The Scarred Baron's Bride

The sound of her stepmother's shrill voice echoing through the corridors of Ashworth Manor made Felicity's hands tremble as she scrubbed the marble floors of the grand foyer. Her knees ached against the cold stone, and her fingers were raw from the harsh lye soap, but she dared not slow her pace."Felicity! Where is that wretched girl?" Lady Margaret Ashworth's voice grew closer, her heels clicking against the polished floors like the tick of a death clock.Felicity quickly wrung out her cloth and scrambled to her feet, smoothing down her worn gray dress—a servant's uniform that had become her daily attire since her father's death two years prior. She kept her eyes downcast as her stepmother swept into the foyer, resplendent in emerald silk that cost more than most families earned in a year."There you are, you worthless creature." Lady Margaret's cold blue eyes raked over Felicity with undisguised disgust. "Look at you—filthy as a common scullery maid. How fitting."Felicity bit her tongue, tasting blood. She had learned long ago that defending herself only made the punishments worse. Behind Lady Margaret stood her daughter Vivienne—Felicity's half-sister—dressed in a traveling costume of deep burgundy velvet, her golden hair perfectly coiffed despite the early morning hour."Where is Vivienne going, stepmother?" Felicity asked quietly, noting the packed trunks being loaded into a carriage outside.Lady Margaret's hand cracked across Felicity's cheek with lightning speed. "You will address me as 'my lady,' you insolent girl. And my daughter's whereabouts are none of your concern."Felicity's cheek burned, but she kept her expression neutral. Years of such treatment had taught her to hide her pain well."However," Lady Margaret continued, circling Felicity like a predator, "since you asked so boldly, I'll tell you. My dear Vivienne has decided she cannot possibly marry that... creature... Lord Blackwood. The very thought of being wed to a scarred, crippled recluse has made her quite ill."Felicity's blood ran cold. The marriage contract with Lord Blackwood had been the only thing keeping their family from complete financial ruin. Her father had arranged it before his death, promising one of his daughters to secure a substantial dowry that would save their estate."But the contract—" Felicity began."Will be fulfilled," Lady Margaret finished with a cruel smile. "By you."The words hit Felicity like a physical blow. She staggered backward, her heart racing. "Me? But I'm not—I can't—""Oh, but you can and you will." Lady Margaret gestured to the butler, who stepped forward with a bundle of white fabric. "You see, my dear stepdaughter, the contract specifies 'an Ashworth bride.' It doesn't specify which one."Felicity stared at the wedding dress in horror. It was beautiful—layers of ivory silk and Brussels lace that would have cost her father's entire yearly income—but to her, it looked like a funeral shroud."Lord Blackwood has never seen Vivienne," Lady Margaret continued conversationally. "He's been too much of a hermit these past three years since his... accident. He'll never know the difference. One dark-haired Ashworth girl is the same as another to a man who can barely show his face in public.""Please," Felicity whispered, falling to her knees. "Please don't make me do this. I'll work harder, I'll—""You'll marry him this afternoon, or I'll throw you out into the streets with nothing but the clothes on your back." Lady Margaret's voice was arctic. "At least this way, you'll finally be useful for something."Vivienne, who had been silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke up. "Don't look so tragic, sister dear. From what I've heard, Lord Blackwood rarely leaves his study. You'll likely never even have to see him. Just... do your wifely duties when required and spend his money quietly."The casual cruelty in her half-sister's voice was somehow worse than her stepmother's open hatred. Felicity had grown up with Vivienne, had shared toys and secrets and dreams before their father died and everything changed."The carriage will be here at two o'clock," Lady Margaret announced. "Mrs. Henderson will help you dress. Try not to embarrass the family name more than your mere existence already has."As the two women swept from the room, leaving Felicity kneeling on the cold marble in her servant's dress clutching a wedding gown, she felt something inside her chest crack. Not break—she had endured too much for that—but crack, like ice beginning to thaw.She thought of the stories she'd heard about Lord Adrian Blackwood. Once the most eligible bachelor in England, heir to ancient title and vast wealth, he had become a recluse after a terrible fire at one of his properties. Society whispered that his face and body were hideously scarred, that he walked with a cane, that he conducted all his business through intermediaries because he could no longer bear to be seen in public.And now she was to be his bride.Felicity rose slowly, still clutching the wedding dress. Through the tall windows, she could see the Yorkshire moors stretching endlessly toward the horizon, wild and free under the gray morning sky.By evening, she would be Lady Blackwood, trapped in a manor with a man who was said to be more monster than human.But as she climbed the servants' stairs to prepare for her wedding, Felicity couldn't help but think that perhaps a monster's cage might be preferable to the hell she was leaving behind.After all, how much worse could her life possibly become?