THE LORD’S UNWANTED BRIDE

Part 2 — The Secret Behind Her Name

Anne barely slept that night.

The wind howled against the tall windows of Blackwood Castle, and the unfamiliar sounds of the old building made her feel as though she were trapped inside a living creature. Every creak of the floorboards reminded her that she was a stranger in a place where no one had asked for her arrival.

Just before dawn, a soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called.

An elderly maid entered carrying a tray of tea and bread. Her silver hair was neatly pinned beneath a white cap, and her eyes held a kindness Anne had not expected to find.

“Good morning, my lady. I am Margaret. I have served this household for more than thirty years.”

“Please, call me Anne,” she said gently. “I am not accustomed to being addressed as a lady.”

Margaret smiled faintly. “You may grow accustomed to it sooner than you think.”

As she arranged the breakfast tray, the maid glanced toward the door.

“Be careful around Lady Beatrice,” she whispered. “She has ruled this castle since Lord Adrian’s mother died. She does not welcome anyone who might change that.”

“Does she hate me already?”

“She fears what you might become.”

Anne frowned. “I am nothing more than a poor girl forced into an unwanted marriage.”

Margaret stopped arranging the cups.

“Sometimes, my lady, the people who appear powerless are the ones who frighten the powerful most.”

Before Anne could ask what she meant, footsteps sounded in the corridor. Margaret immediately straightened and lowered her eyes.

Lady Beatrice entered without waiting for permission.

She wore a deep burgundy gown, a necklace of pearls, and an expression that suggested the entire household existed to serve her.

“So,” she said, examining Anne from head to toe. “The new Lady Blackwood.”

Anne rose and curtsied.

“Good morning, my lady.”

“Do not pretend we are friends.” Beatrice removed her gloves slowly. “My nephew may have married you, but that does not mean you belong here.”

Anne felt her cheeks burn, yet she kept her voice steady.

“I have no wish to take anything that does not belong to me.”

“Then you should have refused this marriage.”

“My father did not give me that choice.”

For the first time, Beatrice seemed surprised.

Then she laughed softly.

“Of course he did not. Men like your father rarely sacrifice something valuable without expecting a reward.”

She stepped closer.

“Tell me, Anne. What did your father promise Adrian in exchange for you?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

“Then perhaps you should ask him why he was so eager to send you away.”

Beatrice turned toward the door.

“One piece of advice, child. My nephew may appear generous today, but Adrian Blackwood has never protected anyone without a reason.”

When she left, Anne stood motionless beside the table.

She wanted to believe Adrian’s kindness had been genuine. Yet Beatrice’s words had awakened an uncomfortable suspicion.

What if the marriage had never been as simple as her father claimed?

Later that morning, Anne wandered into the castle gardens. Though winter had stripped the trees of their leaves, the gardeners had managed to preserve several beds of winter roses. Their pale petals shone beneath a thin layer of frost.

She knelt beside one of them, carefully brushing away the ice.

“My mother loved these flowers,” she murmured.

“Did she?”

Anne turned sharply.

Adrian stood a few steps behind her, wearing a dark riding coat. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes rested on the rose in her hand.

“She used to say that roses were proof that beauty could survive even the harshest winter,” Anne explained.

Adrian looked away.

“Your mother was a remarkable woman.”

Anne stared at him.

“You knew my mother?”

The silence that followed was answer enough.

“How?” she demanded. “You have never met me before our wedding. How could you possibly know anything about her?”

Adrian removed his gloves.

“Your mother once visited this castle, many years ago.”

Anne’s heart began to pound.

“My mother died when I was twelve. My father never told me she had been here.”

“There are many things your father has chosen not to tell you.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

Adrian looked toward the castle windows, where a figure stood watching them from behind a curtain.

“Not here.”

He led her to a small stone pavilion hidden among the trees. Once they were alone, he reached inside his coat and produced a folded letter.

The paper was old and yellowed, its seal broken.

Anne recognized the handwriting immediately.

It was her mother’s.

With trembling fingers, she accepted the letter.

To whoever finds this,

If my daughter Anne ever comes to Blackwood Castle, protect her from the people who claim to love her most. Her name carries a truth that could destroy everything my husband has built.

Anne read the words twice, scarcely breathing.

“What does this mean?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I have never seen this letter before.”

“Then someone has kept it from you.”

Anne looked up at him, fear rising in her chest.

“My father?”

Adrian did not answer.

Instead, he drew another document from his coat. This one bore the royal seal and several signatures, including one Anne recognized from her father’s business papers.

“My marriage to you was arranged because your father offered me a bargain,” Adrian explained. “In exchange for military protection, he promised to surrender a collection of documents that could settle an old dispute over the Blackwood lands.”

“What dispute?”

“Twenty years ago, my father was accused of stealing land from a neighboring family. The accusation nearly destroyed our house. Before he died, he insisted that the documents proving his innocence had been hidden somewhere.”

Anne stared at the letter.

“And my mother knew where they were?”

“I believe she did.”

A cold silence settled between them.

“My father would never have sent me here merely to protect his family,” Anne whispered. “He must believe I can lead you to those documents.”

“Perhaps.” Adrian studied her face. “Or perhaps he believes you already possess something you do not know about.”

Anne suddenly remembered the small silver locket her mother had given her shortly before her death.

She had worn it every day since childhood.

Her hand flew to her throat.

The locket was gone.

She searched the neckline of her dress, then her pockets, her face paling.

“I had it yesterday.”

“What did it look like?” Adrian asked.

“Silver, with a tiny rose engraved on the front. My mother told me never to remove it.”

Adrian’s expression changed.

For the first time since their wedding, he looked genuinely alarmed.

“Anne, where did you leave your belongings after arriving here?”

“In my chamber.”

He turned toward the castle.

“Stay here.”

But Anne caught his arm.

“No. If that locket contains something connected to my mother, I have the right to know.”

Adrian looked down at her hand resting against his sleeve. For a moment, the distance between them seemed to disappear.

Then he covered her fingers with his own.

“You are right,” he said quietly. “You do.”

Together, they returned to the castle.

And as they entered the great hall, a footman hurried toward them with a pale face.

“My lord, forgive me. Someone has searched Lady Anne’s chamber.”

Adrian’s eyes turned cold.

“Was anything taken?”

The servant swallowed.

“Only one thing, my lord.”

He looked at Anne.

“Her mother’s portrait.”

Anne felt the blood drain from her face.

Because the portrait had never been valuable to anyone but her.

And hidden behind its wooden frame was something she had never known existed.

A small compartment.

One that was now empty.