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

Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

“ L ady Galbury,” he said, his voice low and sharp as he continued to stare at the painting. “What brings you here?”

Now that the painting was uncovered, Magnus found he couldn’t stay away. He sat in that chair for hours on end. He’d even had a small side table brought, complete with a decanter of whisky and a solitary glass.

He had stared at it, wondering what had become of his lift and when the mess had started. Was it Edwin’s fault? Or Charlotte’s?

Or mine?

He’d heard the faint shuffle of footsteps in the hall before the door opened. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. He had been expecting her visit. Word had no doubt got around about the state he was in

Lady Galbury stepped inside, her heeled boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. She moved with purpose, her gown trailing elegantly behind her as it always did.

“I could ask you the same, Magnus. Christian told me he saw you the other night. He said you were less than yourself, and for him to say such a thing to me raises concerns.”

Magnus let out a humorless laugh, his shoulders stiff. He still hadn’t turned to look at his aunt, but he could sense her presence like a beacon next to him.

“I wasn’t aware I was required to report my state of mind to you—or anyone else,” he said then took a swig of whisky that no longer held any taste.

Lady Galbury’s lips thinned as she stepped directly in front of him, blocking his view of the painting. “I am not here to argue semantics. I am here because I care about you—and your wife. You do remember that she is your wife, yes?”

With a reluctant sigh, Magnus raised his eyes to meet her glaring gaze. “If you have come to scold me about my marriage, save your breath. I have heard enough opinions for a lifetime. And perhaps I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place if it weren’t for your meddling.”

“You cannot blame this on me, Magnus,” she countered, stepping closer. Her tone held an uncharacteristic edge, her usual playful demeanor replaced by something far more serious.

“And perhaps you need to hear one or two more opinions. You have driven her away, Magnus. And for what? To protect yourself from some imagined betrayal? I always thought you an intelligent man, but recent events are beginning to suggest otherwise.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, the muscles in his neck corded with tension. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” she said, her voice softening. “Please, Magnus. Help me understand why you’re so determined to sabotage your own happiness.”

He placed his glass down on the side table then pressing both hands to the arms of his chair, he sat up straighter, his eyes schooled to the floor. “It’s not sabotage,” he muttered. “It’s self-preservation.”

Lady Galbury sighed, crouching down to catch his eye. “Oh, Magnus,” she said, her voice heavy with both affection and exasperation. “You have been running from your past for so long, you have forgotten how to live in the present.”

“I am not running,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. “I am protecting myself.”

“From what?” she demanded, her voice rising. “From Charlotte? From love? From the possibility that someone might actually care for you despite your flaws? Tell me, Magnus, what is it you’re so afraid of?”

He didn’t answer, his chest heaving with the effort to keep his emotions in check.

Lady Galbury leaned forward, her hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair. “What happened with your parents—and with Edwin—it wasn’t your fault. Their choices, their mistakes, had nothing to do with you.”

Magnus flinched at the mention of Edwin, his gaze darkening as he looked away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do,” she said firmly. “I saw what it did to you. I saw how you idolized Edwin, how you trusted him, and how his betrayal shattered that trust. But Magnus, you were a boy. You weren’t responsible for his choices, nor for what happened afterward. You have carried that burden for far too long, and it’s time to let it go.”

The words struck him like a blow, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His grip on the chair tightened, his knuckles white as he fought to suppress the emotions threatening to spill over.

“I can’t,” he said finally, his voice low and strained. “I can’t let it go.”

“You can,” Lady Galbury insisted. “And you must. Because if you don’t, you’ll lose the one person who can help you rebuild the life you deserve. Do you want to end up alone, Magnus? Because that’s where you’re headed.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Magnus stared at her, his chest tight with the weight of her truth. The thought of a future without Charlotte—without her laughter, her fire, her stubbornness—sent a wave of panic coursing through him.

“Go to her,” Lady Galbury said softly, her tone almost pleading now. “Tell her the truth. Show her that you’re willing to fight for her. Because if you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

She stood, smoothing her skirts as she moved toward the door. “You’re a better man than you believe yourself to be, Magnus,” she said quietly, her hand resting on the doorframe. “Now prove it.”

When she was gone, Magnus sank into his chair, the tension in his body finally giving way to bone-deep weariness. He stared up at the painting again for what felt like an eternity, his mind a whirlwind of guilt, anger.

“What do you think, Uncle Edwin?” he asked though of course he received no answer.

Finally, he stood, his movements sharp and deliberate. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and strode out of the study, his footsteps echoing through the empty halls of Thornvale.

The stable hands barely had time to react as he barked orders for his horse to be saddled. Within minutes, he was mounted and galloping down the gravel drive, the chill wind biting at his face.

Charlotte sat in the parlor, her teacup balanced delicately between her fingers.

Louisa sat beside her, flipping through a slim volume of poetry, occasionally reading a line aloud for Charlotte’s amusement.

Across from them, Reginald lounged in an armchair, his legs crossed casually, a smirk on his lips as he recounted a particularly amusing anecdote from his recent outing.

It felt almost normal, sitting here with her siblings, as if the past months hadn’t happened at all. After Lavinia’s visit the previous day, Charlotte had been left with a renewed sense of purpose but also a lingering ache in her chest. She tried to bury it beneath the familiarity of her siblings’ banter, letting their lightheartedness serve as a balm for her frayed emotions.

The sound of hurried footsteps in the hall shattered the moment.

Before Charlotte could set down her teacup, the door to the parlor flew open, and Lady Shelton stormed inside, her gown swishing furiously around her ankles.

Lord Shelton followed closely, his face red with irritation and his brows drawn low over his piercing eyes. Charlotte closed her eyes briefly. She had no idea what the matter was, but she suspected it would all be her fault.

“Charlotte!” Lady Shelton’s shrill voice echoed off the walls, her fan snapping shut with a flourish. “What is the meaning of this nonsense? Your father has told me everything!”

Louisa froze, her finger still poised over a line of poetry while Reginald straightened in his chair, the easy humor vanishing from his face.

“Mother,” Charlotte said calmly though her heart began to pound, “to what nonsense are you referring?”

Lady Shelton jabbed her fan toward her daughter, her cheeks flushed with indignation.

“Your father overheard your conversation with Lavinia yesterday,” she snapped. “What is this about you leaving Thornvale? What is this about your marriage being in trouble? Do you have any idea what damage you’re doing to this family? Yet again! As if you haven’t already done enough.”

Louisa’s mouth opened in shock while Reginald stood abruptly, his posture stiff with tension.

Charlotte forced her expression to remain neutral though her fingers tightened around the handle of her teacup. “I wasn’t aware that my private matters were fodder for your concern,” she replied evenly.

“They are when they threaten everything we’ve worked for,” Lord Shelton interjected. “Everything we’ve done for you! Do you have any idea how precarious our position is, Charlotte? Your marriage to the Duke is the best thing to happen to this family in decades, and you’re on the verge of ruining it.”

Charlotte set her teacup down carefully, trying to keep her emotions in check. “If the marriage is at risk, that’s hardly my doing.”

Lady Shelton’s fan snapped open again, the sharp sound like a whip crack.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re his wife. Your behavior reflects on all of us. Do you have any idea how many people have commented on the success of this union? The prestige it has brought us? And now you’re jeopardizing it because of your petty pride. Even your visit here will have tongues wagging!”

“Enough, Mother,” Louisa interjected, her voice trembling but resolute. She rose from her seat, moving to stand beside Charlotte. “You have no right to speak to her like this.”

Reginald crossed the room as well, placing himself squarely between their parents and Charlotte.

“She’s right,” he said firmly. “You have treated Charlotte like a pawn in your games for years. She deserves better than this—better than you barging in here and blaming her for things that aren’t her fault.”

“Perhaps you could try talking to her about issues instead of—” But Louisa’s words were cut off by her mother’s cry of outrage.

Lady Shelton’s fan closed once more and pointed at her son. “You will not speak to me like that, Reginald.”

“And you will not speak to Charlotte that way,” Reginald shot back. “She is your daughter, not your steppingstone.”

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unsaid words and simmering anger. Charlotte’s heart swelled with gratitude for her siblings, but she knew this confrontation had been brewing for years.

She couldn’t let it escalate further—not with Louisa and Reginald caught in the crossfire.

“Louisa, Reginald,” she said softly, rising from her chair. “Please, leave us. I need to speak with Mother and Father alone.”

Louisa turned to her, her brow furrowing in concern. “Charlotte, are you sure?”

“Yes,” Charlotte replied, her voice steady. “I’ll be fine.”

Reginald hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced at their parents. “We’ll be just outside,” he said firmly.

Once the door closed behind them, the silence that filled the room was oppressive. Charlotte drew in a steadying breath, her hands trembling as she clasped them tightly in front of her.

“This stops now,” she said, her voice firm and resolute. “I will not tolerate this treatment any longer.”

Lady Shelton’s eyes narrowed, her fan frozen mid-motion. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Charlotte took a step forward, her gaze unwavering. “I am talking about the way you’ve used me my entire life. You act like my marriage to the Duke was all your doing, some gift to me, but you didn’t want this. You hated the scandal I supposedly caused, even if it did work out in your favor. You’ve treated me like a pawn, not a daughter.”

Lord Shelton stepped forward, his face darkening. “We’ve done nothing but ensure your future, Charlotte. Everything we’ve done has been for your benefit.”

“For my benefit?” Charlotte let out a bitter laugh, her composure cracking. “You mean for yours. You wanted the connections, the influence, the wealth. You didn’t care that I was miserable. At least Magnus treats me with some modicum of respect.”

Lady Shelton bristled, her cheeks flushing. “You ungrateful child! How dare you speak to us like this after everything we’ve sacrificed for you?”

Charlotte’s voice trembled, but she refused to back down. “What have you sacrificed, Mother? A little of your time? A few fleeting moments of attention? You never cared about me—you only cared about what I could do for you. And when you realized I would not bow down to you, you sent me away to France!”

Lord Shelton’s voice boomed through the room. “You forget your place, Charlotte.”

Charlotte’s chin lifted, her gaze steely. “No, Father. I have remembered it for far too long. And I won’t do it anymore.”

“We are your parents,” Lady Shelton cried.

“And I,” Charlotte replied in a low, intimidating tone, “am the Duchess of Thornvale.”