Page 5 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars
“I came to inquire as to where the hell my bride is.”
All right, that did not come out quite as he had intended, but he supposed that he was entitled to demand the wife he had been promised. Her Majesty’s orders were Her Majesty’s orders, and the Marquess and his wife had stalled long enough to the point of humiliation. Rampant gossip had spread amongst thetonthat the young lady had run away in fear of her betrothed.
Lord Wyndham’s smile looked more like a grimace. “About that… well, you will see her soon enough, Your Grace.”
Aaron narrowed his eyes at him, inwardly enjoying watching the man squirm. “How soon is soon enough, might I ask?” He asked icily.
“Tomorrow,” the Marquess promised. “At the wedding.”
“Then you had better make sure she is there on time and not a moment later,” Aaron growled. “I, for one, do not intend to find out the consequences of going against a royal decree.”
He smiled as the Marquess squirmed a little more, turning a shade of green reminiscent of his butler. He tipped his hat at his soon-to-be father-in-law.
“I shall see you all tomorrow at the wedding, then. Do not be late.”
The Marquess practically sagged into his chair when he turned around and strode out of the study.
But not before he caught the hateful glare that was aimed at him.
A sister.
And not only that, but a whole family as well, with a mother and a father. Servants, even.
In the space of a few hours, Theresa had gone from being a foundling the Congregation of St. Agatha could not care less about to being part of an actual family. And not just any family at that, but the family of the Marquess of Wyndham.
She was now Lady Theresa Ellison, daughter of the Marquess of Wyndham.
She had pinched herself enough times to leave welts on her arms. She had blinked hard for a full quarter of an hour.
Still, she found herself in a carriage bound for London.
Wyndham Park, the beautiful lady, who was her mother, told her.
Home, according to the Marchioness of Wyndham.
Balderdash, Theresa wanted to say.
She was the least likely of anyone to be the daughter of a marquess. For a nun, her deportment left much to be desired. For a lady of supposed noble birth, she would be much worse.
A disaster, she scoffed inwardly as she stared glumly out the window.An absolute catastrophe.
She stole a glance at the woman seated across from her in the carriage and sighed.
The Marchioness’s overly bright gaze was not something she was used to. Mother Superior’s censorious looks—now, that she was quite familiar with. Sister Mary’s contemptuous glares—she had lived with them all her life. Sister Edith’s kind gaze and Margaret’s conspiratorial glances…
She drew a deep breath. She would miss them all, even Sister Mary, and that was saying something.
But Theresa only felt a gnawing sense of unease and a strange urge to jump out of the carriage and run. Hike up her skirts and flee.
“Why?” The single-worded question escaped her lips before she could stop herself.
The Marchioness blinked in confusion. Her eyes, green as the freshly sprouted grass in spring, were so uncannily like her own that it was unnerving.
“Why what, my dearest?”
Hidden in the folds of her skirts, Theresa clenched her hands into fists. “Why now? Why did you only search for me now?”
The older woman’s eyes flashed, her lips pressing into a thin line.
