Page 14 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

He paused outside the drawing room door and took a deep breath before striding in as if nothing untoward had happened.

“Anthony, Duchess, I have good news,” he said. For Jenny Hen’s sake, he needed to distract his mother.

The Dowager looked up. “Dinner isnotdelayed?”

“I have found a bride,” he continued, ignoring her. “And we are to be married in a week’s time.”

His mother’s eyes widened to the whites. “You… are betrothed? To whom? Why have I not heard of this lady? Is she well-ranked? What are her connections like? Is she fair of face?” Her mouth tightened. “You cannot spring something like that upon me, Willie! I have not evaluated her. It is my right as your mother.”

“I am the Duke of Stonebridge,” he replied calmly. “I may marry whomever I please withoutanyone’sprior evaluation.”

And you are in no position to judge,he neglected to add, for he was almost certain that his current financial woes were, in no small part, due to his mother’s frivolity and expensive tastes during her marriage to his father. A fair few bribes, too, to keep the scandal sheets silent.

At that moment, he prayed that Lydia would prove to be nothing like his mother, for if she was anything like the Dowager, perhaps she would save them and then ruin them all over again.

CHAPTER 6

Aweek passed by in a blur of soaring, optimistic highs and gutting, panic-stricken lows for Lydia, without so much as a courtesy letter or visit from her future husband. All correspondence from him was directed to her father, and even then, it had only been a brief note to say that the license had been obtained and then the date, time, and location of the nuptials.

All of her usual enjoyments were soured by the looming threat of the wedding day to the point where she had given up reading for the first time in her life. There seemed little use in it when she kept reading the same blasted sentences over and over again.

Walking in the gardens was no better, for it served as a reminder that, if her plan was not successful, she would never see these gardens again, save for the occasional visit home. In truth, the only thing that occupied her mind enough to be considered a distraction was when she sat at her writing desk, writing endless notes about her annulment scheme.

But even those could not delay the wedding day.

“There is still time for me to arrange an escape,” Emma whispered, squeezing Lydia’s hand as the carriage rattled toward the church. “Nora is arriving separately. With one word, she will do for you what she once did for me. She will not even need a word, in truth, just a nod.”

Lydia squeezed her sister’s hand in reply. “I thank you, but I am… confident in my decision.”

“Are you?” Emma smiled sadly. “You do not sound it.”

“That is because I must endure the wedding first. You know I do not like to have so many people staring at me,” Lydia lied.

Deep down, she was terrified of failing in her plan, for it would prove to everyone that she did not know what she was doing, and she would be enmeshed in a marriage she could not get out of. A trap of her own design, forged from pride and stubbornness.

“Whatever happens, dear sister, I will never be too far away,” Emma promised. “Send word to me, and I will come. If he hurts you, humiliates you, imprisons you, or does anything to upset you, youmustsend for me. I know you find it irritating when I say such things, but I am your big sister—it is my duty to protect you.”

Lydia turned her gaze out of the window, so Emma would not see the tears welling up in her eyes.

Of course, Lydia had always known that Emma meant well and that what she had viewed as condescension was nothing more than sisterly affection and a desire to preserve Lydia’s innocence.

I should have heeded your advice.

Not that hindsight mattered now. It was over a week too late for that.

The carriage halted. Lydia’s side of the carriage faced the road away from the church, which felt somewhat like fate offering her a last chance, while the other side faced the gray stone of the church.

The weather had taken its fashionable lead from the walls and spires of St. John’s, as grim rainclouds rolled in, the air thick as honey and just as difficult to inhale. A summer storm was coming.

The door opened, and her father greeted her with a nervous smile. “Good, you are here.”

“Did you think I would not be?” Lydia let Emma descend first.

Her father held out his hand to her. “I never doubted you, dear one.”

Over his shoulder, Emma pulled a silly face at Lydia, as if to say,Of course, he did not think you would run immediately and never make it to the church, much less the altar.

Lydia hid a smirk and accepted her father’s hand, allowing him to help her down from the carriage. Up ahead, positioned by the front doors of the church, she spotted a familiar face. Nora Jessop.

---