Page 82 of A Virgin for the Ton's Wolf

He, on the other hand, was made for the darkness. The antithesis of everything she was.

And he would make sure that his shadow would never taint her light.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Scarlett turned her face towards the sunlight with a soft smile, letting the warmth wash over her face. It felt good to be out after days upon days of debating over every single detail of the wedding. In the end, she had let her mama and the Dowager Duchess sort everything out by themselves—a task that both women only seemed too happy to undertake.

“Your Grace.”

She frowned and looked around her. There was no one in the gardens but her, Snowdrop… and the butler.

The man smiled again. “Your Grace,” he repeated. “Might I suggest getting used to your title?”

She laughed a little. “I am still Lady Scarlett Clarke.”

“Not for long.” His eyes twinkled.

No, not for another sixteen hours, at least. Two-thirds of a whole day, and then she would be the Duchess of Wolverton. Hudson’s wife.

“The wedding preparations were getting a little too much,” she admitted. “I thought I might have a bit of fresh air before…”

“Before everything gets too overwhelming?” he supplied.

She nodded. “There is so much to take in.”

“I would not worry so much, Your Grace,” the butler told her. “I think you would do exceedingly well. In fact…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I daresay that the entire estate has been waiting for you all this time.”

Scarlett laughed. Truly, the man had a glib tongue, in addition to his remarkable efficiency.

“Well, do not let the Dowager Duchess hear that,” she replied with a sideways glance. “I still cannot imagine how she managed to keep everything in this vast estate in order.”

“Oh, she was once just like you, I assure you,” he confided in her. “But… His Grace would definitely make a more patient husband than his sire.”

Scarlett paused at that. She had never met the previous Duke of Wolverton—save for his stern portrait looking down at her down the hallway. Hudson and his mother never spoke of him either.

“Was he a stern one? The previous Duke?” she asked.

The butler’s eyes looked shuttered, before he smiled. A little more politely, this time.

“He was… a very exacting man,” he said carefully, every word measured.

“Just like his son, then.”

The butler shook his head vehemently. “No, His Grace is nothing like his father, I assure you.”

“Should I be grateful for that or not?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Grateful. Infinitely grateful.”

So, his father was probably exactly like her own, demanding perfection where he failed to see his flaws. An inherent trait amongst men of their generation, she deduced. Most men she knew were only too eager to follow in their footsteps.

“Well, it remains to be seen whether His Grace will feel the same overwhelming gratitude—or regret—for having married me.” She smiled at the butler. “I am not without my faults either.”

“You are exactly what he needs, Your Grace, if I may be so bold.”

Scarlett laughed a little at that. If Hudson needed her so much, why did he spend so much time trying to avoid her? If he truly wanted her, why did he recoil from her as though her very skin was toxic?

“Thank you so much for your kind words,” she murmured.

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