The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

Damian fastened a gold brooch to the lapel of his ivory tuxedo. Georgia approached him, her expression soft as she cupped his face. She gave his cheeks a firm, affectionate pat.

"Are you ready, my son?" she asked. "I know I have been pressuring you for this for a long time, but my only true wish is to see you happy alongside Eilika and Roman. When you stand at the altar and take her hands in yours, let your vows carry the full weight of your heart."

She leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead. "I am proud of you for choosing this, for giving Eilika the royal ceremony she deserves."

Damian offered a hum of acknowledgment just as the doors creaked open. Roman stepped into the room, looking radiant in a miniature white three-piece suit. He carried a woven basket with careful precision.

"Father," Roman said, lifting the basket toward him. "Mama sent this for you."

Intrigued, Damian reached inside and retrieved a piece of folded parchment. He unfurled it to find a single line written in Eilika’s handwriting.

’Are you ready to be mine?’

"What did the Duchess send? I must see for myself," Louis chirped who just entered, leaning in with a mischievous grin as Damian hastily refolded the note.

"It is private," Damian replied.

The bluntness of her flirtation had caught him off guard, sending a heat through his chest that he couldn’t quite mask.

"Wait! Your cheeks are flushed," Louis remarked, a triumphant laugh in his voice. "I take it the message was quite romantic."

"Romantic?" Roman echoed, tilting his head as he looked up at his uncle with wide, inquisitive eyes.

"Louis, maintain some semblance of decorum," Damian warned, though the heat in his face betrayed his stern tone.

"Did I say something wrong?" Louis replied, his voice dripping with feigned innocence.

He flashed a playful grin before bending down to scoop Roman into his arms, carrying the boy out toward the grand corridor. Georgia followed suit, leaving Damian in the sudden, heavy silence of the dressing room.

Heaved by a sigh of relief, Damian turned back to the parchment. He looked at the message once more, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Shaking his head at his own reflection, he murmured, "Since when did I become so easily moved?"

He pulled open the heavy mahogany drawer, tucking the note safely inside before sliding it shut.

After taking a steadying breath, he straightened his posture and surveyed himself in the floor-length mirror.

Every lock of hair was perfectly in place, and the crimson drape pinned to his shoulder fell in deep folds. Slipping on his white gloves, he placed a hand on his heart.

"I’m taking a bet this time. She asked for two months and I will grant them to her. I wonder this time happiness will come my way," he murmured.

~~~~

The floor-length veil cascaded over Eilika’s head like a mist of lace, casting a soft shadow over her downcast eyes. Her lashes fluttered nervously against her cheeks as she tightened her grip on the bouquet Joanna had just handed her.

A knock echoed through the room, breaking the silence.

Susan stood in the doorway. "May we have a private moment?" she asked.

Joanna offered a respectful bow and quietly slipped out, closing the heavy doors behind her.

"You look far more beautiful today than I imagined," Susan remarked, her gaze lingering on Eilika’s face.

Her eyes drifted pointedly to the scar, noting that it remained visible, no longer hidden under the thick layers of cosmetic paste used previously.

"What is it you wish to say to me?" Eilika asked.

"Forgive your father," Susan began, stepping further into the room. "You know the burden he has carried, how difficult he has been since the day your mother passed away."

Eilika’s brow furrowed, a flash of resentment piercing through her calm. She couldn’t fathom why Susan would choose this moment to invoke the memory of the dead.

"This is not the occasion to speak of such things," Eilika clarified. "And certainly not the time to speak of her."

"I know. Forgive me," Susan said, though her tone remained practiced. "Your father has been under immense pressure regarding the estate’s finances for a long time, dear. I realize that as a stepmother, I may not have provided the warmth of a biological mother, but you must admit, I never treated you as a servant, as so many in my position do. I have been kind to you, Eilika. If I was ever cold, it was only because of the way you constantly reminded your father of his first marriage."

Susan took a step closer. "Now that you find yourself the second wife to a Duke, perhaps you can finally empathize with my position."

Eilika’s brows knit together in sheer bewilderment. "Madam, you are twisting this conversation into something unrecognizable. I spent years wishing for you to be a mother to me. It was you who commanded me to call you ’Madam’ and warned me never to expect affection from you. I only reminded Father of the past because—"

She cut herself off, the words catching in her throat. Eilika didn’t want the old grievances tarnish the her wedding day.

"If your intent is to secure my influence for my father’s benefit, then I must decline. He needs to learn that one only reaps what they have rightfully sown," Eilika stated.

"If you and Father believed I would be easily manipulated because of this title, you were mistaken. I have not forgotten the years spent being reminded of my supposed ugliness every single day."

She glanced at the ornate wall clock, noting the hands moving toward the hour.

"I cannot be late. Please, return to your seat, Madam. Forgive me for proving so useless to your interests despite this marriage," she added with a cold finality.

Susan’s face hardened. "And what of the wealth we spent on you? Your father intended to cast you out to your relatives when you were a child. Have you forgotten that I was the one who convinced him to let you stay?"

Eilika stiffened as the memory surfaced, the day Wilfred had nearly sent her away to live in obscurity with her aunt and uncle.

"No, I haven’t forgotten," Eilika replied, her eyes flashing with hurt. "I understand perfectly. I will ensure every single penny spent on my upbringing is returned to you. Consider it a debt settled."

Susan smiled as she turned on her heel, leaving the room.

Left in the sudden silence, Eilika’s fingers curled tightly into her palms. She realized that her family saw her only as a ledger of expenses and missed opportunities. Even on her wedding day, they could not offer a blessing without attaching a price tag.

Joanna stepped back into the chamber, her eyes immediately darting to Eilika’s face. She had tried to catch fragments of the conversation through the heavy oak door, but the walls had kept the exchange a muffled secret. The distress in Eilika’s posture, however, was impossible to miss.

"Is everything alright, Your Grace?" Joanna asked softly. She crossed to the white vanity and retrieved the bouquet of roses.

"Yes," Eilika replied, her voice tightening as she forced a mask of composure over her features. She reached out and took the flowers, her grip steadying. "Is it time?"

"It is, Your Grace," Joanna answered, stepping aside to hold the door open.

Eilika drew a breath, recalling the memory of walking down an aisle where no groom waited. Shaking the thought away, she stepped out into the vast estate’s gardens.

A red carpet cut a path through the manicured greenery, leading her to the foot of the altar where Wilfred stood waiting.

Out of grim necessity and protocol, she reluctantly tucked her hand into the crook of her father’s arm. Together, they began the slow procession.

Finally, Eilika lifted her gaze toward the altar. Damian stood there, silhouetted against the grand architecture, looking so strikingly handsome in his wedding finery that the air left her lungs.

Even from a distance, his icy blue eyes locked onto hers with a piercing intensity, a gaze so focused that a warmth flooded her cheeks.

Damian had kept his promise; he was waiting for her, and the sight of him standing firm at the altar brought a sudden peace to her heart.

As they reached the end of the aisle, Wilfred placed Eilika’s hand into the Duke’s. Damian’s fingers curled protectively around her palm, his touch warm and certain.

With a gentle lead, he guided her up the final steps to their mark, where the sun caught the intricate lace of her veil.

The pianist began a soft, romantic melody that drifted through the gardens. Eilika lowered her gaze, her heart hammering against her ribs, while Damian remained unmoving, his eyes anchored solely on hers.

The quiet was broken by the light pitter-patter of footsteps as Roman approached the altar. He carried the small basket with a pride, the two gold rings gleaming against a velvet cushion inside.

"Roman is here," Damian whispered that drew Eilika’s eyes upward.

She looked over to see Roman beaming at them.