Page 11 of His Accidental Duchess

Theodore had already half-guessed who she might be. There was a thundering of footsteps in the hall, and the door swung open to admit a harried-looking young woman in a worse-for-wear white gown.

“Miss Belmont, I assume,” Theodore remarked, languidly rising to his feet. Stephen, already annoyingly proper, was standing already. “How was the wedding?”

He wasn’t sure what he expected in response to his comment. Tears, perhaps? Anger? It was clear thatsomethinghad gone wrong, and Theodore had a feeling he would be reading all about it in tomorrow’s gossip columns.

The very same columns that he read in secret, and had so freely mocked Stephen for reading.

The girl entirely ignored him. Theodore blinked, conscious of a flutter of irritation. She darted around the study, her head swinging from side to side.

She’s looking for something. Someone, I’d wager.

The girl was in a state. Her hair was coming out of the elaborate updo, falling over her shoulders in messy locks. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and were those dead flowers in her hair? Goodness.

The dress was ruined.

The silk hem had clearly been inches deep in mud and dirty London puddle water, and there were several tears he could see even from where he was standing.

There were some smears of what seemed to be pollen around her waist and a worryingly vivid spot of blood. She held no flowers in her hands, and her face was gray and pinched with worry.

Without looking their way, she pointed vaguely towards the window. “I hired a hackney to get here,” she said flatly. Her voice wobbled, sounding rather strained. “I told him I had money, but of course, I don’t. Could you pay him, please?”

Theodore opened his mouth to tell her to get out of his home immediately and take her disgusting dress with her, but Stephen quickly interceded.

“I shall deal with that at once,” he said gracefully, executing a neat bow which the girl did not notice. He left the room, shooting Theodore a meaningful look that he could not quite fathom.

“I assume you are the Duke of Langdon, then,” the girl said, still looking around as if she expected to see Henry crouching behind a sofa. “Henry’s brother. The one who didn’t come to the wedding. You didn’t even reply to the invitation. Although that was probably for the best.”

“If you don’t tell me what is going on,” Theodore snapped, “I shall have you removed. If you are expecting me to be a gentlemanly, chivalrous sort of man, solicitous about a distressed female, you are about to be seriously disappointed.”

The girl—Miss Belmont, ithadto be Miss Belmont—drew in a deep, ragged breath. She didn’t seem to have even noticed his sharp words. Her gaze was distant, inward-looking. Whatever was troubling her, it was occupying her whole mind.

“You will see, if you glance at the clock, that it is one and a half hours since I was meant to be married to your brother. To Henry. And here I am, unmarried. I am Miss Belmont still. He never arrived, Sir.”

Theo sighed. “It’s Your Grace, actually. NotSir. Do excuse my correction.”

She was not listening. No tears, no hysterics, just a dry sort of panic, increasing with each passing moment.

The papers,Theo thought resignedly,are going to have a wonderful time with this story.

“Where is he?” Miss Belmont burst out. “Is he here? I want to speak to him. Imustspeak to him.”

It was clear that the girl was on the cusp of a meltdown. Theodore took a tentative step closer, not sure whether the girl was going to do something like attack him, or scream, or launch herself out of the window.

“Henry is not here,” he said firmly. “Tell me what is going on.”

A kernel of worry lodged itself in his gut. There were a number of things that could have happened between here and the church. Footpads, carriage accidents, a sudden fit of apoplexy that robbed Henry of his breath and left him face-down in a filthy puddle.

Miss Belmont took out a crumpled, folded piece of paper and wordlessly shoved it towards him. He recognized Henry’s handwriting at once. The message was short but extremely eloquent.

I’m sorry.

Ah.

He bit his lip, folding the paper carefully. “I see,” he said slowly.

“So,” Miss Belmont said, sounding exhausted. “Where is he? I just want to talk to him.”

Theodore let out a sigh. “He’s not here.”

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