My Arranged Husband Refused To Share My Bed — Then I Discovered The Heartbreaking Reason Why
Part 1
The rain pattered against the window of my bedchamber as my maid fastened the last pearl button of my wedding gown.
My father’s voice echoed from downstairs, urging me that the carriages had arrived.
I gathered my skirts and descended the staircase of our once-grand home, a place now showing the subtle signs of financial ruin.
my father awaited at the bottom with stooped shoulders.
He told me that Dan, the wealthy heir, was the best match in the country.
I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, knowing I was sacrificing myself to save our family.
The journey to the chapel passed in complete silence.
The church loomed ahead, its imposing facade matching the heavy gray sky.
At the altar stood a tall figure, broad-shouldered and imposing in formal black attire.
I kept my eyes fixed on the stone floor, unable to look at the man who was to be my husband.
When I finally reached the altar and dared to glance up, my breath caught in my throat.
Dan was undeniably handsome, with sharp features and raven-black hair.
His eyes, the color of a winter sea, held a coldness that made me shiver beneath my gown.
When he slipped the heavy gold ring onto my finger, his touch was entirely impersonal.
The reception at his townhouse was a lavish affair of crystal chandeliers and mountains of hothouse flowers.
Dan performed his duties as host with practiced precision, barely acknowledging me beyond what strict propriety demanded.
As evening fell and the last guests departed, I found myself standing alone in an opulent bedchamber.
A fire crackled in the marble hearth, casting dancing light over the massive crimson bed.
The door opened, and my heart hammered against my ribs as Dan entered.
He moved without preamble, pouring himself a glass of brandy from a crystal decanter.
I forced myself to meet his gaze, hoping our union might grow to be amicable at least.
He drained his glass and set it down with a sharp clink.
The new title fell from his lips for the first time, his deep, cultured voice lacking even a trace of warmth.
He buttoned his tailored coat with brisk, precise movements, dismissing the ceremony as nothing more than a fulfilled obligation for us both.
His hand gripped the ornate brass handle of the door, his knuckles white in the dim light.
Without a backward glance, he condemned me to spend this wedding night alone, and every single night thereafter.
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him.
I stood in the middle of the vast room, my wedding dress suddenly feeling heavier than lead.
Three months dragged by, and I quickly learned the rhythms of life as a duchess.
My days were filled with social calls and the management of his three massive residences.
Despite sharing a household, I rarely saw my husband.
the city’s summer season was in full swing, and tonight we were to attend a grand ball.
My maid arranged my hair and offered the sapphire necklace from the velvet box.
These treasures should have delighted me, yet they felt like heavy, gilded chains.
A footman arrived bearing a note in Dan’s precise handwriting.
He instructed me to meet him directly at the venue and not to wait.
I steeled myself for another evening of performance, smiling graciously while weathering pitying glances.
The ballroom blazed with light as I ascended the marble staircase.
I noted the subtle shift in the crowd’s reaction, the curtsies a fraction deeper, the smiles a touch more ingratiating.
Dan was nowhere to be seen in the grand entrance.
Heather, a kind widow and one of the few women who treated me with genuine warmth, greeted me.
I finally spotted my husband across the room, deep in conversation with an earl.
The orchestra struck up a waltz, and couples began to fill the dance floor.
A deep voice behind me made me jump.
Dan stood there, one eyebrow slightly raised, extending his hand.
I placed my fingers in his, feeling the unexpected, shocking warmth of his touch.
He led me onto the floor, his hand at my waist perfectly proper yet searingly present.
I challenged him about our arrangement, emboldened by the privacy of the crowded floor.
His expression darkened, his grip tightening imperceptibly on my waist.
He told me that indifference was preferable to the alternatives.
Before I could ask what he meant, a commotion near the entrance shattered the music.
A disheveled man in an army officer’s uniform was arguing loudly with the butler.
He insisted he must speak with the husband, his voice slurred and desperate.
Conversations died as heads turned toward the disturbance.
Dan stiffened beside me, commanding me to stay put before striding across the room.
The officer spotted him and shouted, calling him a heartless coward.
The man claimed his brother was dead because of my husband.
Gasps rippled through the assembled guests like a sudden breeze.
Dan grabbed the officer’s arm and forcibly led him from the ballroom into a side room.
Heather appeared at my side, whispering that the man was Captain Craig.
She revealed that Dan had served in the army years ago in overseas.
She told me there was some terrible business there that changed him profoundly.
The man who returned from overseas was cold and reserved, a ghost of his former self.
The side door opened, and Dan emerged alone, his expression composed though a muscle worked in his jaw.
He crossed the ballroom, nodding apologetically to our host.
He took my arm firmly and told me we were leaving immediately.
In the carriage, I waited for him to speak, but he simply stared out the window into the darkness.
