Page 1 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

Chapter One

“Frederick,” Kenneth gritted out.

Kenneth Stafford, the Duke of Bearmoor, surveyed the church with pursed lips. Two small, unmistakable figures darted between the pews with all the discipline of sparrows in a flour mill.

The twins. Seven years old and perfectly capable of reducing any solemn occasion to chaos within minutes.

He had known better than to bring them. He had known it with the same certainty that he knew the sky was blue or that estate ledgers required checking twice.

And yet here they were, his sons, because some well-meaning relation had insisted that children belonged at their father’s wedding, and because Kenneth, for all his ducal authority, had not possessed the energy to argue the point after the third draft of seating arrangements.

“Frederick,” he repeated, not raising his voice. He never needed to.

The shorter of the two boys froze mid-aisle, one hand braced on the prayer-book rack of an elderly baronet who looked as though he was regretting his decision to attend.

Freddie’s face, a miniature of his own—or so people claimed, though Kenneth could never quite see it—arranged itself into an expression of such studied innocence that it verged on theatrical.

“Your Grace,” a familiar voice sounded at his elbow, low and amused. “The resemblance is frankly alarming.”

Kenneth did not turn. “If you’ve come to mock me, Jonathan, I invite you to do so from a greater distance.”

Jonathan Crawford, the Marquess of Nortley, took up a position at his side anyway, folding his arms in a posture of such comfortable familiarity that several of the assembled guests exchanged glances. “I’m here to support you on your wedding day, as any loyal friend would. The fact that I’m enjoying myself while doing so is merely a fortunate coincidence.”

Before Kenneth could formulate a response adequate to the provocation, Freddie materialized before them. His hair stood in wild tufts, his cravat hung askew, and his eyes held that particular gleam that Kenneth had learned to associate with imminent requests of the inconvenient variety.

“I need to use the necessary,” Freddie announced, with the grave urgency of a man reporting the fall of a fortress.

Kenneth stared at his son. “The what?”

“The necessary. To relieve myself.” Freddie narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, the chamber pot. The privy. The⁠—”

“Frederick.” A woman in a dark dress materialized behind the boy. Miss Maria Leyton’s cheeks were flushed with what could only be described as utter mortification. “I do apologize, Your Grace. I did explain that the ceremony would commence shortly, and⁠—”

“But I really need to go,” Freddie insisted, bouncing slightly on his heels. “It’s getting urgent.”

Kenneth closed his eyes. The organist had settled at the bench. The guests had arranged themselves into something approximating attentive silence.

Lady Rachel would arrive at any moment, and here he stood, discussing chamber pots with a seven-year-old who appeared to be experimenting with the limits of his patience.

“Take him,” he hissed to the governess. “Outside. Quickly.”

Miss Leyton curtsied and seized Freddie by the shoulder, guiding him toward the side door briskly.

Kenneth turned back to find Jonathan watching the retreat with undisguised delight.

“You’re doing remarkably well, considering,” Jonathan remarked. “Seven years as a sole parent to those two would break a lesser man.”

The words landed with more weight than he had perhaps intended.

Seven years. Kenneth had marked each one with the precision of a jailer counting days, each birthday and season and holiday another stretch of territory traversed without Theresa. Without help.

“I need this,” Kenneth said quietly. The admission cost him something; he could feel it in the tightness of his jaw. “Lady Rachel comes from good stock. The boys need stability. A mother.”

“What about you?” Jonathan asked. “What do you need?”

Kenneth did not answer.

The question hung between them, unanswered and perhaps unanswerable, until the sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence.