Page 8 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

Yes, she was wearing a white dress, but it was not the dream gown she had envisioned. It was plain and modest, a mere symbol of the ceremony to mark her marriage, and nothing more.

The ballroom—once the setting for grand parties and balls—had been turned into a hasty venue for the wedding breakfast after their arrival from the church where they’d been joined in holy matrimony, as if it were nothing more than a matter of form.

It was the perfect definition of a quick gathering.

The ceremony barely lasted an hour, hastened by her husband’s desire to conclude matters as quickly as possible, as though the whole event were nothing more than a tedious chore for him.

The guests had been few—her brother and his wife Georgiana, her nephew, Aaron, and Killian’s sister, Fiona. That was it. No elaborate celebration or hundreds of guests to witness the union. In truth, the entire event filled her with a quiet sense of emptiness. She had never imagined her wedding day would feel so hollow.

When the ceremony finally came to an end, there was no sense of excitement. The moment should have been life-changing, but instead, it felt like a formality—just another obligation checked off.

But then, amidst the cold formality, something unexpectedly warm and tender happened. Her nephew, Aaron, ran to her. The little boy threw himself into her arms, his small arms wrappedtightly around her waist like it wasn’t their first meeting. The gesture felt so innocent and genuine that it brought tears to her eyes.

Aaron held her like he had known her for years, as though there was no time lost between them, no gap filled by the years she had spent at St. Catherine’s, separated from the world.

Her heart swelled as she held him close, and for a moment, all the pain and confusion of the day seemed to fade away. His happiness, his joy at finally meeting her, was a balm to the raw wound she carried inside.

Yvette’s eyes watered, but she quickly blinked her tears away, trying to mask the sorrow that threatened to surface.

She pinched Aaron’s cheek gently, smiling as he beamed up at her, delighted by the attention.

“Good to see you, Aunt Yvette,” he chirped, his voice so cheerful it made Yvette’s heart ache even more.

“Good to see you too, darling,” she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Her brother, Edward, and his wife, Georgiana, stood a few paces away, watching the exchange. Yvette could see the slight awkwardness in Georgiana’s posture, the strained smile that lingered on her plump lips. It wasn’t that Georgiana disliked her, but there was an air of uncertainty between them. Georgianawasn’t sure whether to offer a warm hug or a stiff handshake—whether she should act as a stranger or as family.

But, despite the tension, Yvette couldn’t help the urge to embrace her sister-in-law. She stepped forward without a second thought, and pulled Georgiana into a tight hug.

Georgiana’s surprise was evident for a moment, but she quickly returned the embrace.

“I genuinely wanted to come and visit you at the nunnery,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, “but I wasn’t sure if you’d like that.”

Yvette pulled back slightly to look at her, offering a small smile.

“I understand,” she replied, her voice quiet but not unkind, “but you know how stubborn Edward can be. I forbade him from coming to that wretched place, but he came anyway.”

Edward laughed lightly, his eyes glinting with affection for his wife.

“Well, you’re my only sister. It’s only natural that I saw to your welfare.”

Yvette gave a teasing smile. “Yes, you were always one to try and do what was best for me, whether I wanted it or not.”

Georgiana chuckled at the light-hearted exchange, her earlier discomfort easing. She took Yvette’s hands in hers, her expression shifting to something more earnest.

“Would it be all right if I came to visit you sometime?” she asked, her tone gentle, as if she were afraid of being too forward.

Yvette blinked in surprise but then nodded. “Of course,” she said warmly, “I would love for you to visit. It would be nice to have a proper conversation over tea sometime.”

While Yvette and her family continued talking, the soft sound of a throat clearing from behind her interrupted the moment.

Yvette turned, her gaze lifting to meet the gaze of Lady Fiona, who stood with her hands clasped behind her, staring at Yvette.

The resemblance between Lady Fiona and her brother was striking. The lady was reserved, as though she had learned to carry herself with the same controlled distance that the duke possessed.

Lady Fiona’s soft voice broke through the tension. “When I contemplated coming over,” she began, her tone both hesitant and sincere, “I wasn’t sure if I should congratulate you or apologize to you.”

Her Scottish accent—distinct but more refined than her brother’s—lingered in the air as she continued, her gaze searching for something in Yvette’s expression.

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