Page 123 of Corrupting his Duchess
The door opened without waiting.
Heather peeked in, eyes wide, braid already slipping down her shoulder.
“You’re awake.”
Anna smiled softly. “So are you.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Heather entered with exaggerated care, as though worried any sudden movement might make the day go faster.
“I brought the gloves,” she said, holding out a small linen bundle. “And Mama says you’re to eat something, but I said you wouldn’t.”
Anna took the gloves and set them beside her gown.
Heather stared at it for a long moment. “It’s real, then.”
Anna didn’t answer at once. “It’s very real.”
Heather looked at her. “Are you happy?”
Anna turned, the faintest smile on her lips. “More than I know what to do with.”
There was another knock– this time, Julia’s voice came through. “We’re not allowed in yet, are we?”
“Not yet,” Heather called, giggling. “She’s still decent.”
The door cracked open anyway.
Julia stepped in, trailed by Gretchen, both half-dressed in their wedding clothes and wholly impatient.
“We thought to supervise,” Julia said, breezing in. “The bride can’t be trusted to prepare herself.”
“I thought I’d be nervous,” Anna said, letting them circle her like hens. “But I’m not.”
“That’s because you’ve already done all the scandalous bits,” Gretchen murmured. “Now it’s just paper and poetry.”
Julia pressed a hand to her heart. “How romantic.”
Anna laughed. “You’re both absurd.”
She was still laughing when a soft knock came at the door.
It creaked open to reveal the housemaid, looking slightly breathless, cheeks pink. “Pardon, miss…but a letter just arrived. From…” she hesitated, “His Grace.”
Julia stood first, snatching it before Anna could reach for it. “A letter from the Duke of Yeats? On the morning of the wedding?”She pressed a hand to her chest, mock-gasping. “Oh, I might swoon.”
“Give it here,” Anna said, reaching out, though her face was already flushing.
Julia handed it over with great ceremony, as though presenting a royal decree. “If this is anything less than a love letter, I shall be personally offended.”
Anna broke the seal. Her eyes moved quickly at first, then slowed. The corners of her mouth curved, soft and involuntary. Her breath caught once. And then she read it aloud, her voice quiet but steady.
My dearest Anna,
By the time you read this, you’ll be only hours from becoming a duchess. (Or perhaps you are already practicing the signature. I do hope you’ve mastered the intimidating ‘Y’ in Yeats.)
I meant to write something elegant. Thoughtful. Perhaps even poetic. But I find my words, when it comes to you, fall short. You make a ruin of my composure, and I’ve never been gladder to lose it.
