Emily

Emily wondered how she got herself into the predicament she was in. One moment she was due to wed the love of her life, George Duke of Bedford, and the next her father shipped her off to what some would hardly call a village near Worcestershire England named Snowshill. She'd never heard of anyone from there, and she was arranged to marry a man she'd never even met.

Surely the man was slipping if he wanted to turn down the Duke of Bedford for the Duke of Snowshill. What in the name of the heavens? It simply didn't make any sense to her.

She knew that her father would never give her an explanation. She stared out at the vast marsh around them. It was all unsettling, to say the least.

When they got to their destination, she was going to sit down to pen a long letter to her father, demanding he send for a carriage to take her back home to Bedford so she could marry George, the only man she could and would ever love. She could only imagine what he was going through. Probably threatening to send her father to the asylum. That's what she would've done in his stead.

Emily fought the pull of her eyes as she tried to stay awake. She'd never been awake so many hours in her life, but despite the carriage jostling her like an untrained horse, she simply could not stay awake any longer to see the place that would be her unwanted home.

***

Any moment now, Edward's bride would be there. They would wed in his study, a simple affair, he didn't have time for a lavish wedding with guests and formal attire. His friend, her father a Baronet of Bedford, offered his daughter to him when Edward sent him a letter asking if he knew of any good women of childbearing age. He was in dire need of an heir and though the Baronet had a good twenty years on him, his daughter was a respectable twenty and just fine for him at thirty-eight.

He had returned from the war with a ravaged face and with it any hope of him finding a woman to love or any kind of true companionship. But if he didn't do something soon about his lack of an heir, he would die without one.

Then his good-for-nothing younger brother would take his place as Duke of Snowhill and the finances he'd so carefully kept over the years. If it were up to his brother, it would all be squandered on harlots and drink.

Of course, the Baronet understood his plight and told him he knew of only one woman good enough for a war hero, his daughter. His hand went up to his face, where a long scar cut through the left side from brow to jaw; it was thick and gruesome. The medics had been forced to take his eye when it was clear it couldn't be saved. Taking the eye had done little to help the wound heal. It turned out that the medics were good but not good enough to prevent a deep wound from festering and becoming infected. The fact that he was alive today was a result of luck and his sheer will to live, not merely the actions of the medics. He wore a patch, but it never kept women and children from turning away from him in fright.

If he wasn't terrified of his brother ruining their wealth when he passed, he would never subject the Baronet's daughter to marrying him. But he would allow her to leave after she was confirmed with his child, and she would never be subjected to the sight of him again. They could live on one of his other estates, away from him. His son wouldn't have to bear knowing his father looked like a monster, and she wouldn't have to bed with him longer than it took for his seed to take within her.

With a miracle from God above, it would happen in one night, and he would not have to torture her longer. That was what he prayed for.

***

The carriage came to a stop and Emily sat up as the door opened. Her gloved hand went to her hair, making sure it still felt presentable. The driver came to stand next to the door and held out a gloved hand to her. She took it and stepped out of the carriage.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the greystone-walled manor. It was tall, at least three levels, and longer than any manor she'd ever been to in her life. Her eyes then went to the maids and servants that lined either side of the walkway. His staff was massive as well. She supposed it had to be to keep a place like this one in working order.

"Welcome, Miss Dewhurst," they chimed as they either bowed or curtsied to her.

A tall elderly man stepped up to her, hands behind his back. For a moment, she worried that he was the one to be her husband. Her heart hammered in her chest as the man bowed to her. "Miss Dewhurst, I'm Mr. Brown, butler to His Grace the Duke of Snowshill. if you would follow me, the His Grace the Duke of Snowshill is waiting for you in his study."

He couldn't even come to meet her himself? She gave a curt nod and he led her into the manor. A large grandfather clock stood in the foyer, ticking away the hour with a low thrum. She strained her eyes to see. Despite it being well into the morning, all the curtains were drawn, leaving only small candles to light the way.

She wrapped her arms around her, with all the stone walls, the place was dreadfully cold. Mr. Brown opened a set of double doors and allowed her to go ahead of him.

As they entered, curtains over a window were drawn, and the only source of light came from a fire crackling at the side of what she could make out to be a study.

A man stood near the window, but she couldn't see his face. Tall with broad shoulders. The spicy scent of aftershave and cologne wafted at her. It was pleasant. She entered the room.

"Miss Dewhurst has arrived," The figure nodded his head. "Send in the priest in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir." The doors closed.

Emily frowned. "Priest? Why would a priest come now? Please step closer, I can't see you in the shadows." she hastily added, almost forgetting who she spoke to.

She’d become relaxed around George, he let her drop the formalities when they could walk alone together.