Page 21 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

Charlotte. She could remember Charlotte all too well. She had been beautiful with raven hair and blue eyes, and she had the kindest of souls. It was a soul that Celia would never be able to talk to again, though.

The man who seduced her had seen to that.

“I won’t be like her,” Celia muttered, wiping away her tears as she turned her horse back into the stable yard. “I’ll be free of men. Free of… seduction.”

She could still remember how excited Charlotte was the first time she had met the man. It hadn’t mattered that he was so much older than her, for all that had mattered was the rush of excitement Charlotte had felt at that meeting.

It had ended in tragedy and despair.

As she dismounted her mare and passed the reins into the stable boy’s hands, Celia made up her mind. She had no wish to be linked to the Duke of Hardbridge, and if she desired him, then she would have to do as he asked and find him a bride. More importantly, find him a bride fast so she didn’t have to keep thinking of him.

As she returned to her chamber, she made a plan. Grabbing a piece of parchment, she wrote him a letter, ready to slip it under his door as soon as she had an opportunity to do so.

To the Duke of Hardbridge,

Tonight, at the ball, you shall have your first official lesson in being a gentleman who can charm a lady into marriage. Pay attention if you want me to hold up my end of the bargain and find you a wife.

C.

“You’re going to have to stop fumbling with it, Keith,” Xander said as they descended the stairs. “Or are you hoping to tear it off your neck soon?”

“I look ridiculous,” Keith complained.

He was well aware that he had to attend balls now and dress a certain way, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“It’s what’s done.” Xander chuckled. “Chin up, the ball can’t last forever. You might even find that you like it.”

“And pigs may fly.”

Xander laughed once more and left, clearly hurrying off to find his wife in the crowd.

Keith stood at the edge of the ballroom, reluctant to join the crowds. It seemed that on top of the guests already staying for a couple of days at the house, Lady Arundel had invited other people.

He was used to his castle in Scotland. When crowds came there, it was for a feast or a party, but nothing so formal as a ball. He eyed the ladies and gentlemen around him in frustration.

Many of the ladies looked so tightly bound in their stays that they couldn’t breathe, and others had so many feathers in their hair that they looked like parakeets. The gentlemen were just as stiff-backed, with many sticking their noses in the air that they looked like they had smelled a bad odor.

“Give me the great outdoors any day of the week,” he muttered to himself, then caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.

He looked even more peculiar than he had anticipated. The tailcoat was overly fussy, and the cravat had far too many layers to it. Stepping closer to the mirror, he pulled off the tailcoat and threw it over a nearby chair, then he pulled the cravat loose.

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth’s voice suddenly asked.

“I look like a dressed-up chicken.”

“You do not,” his mother complained, though she laughed as she stepped in front of him and took the cravat from his hands. “Here, let me.”

She was much more adept at this than his valet, for she managed to tie the cravat in a way that wasn’t half so flamboyant, and positively subdued by comparison.

“There, how’s that?”

“Thank ye.”

He paused, looking at his mother. It wasn’t just the smile on her face that had changed her countenance—it was the attention she’d given to her dress and her hair too. She looked more like herself than he remembered seeing her in a long time.

“I’m glad to see ye so happy.”

She smiled softly and laid a hand on his arm. “It’s my dearest hope that you will be as happy in England as I am, Keith.” She patted his arm dotingly.

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