled, her gaze flitting between the two. “You remind me of myself and my late husband. We bickered constantly in our early days, but it always made for lively evenings.”

Magnus’s lips pressed into a thin line, his focus returning to his plate. “I can assure you, My Lady, we are nothing like that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lady Galbury said airily. “There’s a certain spark between you two. You’re both far too proud to admit it, of course, but it’s there.”

Charlotte’s cheeks warmed, and she quickly took a sip of wine to mask her reaction. Magnus, however, set his glass down with a bit more force than necessary. “A spark,” he said, his tone clipped. “What an imagination you have.”

“Imagination has its uses,” Lady Galbury said smoothly. “You’d do well to indulge it occasionally, Magnus. Life is more than ledgers and duty.”

Charlotte glanced at him, a flicker of something softening her expression. “Perhaps she’s right. A little imagination never hurt anyone.”

Magnus’s eyes met hers, a sharpness there that made her breath hitch. “I have found imagination often leads to disappointment.”

“Only for those too afraid to act on it,” Charlotte countered, her voice steady despite the fire in his gaze.

Lady Galbury clapped her hands suddenly, breaking the charged moment. “Goodness, you two could light up the entire room with that tension! Now, shall I tell you about the time I mistakenly flirted with a duke’s butler?”

The evening seemed to ease into a rhythm, the tension fading to a mere hum in the background. But just as the atmosphere began to feel almost pleasant, Lady Galbury leaned forward, her tone turning conspiratorial as she lowered her voice to address them both.

“Now, my dears,” she said, her sharp eyes twinkling with mischief, “forgive me if I am overstepping, but I must ask—when might we expect the pitter-patter of little feet at Thornvale?”

The question landed like a thunderclap. The warmth in the room evaporated instantly, replaced by an icy chill that seeped into every corner. Magnus set his fork down with deliberate care, the scrape of silver against porcelain unnaturally loud in the silence that followed. His eyes darkened, his gaze fixing on Lady Galbury with a coolness that could have frozen the flames in the hearth.

“That,” he said evenly, his voice razor-sharp, “is not in the cards, and I am certain I have told you that before.”

Charlotte’s head snapped toward him, her breath hitching at the finality in his tone. She knew they were having problems, certainly, but she had always imagined they would have a family eventually. “Surely we could talk about it,” she said cautiously, her voice tinged with both surprise and confusion.

Magnus’s gaze turned to her, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made her want to shrink back and stand her ground all at once. “It’s not a subject for the dinner table,” he bit out, his voice clipped and unyielding. “And certainly not when we have guests.”

Charlotte straightened in her chair, refusing to be cowed. “Then we’ll discuss it afterward,” she said, her tone firm as she met his glare with quiet determination.

Magnus’s expression hardened further, his jaw tightening. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said coldly.

Her chest tightened at the harshness of his words, but she pressed on. “Why not?” she asked, her voice softer now but no less insistent. “Surely it is not unreasonable for me to want children of my own?”

Magnus leaned back slightly, his eyes glinting with something dark—mistrust, frustration, and a simmering anger that had no outlet. “Perhaps,” he began, his voice dropping to a dangerous low, “because I can’t be sure of your motives, Duchess. Or have you forgotten the circumstances that led to this marriage?”

The accusation struck Charlotte like a blow. Her cheeks burned with a mix of anger and hurt, her hands clenching in her lap. “And I told you already,” she said, her voice trembling but steady, “I had nothing to do with that scandal sheet. Why would I do that to myself?”

Magnus waved a hand to encompass all of the estate. “I can think of a reason or two.”

Charlotte glared at him, furious that he would suggest such a thing. “It was Miss Evans! She wanted Lord Kinfield for herself, and when he rejected me, she used it to her advantage. It is obvious to anyone with eyes!”

Magnus scoffed, the sound cutting and dismissive. “Convenient,” he said, his gaze unrelenting. “And entirely unverifiable.”

Charlotte’s temper flared, her voice rising despite her effort to remain composed. “It’s the truth! I would never stoop so low as to?—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Lady Galbury chimed in, her tone sharp with exasperation. She set her wine glass down with a decisive clink, her sharp eyes darting between them with a mix of annoyance and guilt. “Must I endure this bickering for the rest of the evening?”

Magnus’s brow furrowed, his focus shifting to his aunt. “I am sorry, Lady Galbury, but surely even you can understand my concerns?”

Lady Galbury sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world had settled on them. “I suppose it’s time to confess,” she said, her voice tinged with resignation. She looked between Magnus and Charlotte, her gaze softening with regret. “The scandal sheet… the leak… it was me.”