Page 36 of His Scarred Duchess
Adeline managed a small smile, her own eyes misting over as she gazed at her younger sister. “Thank you, Bella. I can hardly believe this is happening.”
The two sisters stood before a large mirror in the antechamber of the family chapel, a moment of quiet amidst the whirlwind of wedding preparations. Adeline’s gown, a confection of ivory silk and delicate lace, seemed to glow in the soft light filtering through the stained-glass windows.
Isabella took her sister’s hands in hers, squeezing gently. “Are you nervous?”
Adeline let out a shaky breath. “Terrified,” she admitted. “It’s all happened so fast, Bella. A fortnight ago, I was resigned to spinsterhood and exile in Scotland. And now…”
“And now you’re to be a duchess!” Isabella finished, a hint of awe in her voice. “It’s like something out of a fairytale.”
“A rather strange fairytale,” Adeline murmured, her hand unconsciously rising to touch her scarred cheek.
Isabella caught the gesture and frowned. “None of that,” she said firmly. “You are beautiful, Adeline. Scars and all. And if the Duke can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
Adeline felt a lump form in her throat at her sister’s fierce loyalty. Although her heart felt warm by her sister’s words, she knew that her upcoming wedding was nothing but a means to an end—a cover-up for a damning scandal. The Duke would have never even considered her as a potential bride otherwise.
But even as she told herself that, a traitorous part of her mind couldn’t help but drift back to the scavenger hunt—the way his lips had claimed hers. The raw heat of that kiss had startled her, had awakened something deep inside, something that made her pulse quicken every time she thought of him. His hands had lingered on her waist, his breath warm against her neck, and she had felt it—his hunger, his need.
She shivered at the memory, her body betraying her calm exterior. For all her reasoning, for all her attempts to dismiss this marriage as nothing but convenience, her body remembereddifferently. The way Edmund had looked at her, touched her—it made her question everything.
And yet, she reminded herself firmly, that’s all this was. A cover-up.
“Oh, Bella. What am I going to do without you?” she could only reply.
“You’ll be fine,” Isabella assured her, though her voice wavered slightly. “You’re the bravest person I know, Adeline. And I’ll visit so often, you’ll be sick of me.”
The sisters shared a watery laugh, clinging to each other for a moment longer.
“I wish Mama were here,” Adeline whispered, voicing the thought that had been haunting her all morning.
Isabella’s arms tightened around her. “She is,” she said softly. “In here.” She placed a hand over her sister’s heart. “And she would be so proud of you, Adeline. Just as I am.”
A knock at the door interrupted their moment.
“Girls?” Lord Brenton’s voice called. “It’s time.”
The sisters exchanged one last look, a lifetime of shared experiences passing between them in that glance. Then, with adeep breath, Adeline squared her shoulders and turned to face the door.
Lord Brenton entered, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight of his eldest daughter. For a moment, Adeline thought she saw a flicker of emotion cross his usually stern features.
Adeline linked her arm through her father’s as they stepped out of the small antechamber, the soft echo of their footsteps filling the quiet corridor.
The weight of her dress seemed to pull her down with each step, the silken fabric whispering against the stone floors as they moved toward the chapel.
The scent of fresh flowers from the garlands lining the walls mingled with the faint mustiness of the old stone, creating a strangely bittersweet contrast.
She forced herself to focus on her breathing, trying to calm the anxious flutter in her chest.
Her heart raced faster with each step, not from excitement, but from the magnitude of what lay ahead.
As the doors of the chapel loomed nearer, the reality of her impending marriage pressed down on her like a heavy mantle.
Her mind flickered back to the Duke’s kiss, to the heat it stirred in her, but she quickly pushed the memory aside. This wasn’tabout desire; this was about duty. And she would perform it—no matter how tightly her chest seemed to constrict with every passing second.
“Remember, Adeline, you carry the Follett name with you, even as you take on the title of Duchess,” Lord Brenton murmured, his voice low and urgent as they stood before the heavy oak doors of the family chapel. “Your actions will reflect not only on your new husband but on all of us. Do not forget that.”
Adeline swallowed hard, her gloved hands tightening on the bouquet of white roses and orange blossoms she clutched before her.
“Yes, Father,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft strains of music drifting from within the chapel.
