Page 24 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
And he did, but not without spilling his derisive words.
“So, this is how the prodigal niece returns,” he’d sneered quietly, loud enough only for her to hear. “Running from a viscount’s bed to a duke’s altar…not quite the grand escape you fancied, is it? You should count yourself lucky the Duke sees some worth in you. I daresay most would have passed on a girl with your… reputation.” He straightened abruptly before adding in a clipped tone, “Try not to disgrace the family further, Marion. The people of thetonhave long memories, and so do I.”
Marion tried her best to ignore his vitriol and instead focused on the husband-to-be who was waiting for her at the end of the long church aisle.
How am I in this position again?
So little time had passed since her failed wedding and yet so much had happened since then.
A bride once more…
Gratefully, the Duke had made sure she had a modest, white wedding gown made instead of the extravagant dress she had worn just a short time ago.
She hoped he’d burned the other one.
The one she wore now was cut to the neck but expertly tailored to her curves with delicate buttons down the back. Her chestnut locks were half up while the lower part cascading down her back in delicate ringlets. Her crown was adorned with tiny crystals and flowers woven in that caught the sunlight.
She did not feel like a bride but certainly looked the part.
A wedding breakfast at the Duke’s townhouse followed the ceremony, which was held in one of the townhouse’s smaller, elegant drawing rooms just a short way down the hall.
There were perfectly set tables with fine crystal, china, and gold silverware. The hardwood floors in the room gleamed from the natural light that streamed in through the wide windows and illuminated the room. A soft quartet played tasteful background music as guests circulated.
The Duke leaned in as they sat down at their table before they had to approach yet another guest to thank for coming.
“Remember your lines, Duchess,” he whispered to Marion. “A chance encounter, profound admiration, and an irresistible passion. Make it convincing.”
“As if me life depends on it, Yer Grace,” she replied through gritted teeth. “Which come to think of it, it rather does.”
“Whatever fuel you need for your performance.”
“Are ye quite certain this tale is believable?” Marion asked genuinely, as she gestured subtly to the guests around them. “Cannae we do better?”
The Duke took a sip of champagne as his gaze swept the room. “The vultures of thetonwill believe anything if the champagne is good enough. Besides, you’ have experience in playing the bride.”
“I have had practice, aye,” she quipped back.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over their table, and they looked up. Lord and Lady Harlowe stood before them. Their faces were little more than brittle, polite masks with forced smiles.
“Your Grace,” Lord Harlowe boomed, his voice oozing false pleasantries. “Congratulations to you! A most unexpected, yet delightful, turn of events.” He clasped the Duke’s hand, shakingit firmly. “I must thank you, Your Grace, for handling this rather delicately. One might say, you ensured everyone’s interests were well-served. Given the disposition of my guileful niece, that is.”
The Duke kept his face neutral, which perplexed her greatly.
Aye, he must be a formidable card player,Marion thought, able to see right through the two of them.I ken Lord Harlowe wouldnae give this up so easily.
“Lord Harlowe. One does what is necessary for the sake of discretion, wouldn’t you agree?” The Duke’s eyes held a challenge, one that Lord Harlowe would do well to leave alone.
“And you, Marion dear. Who would have thought? From the Highlands to a duchess. You always were… full of surprises,” Lady Harlowe said to shift the attention but the subtle venom in her tone was unmistakable. “Tell me, Marion, does the mountain air prepare one for the dizzying heights of London society?”
“I find that one adapts, aunt. And I do have His Grace to guide me… of course.” She met Lady Harlowe’s gaze. “I am sure ye understand the nuances of such swift transitions.”
“Indeed, my dear. Indeed,” Lady Harlowe murmured.
As the last of the guests departed, their carriages rumbled away into the fading afternoon. Verity approached Anselm then. Her expression was soft with relief but also burdened with concern.
“Anselm,” she began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked around to ensure they were truly alone. “Perhaps… perhaps I should stay with Aunt Eleanor for a while? She said it would be no trouble when I saw her just a few moments ago.”
“You what? Why would you leave?”
