Page 41 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

“Perhaps.” Grace tried her best not to laugh, for she thought it a wild idea.

The Duke of Berkley has every intention of consummating this marriage.

The way he had spoken so possessively, how he had marked her skin, it was plain that he intended to claim her body that night.

I am not sure I could refuse him.

She remembered shamefully how she had pressed her hips against his and pleaded for him to touch her in that carriage. Her body had acted of her own accord, shouting down every dissenting voice in her mind.

“Are you in there, Grace?” Eleanor’s voice suddenly called from outside the door.

“Can we come in yet!” Violet cried.

“Yes, or we might all break down the door soon enough,” Celia added.

“You can come in,” Grace called.

Her friends all hurried in. Diana was the first, hastening to Grace’s side followed by the others.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” Tabitha whispered and left.

“Well, the day is here,” Eleanor declared then she halted a few steps from Grace. “Oh…”

“Oh indeed,” Celia said with wide eyes. “Grace, what on earth are you wearing?”

“You look… nice,” Diana said feebly, pulling at the baggy sleeves of the gown and trying her best to smile.

“I look like a sack of potatoes.” Grace’s words cut through the tension in the room. Her friends laughed and shook their heads. “Is this actually how I will have to get married today? I look awful.”

She turned back to face the mirror. The gown had been entirely of her mother’s choosing. The high neckline was insufferable, the material cloying, hiding every part of her larger figure, and it swamped her.

“You do rather look like you’re drowning in lace,” Violet added, only to get swiped by her sister who urged her into silence.

“What am I going to do?” Grace asked as she looked back at her reflection and fidgeted with the material.

She could well imagine what the Duke would make of a dress like this. He had once called one of her gownsridiculous.

Maybe he will not want to bed me if I wear this?

“There are frills everywhere,” Diana said, trying her best to keep horror out of her tone though Grace heard it anyway.

“Look at these cuffs.” Eleanor raised one of Grace’s wrists and flapped her hand. The excessive hanging lace waved in the air. “It looks like you are about to take flight.”

“This won’t do,” Celia murmured and stepped forward. With her hands on her hips, she circled around Grace. “For God’s sake, why does your mother insist on hiding your good figure?”

“What figure?” Grace scoffed. “I am neither slim nor regal in my posture. When my mother looks at me, she sees someone too plump and frumpy. She tries to hide it with dresses like this.” She picked at the skirt in an unfriendly way.

“Plump!?” Violet scoffed.

“I know.” Celia agreed with a nod. “I know many women who would kill to have a chest like yours, Grace.”

“A what?” Grace looked down at her own chest. She had rather large breasts though they were currently completely masked by all the frills.

“I think it’s time we showed off your figure to its best, what do you say?” Celia tapped her chin in thought.

“We have an hour until Grace has to leave,” Diana muttered nervously, glancing at the clock.

“Great, then you be on watching the clock, Diana, to make sure we’re not late.” Celia looked around her. “Grace, you must have an embroidery box here somewhere.”

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