Page 98 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
Chapter 18
The next morning brought a flurry of activity. Final dress fittings, rehearsal arrangements, last-minute wedding details that seemed both crucial and completely irrelevant.
"You look tired," Vivienne observed over breakfast.
"Someone threw pebbles at my window last night."
"Ah. The Duke?"
"Who else?"
"How romantic. Harold did the same thing before our wedding. Though he was sober and brought flowers."
"James was neither sober nor bearing flowers. He did propose we elope to Scotland."
"Of course he did. The poor man's desperate."
"We're getting married tomorrow."
"After three months of torture. I'm surprised he hasn't actually kidnapped you."
"Don't give him ideas."
The day passed in a blur of preparations. The final dress fitting went perfectly and Madame Delacroix actually cried overher creation. Great-aunt Agatha, who had indeed arrived, kept offering loud commentary about the importance of "marital vigor."
"Is she drunk?" Catherine whispered to James.
"She's been drunk since 1785," he replied. "We think it's preserved her."
Vivienne insisted they had a rehearsal dinner at her house, with only close family and friends. Or as close as dukes got to friends, which seemed to mostly involve other titled people who didn't actively want to murder him.
Catherine was seated beside James, finally, properly, as would be her right as his wife starting tomorrow.
"Twenty hours," he murmured as the soup was served.
"Nineteen hours and forty-three minutes."
"Heavens, this is endless."
"It's necessary."
"Is it? Is it really? Because I'm fairly certain we could skip dinner, skip the sleeping separately tonight, skip everything except the actual vows."
"Your mother would murder you."
"She'd understand eventually."
The Duchess, seated across from them, raised an eyebrow. "I can hear you, you know."
"Good," James said. "Then you know I'm dying."
"You're dramatic. It's one more night."
"One more night after three months of nights."
"James," the Duchess said mildly, "you're scandalizing the Archbishop."
Indeed, the Archbishop was looking rather pink.
