Page 9 of His Accidental Duchess

“He’s not coming,” she said aloud, and there was a muffled gasp from the congregation.

The priest took a step forward, and so did Octavia. In the crowd, Beatrice struggled to her feet, as if planning to come towards Anna too.

No, no, no.

Anna turned on her heel, hiked up her skirts, and ran.

She couldn’t quite block out the stage whispers from either side as she ran, disembodied voices drifting up to her ears.

“Poor girl.”

“Poorgirl? The poor family! They’ll never recover.”

“Who’ll take care of them now?”

“I would have died of shame if that were me.”

“Well, really, who ever thought a girl with no dowry would marry a duke’s brother?”

Anna skidded to a halt, spinning around to glare at the congregation. Faces blurred together until she couldn’t even pick out the familiar ones.

“Be quiet!” she howled. “You don’t know anything! Leave me alone, leave mealone!”

Gasps of shock followed her as she continued her mad dash down the aisle, shouldered open the door with an echoingbang, and burst out into the cool air.

Daphne was right. Itwasgoing to rain.

The first heavy, fat drops fell as Anna ran, soaking her dress, ice-cold. She was aware that somebody was shouting behind her—several someones, in fact. Her mother, certainly. She’d gotten a good enough head start on her younger sisters to outrun them.

Her heart pounded, and her head spun. She prayed, prayed so hard to wake up in her bed and realize that this was all a dream and she hadn’t just beenjiltedat the altar in a way that would be talked of for years to come.

No, no, no.

She skidded into the road, and a hackney nearly ran her over, the driver cursing and yanking at the reins.

“Careful, Miss!” he shouted.

“I need you to take me somewhere,” she said, gasping. “I have money.”

The man blinked, uncertain. “Where are you going?”

“Langdon House. I need to speak to my betrothed.”

CHAPTER 3

“You, Theo, need a wife.”

Theodore Stanley, the Duke of Langdon and heir to one of the most impressive estates in the country, waved aside a cloud of cigar smoke and eyed his friend impassively.

“What an interesting suggestion. You, my dear Stephen, need a brain. Or perhaps a hobby or two, to keep you from worrying so excessively about my private life.”

Stephen snorted. “I suspect this charming personality of yours is exactly why you remain single.”

“For which I thank the good Lord on my knees every morning and evening. What brought this on, then?”

Stephen sighed, sinking lower into the ornate leather armchair. He flicked his cigar aside, and at a glower from his friend,he meekly picked up the butt and deposited it in an ashtray. Theodore did not smoke and only permitted Stephen the occasional cigar on sufferance.

They were, of course, taking their ease in Langdon House, the largest and finest townhouse in London, and less like a bachelor’s apartment than Stephen’s home.

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