Isla tuned out the words, grateful the Duke had arranged for a private ceremony.
Their vows were brief, more formal than sacred, more a contract than a covenant. Fitting, given the circumstances. To all intents and purposes, this was a deal between two parties, one of whom happened to be impossibly handsome, wealthy, and influential.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the powerful man at her side. She had seen him only once in the days leading up to the nuptials, when he presented the special license and informed her of when to arrive. Perhaps seven or eight words had passed between them.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the vicar announced.
Isla blinked, wondering if she had imagined the entire affair.
With any luck, I’ll wake in Scotland, and this will all be a dream.
There was no applause, no joyous cheering, only the hollow silence of the small chapel.
The Duke lifted her veil and placed a chaste kiss on her unscarred cheek, sending a shiver through her from the tips of her hair to her toes.
“If you will excuse me a moment, there is a matter I must settle with the vicar,” he said, striding through a small door to the back room with the clergyman, leaving Isla alone at the altar.
Eilidh was the first to reach her, wrapping her in a tight hug, her voice muffled against Isla’s shoulder. “Oh, Isla! Ye are a Duchess now. What use will ye have for yer little sister?”
Isla hugged her back fiercely. “We are family, Eilidh. Always. This will protect us.”
“I am afraid I will never see ye! What will I do without ye?—”
Aunt Honoria descended upon her, pressing a quick kiss to Isla’s cheek that sounded like a tiny pop. “There, my dear. You are the Duchess of Ealdwick,” she said, patting Isla’s hand reassuringly. “Chin up! A proper front is everything. It’s done now. Your brother and I will see to your sister’s future.”
Yes, the quick ceremony is done… just what every lass dreams of…
There was no wedding breakfast to follow, no music, no merriment. Only the waiting carriage outside, to whisk Isla away to her new life.
Eilidh launched herself into a tight embrace, her small body trembling with barely suppressed sobs.
“It’ll be all right, Eilidh,” Isla whispered, holding her close. “I’ll ask His Grace to bring us back to London as soon as can be managed.”
“He is a decent man, dear. I have it on good authority,” Aunt Honoria murmured, her voice low. “But a duchess must never mistake kindness for patience. On your wedding night… remember this: a husband’s desires are not always gentle, and a duchess’s first duty is to endure.”
Isla’s cheeks burned. She averted her gaze, her face turning a fiery red. She knew the meaning of her aunt’s words. She had been so preoccupied, a myriad of thoughts swirling in her mind, that she had nearly forgotten her duty.
My duty…
“Well, well, the Duke of Ealdwick is now a taken man,” a cheerful, breezy voice broke through her mortification.
By process of elimination, she knew it was Kenneth Arnold, the Marquess of Murkwood, the Duke’s closest friend. He wore a warm smile that reached his eyes, and his blonde hair was impeccably styled, catching the light with effortless brilliance. She felt his gaze skim over her face for a fleeting moment, noting the scars, before it shifted back to the Duke.
“Nice of you to join us, Murkwood,” the Duke said as he rejoined them, having paid the vicar.
“My congratulations, Your Graces. I must say, you have a penchant for the unconventional. First a duel, and now a wedding ceremony. What will you do next?”
“Kenneth,” The Duke growled in warning, but the Marquess just laughed.
“You’re lucky, really,” the Marquess said. “Most wives do not come with a brother who threatens their husband with murder before the wedding. Terribly exciting for an old bore like you, my friend.”
“I prefer not to be surprised,” the Duke said dryly. “And I have little patience for theatrics, even for your amusement.”
“Shall I tell your new bride of the stories of your youth perhaps? There was one particularly amusing trip to France, and he?—”
“That is enough,” the Duke snapped. “We have a carriage ride ahead of us and no time for chatter.”
The Marquess looked back at Isla with a shrug. “I assure you, Your Grace, he is all bark and no bite. Mostly. I daresay, you’ll be a positive influence on him. I have a good sense of these things,” he said as he lowered his voice with an eyebrow raised. “I have half a mind to ask you for tips on how to tame a wild beast.”
