Page 1 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Chapter One
“Just a little more, Lady Marion,” her maid pushed and pulled tighter on the strings of the corset while adjusting the intricate lace on the bodice. “There it is, dear. Ye are a vision to behold, a most beautiful bride. Yer parents would be proud.”
“Thank ye, Jean,” she whispered, the customary joy of the occasion absent from her voice.
Marion stood as still as a statue in front of the large, gilded mirror. The heavy silk train of her wedding gown rustled around her as she turned. The dress was a masterpiece of ivory and lace from Paris, a gift from her soon-to-be husband. Yet, the fine fashion felt less like an adornment and more like a shroud.
She shivered as she pulled the lace sleeves down to her fingers.
She was beautiful and yet, she could not stop the dread from overtaking her.
A soft knock at the door preceded a footman, who entered with a silver tray. On it lay a single, cream-colored envelope. Her breath hitched at the sight.
Another one,she thought to herself as her already nervous stomach grew tighter by the moment.
Her fingers trembled as she broke the wax seal. The elegant script swam before her eyes as she read the chilling words.
Gilton has already promised himself to me. Cross that line, and I will make sure you are buried in that wedding gown.
“Lady Marion? Is somethin’ amiss?” Jean asked softly. “Tell me, lass. It’s all right.”
Marion swallowed. Words caught in her throat as she fought to speak. She shook her head and looked up at Jean, her hands slightly trembling.
“It is… it is another note,” she explained as she extended the paper to show her. “The third in two weeks now.”
Jean gasped as she read the alarming words. The rosiness of her plump cheeks paled to a ghostly white. She made the sign of the cross and looked up to the sky.
“Oh, dear God! This is dreadful… on yer weddin’ day no less,” she yelped as she placed the note down on a nearby table. “Thisis some cruel joke. I am sure that is all,” she cursed as she wrung her hands.
“Please fetch me uncle,” Marion said, her voice steady despite the tempest welling up inside of her.
She knew she had to keep her senses about her, if she was to sort this out. And she had to.
Her maid rushed out of the room, and within moments, Marion’s English uncle, Lord Harlowe, stormed inside.
“What is this nonsense I hear, Marion? Do you not understand the gravity of this day? The trouble that we have all gone through to ensure this is a joyous occasion and secure you a proper match with the Viscount!”
“I have just received another note, Uncle. This one threatens me life,” she said. Her fingers twitched at the thought.
Marion handed him the wrinkled note then and he shook his head in frustration. He grabbed it quickly and scanned the words. His jowls quivered and his face grew red. Then, with a roar, he crumpled the paper in his fist and threw it on the ground.
“This is your doing, is it not? Another one of your ridiculous stunts to avoid your duty. This is your third season, and I tell you, Marion… This is the last of it! You must marry Lord Gilton today, whether you like it or not.”
“But Uncle, I am?—”
“That is final!”
Am I just an object to be passed off?Marion thought, defiance hardening her gaze.
Her uncle’s words hurt because they showed his carelessness for her safety and happiness. She could not let this go.
She picked up the crumpled paper and shook it in front of him.
“Uncle, someone is threatenin’ me!” she cried. Fear coated her tongue as she licked her dry lips. “Cannae ye see this is serious?”
“Serious?” He scoffed as he looked her squarely in the eye. “What is serious is your refusal to secure your future. Now, you must hurry! Your aunt and I will meet you at the church. And for God’s sake, try not to look like a frightened doe when you walk down the aisle.”
He spun on his heel and strode out. The door slammed shut behind him with a loud smack that made Marion jump.
