Page 9 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars
There was simply no pleasing her.
“My state of inebriation should be the least of her concerns,” he bit out.
His grandmother’s features softened to genuine sorrow. Or was that pity?
Either way, Aaron wanted none of it.
“Do not worry, Grandmama. I shall not desert my bride at the altar and humiliate Her Majesty’s best efforts,” he told her heavily. “I just want to celebrate the last few hours of my bachelorhood.”
He raised his glass in her direction and smiled bitterly.
And ask the heavens why I must be forced to endure such a twisted fate, he added silently.
Wallowing in the quagmire of his misery had become one of his favorite activities to languish in ever since his return. In fact, he had become rather adept at it that he could do it in the presence of other people without much difficulty.
Even his grandmama.
“Very well, then,” she sighed, resigned. “I shall leave you to it. Just… make sure you do not do anything you might regret tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 4
“Mother?”
“Hmm?”
“Are all of these preparations truly necessary?”
Theresa tried to tamp down her bewilderment as she stared at her mother in the mirror above her dressing table.
The Marchioness had come into her bedchamber with a maid at the crack of dawn, her disposition overly bright for the hour. If Theresa herself had not been used to waking up so early for the morning prayers in the nunnery, she would have been caught in her nightgown.
Or dragged out of it.
In the mirror, she saw her mother dismiss the maid with a subtle nod of her head.
“You must forgive me, dearest. It is just that… it is just that I have not been able to do this for you for the longest time…” The Marchioness trailed off with a choked sob.
Theresa felt the guilt stab at her chest like tiny needles. “Forgive me, Mother. I did not mean to offend. I am… just unused to all of this.”
“I understand, my dear. The nunnery looked rather…austere.”
Theresa smiled slightly.Austerewas a rather kind way of putting it.
For a place where spirituality was supposedly nurtured, the Congregation of St. Agatha was practically soulless in its privation.
“Sister Mary always stressed upon those who are to take their vows that our Heavenly Bridegroom preferred to see us in our… natural state,” she said softly instead.
“Well, weddings are more festive for us outside of the nunnery, so you need not worry overmuch.” The Marchioness smiled at her as she inserted a bejeweled pin into her elaborate coif. “There. You are almost ready.”
Almost?Theresa felt as if she was decked out in enough finery to feed a small family for a lifetime. The sheer amount of jewels she wore on her head made her neck ache already.
She watched as her mother took out a polished wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl in a delicate pattern of vines, flowers, and leaves. She opened it to reveal a necklace lying on dark velvet, the emeralds and diamonds shining so brilliantly that it left Theresa dazed.
“Mother, I do not think this is?—”
The Marchioness cut her off with a pained smile and draped the necklace around her neck with shaky hands. “I had this set aside for you especially. The emeralds are a perfect match for your eyes.”
What was Theresa supposed to say to that? How could she refuse such extravagant generosity when her mother had set aside this necklace for her? Would it not be a slap to the face if she refused such a gift?
