All Chapters of His Father's Bride : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The following morning, I awoke with the uneasy feeling that the house itself was keeping secrets. Not the ordinary sort of secrets that houses inevitably hold—misplaced letters, whispered conversations behind doors—but something heavier. Something that seemed to breathe within the very walls of Rathcliffe Manor. The interaction between Lord Rathcliffe and Lady Penbury I had witnessed replayed endlessly in my mind. Lady Penbury’s bold voice. Lord Rathcliffe’s controlled, dangerous restraint. The way she had spoken of their secret dealings as though she held a dagger to his throat and was quite content to let him feel its edge. And then the intimacy they shared. The stolen kisses. That, more than anything, unsettled me.I sat before my vanity far longer than necessary, brushing my hair slowly, the repetitive motion doing little to quiet the restless churn of my thoughts. What sort of arrangement could exist between them? What secret was powerful enough to allow Lady Penbury to b

I was arranging flowers in the morning room when Lord Rathcliffe entered. He rarely came into this room without purpose, and the moment he stepped inside, I sensed immediately that this was not a casual visit. “Belle.” I turned from the small table.“Yes?” I was not in the mood for anything. William still had a fever, and I was more concerned about his well-being than what Lord Rathcliffe had been up to. “There will be a dinner here tomorrow evening,” he announced. For a moment, I simply stared at him.“A dinner,” I repeated. “Yes.” My eyes studied him carefully. “Here at the manor… and you will host.” The words settled heavily between us. “You are my wife.” It was not said harshly, but the meaning was clear. It was my societal duty. I straightened slightly. “Very well.” His gaze lingered, measuring my reaction. “The invitations have already been sent,” he said. “Already?” “Yes.” Which meant this dinner had not been a sudden decision. It had been planned. Lord Rathcliffe had

The knock on my door was gentle. “Belle?”Emma’s voice carried softly through the wood.I had been awake for some time already, though I had not yet gathered the courage to leave the room. The morning light had long since crept across the floorboards, yet I still sat on the edge of the bed, staring absently at my hands folded in my lap. “Come in,” I said quietly.Emma stepped inside with a small tray of tea. She paused just inside the doorway, her eyes moving briefly to my face as though checking that the mark from yesterday had truly faded. It did not. “I thought you might like some tea,” she said gently, setting the tray on the small table beside the window. “Thank you.” I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, welcoming the heat.Emma lingered beside the table longer than usual, her expression thoughtful. “You were not at dinner last night,” she said carefully. “I had a headache.”It was not entirely a lie. The truth was far simpler. I had not been able to face Lord Rathcliffe

Whether Lord Rathcliffe’s past was reason enough for him to have an affair was not for me to judge. Grief did strange things to people. And Lord Rathcliffe did not simply only carry grief—he carried trauma. Trauma I wished someone had told me about sooner, instead of my learning of it through whispered gossip. I changed my clothes and met William at the entrance of the manor. “Where is the carriage?” I asked. “How about a walk?” he suggested. “The weather is surely pleasant.” I nodded. “The town is not far.” I wanted to ask him about what I had overheard earlier when the maids were gossiping, but I could already imagine how poorly that topic would be received. I was not willing to risk his mood turning against me again. He had been kind of late, and I needed a little kindness, especially with the children gone. The fresh breeze felt wonderful against my face, the sunlight warming my skin in a way that felt almost restorative. I let out a long breath, as though releasing the frus

The morning after at Rathcliffe Manor possessed a quiet sort of dignity. I arrived at breakfast promptly, though I did not quite know what I was expecting. Still, I found myself feeling cautiously optimistic. Even after weeks of living here, I continued to find something strangely calming about the early hours of the day. The house had not yet fully awakened. The corridors were still, and the usual sounds of servants moving about had softened into distant murmurs rather than the steady rhythm of a bustling household. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the breakfast room when I entered that morning. It pooled across the polished floor and stretched along the length of the table like pale ribbons of gold. Emma had already set out the tea service. The delicate porcelain cups sat neatly beside the silver pot, steam curling faintly from its spout. I poured myself a cup and sat down, wrapping my fingers around the warmth of the porcelain as though it might steady my though