Page 11 of His Duchess' Mischief

“That is what I heard, too. That he was on trial.”

“Do you know what for?”

There was a short pause, and then the voices came closer, as if one maid had drawn the other to the wall in case they were overheard.

“Murder, Lily! The murder of his best friend, I heard.”

The voices faded, footsteps receding as Alicia pulled away from the door, wishing that her curiosity had not gotten the better of her.

Now, she stood as a bride-to-be, about to wed a potential murderer, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Perhaps I could throw myself from the window. But I would be crippled for my sins, and Papa would probably force me to go through with the wedding anyway.

Her fingers clutched at the soft fabric of her gown as she stared at her reflection, her mind racing.

If she could find a way to commandeer a horse or slip a coachman a few coins to take her somewhere far away, perhaps she could end this herself.

Alicia paced slowly from one end of the room to the other, racking her brain for a solution.

I could set the curtains on fire and burn the manor to the ground.

She glanced at the heavy damask, beautiful swirling patterns covering every inch, and grimaced.

Even if she could start a fire, what would that serve? The chapel would still be intact, but the Duke would be mad with rage.

If she did make it out, what then? What world awaited her, clad as she was in her wedding gown, with no money, no friends, no idea how she could survive?

Her mind raced with images of her wandering a lost, lonely moorland, the taste of salt in the air as she neared the sea, the wind whipping at the remnants of her gown.

In her mind, there was suddenly the sound of thundering hooves behind her. The Duke, having searched for his missing bride for many days, would gallop toward her, his expression stern, uncompromising—enraged.

He would pull her up onto the horse without a word, snarling into her ear as he brought her back to a life of servitude, his big body trapping her forever.

Alicia frowned.

Why is my mind thrilled by the thought of him hunting me down? How ridiculous.

She stopped pacing when a soft knock sounded at the door. Seconds later, Jane entered the room, wearing a gray muslin gown that beautifully accentuated her figure.

Jane took one look at her sister and was immediately by her side.

“What can I do?” she asked, squeezing her fingers tightly.

Alicia shook her head. “There is nothing you can do, dear sister. I will be marrying a cruel and heartless man who is devoid of feeling, all because Papa wishes it.”

“You do not know that he is cruel,” Jane said firmly. “You are accepting rumors as truth when that is not what they are. It is all gossip; that is what it will always be.”

Alicia shook her head. “You forget that I have met the Duke. You have not. I have never seen even the hint of a smile on that man’s face. He is cold, Jane. He might as well be made of stone.”

Jane pulled her to the chaise longue below the window, and they sat down together.

Alicia smiled fondly at her sister as Jane began to fuss with her train to ensure it was not rumpled.

“A creased gown is the least of my problems, Sister,” she said bitterly as Jane sat up again, intertwining their fingers.

“You do not know enough to judge him. I did not know David before we married, and look at us now.”

Alicia sighed. “You are happy, I suppose. That is what you are trying to tell me. And I might be so, too?”

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