Chapter One
She was no man’s wife. It was irrational for Peter to be so pleased. He knew next to nothing about this woman other than that she’d answered his sister’s advertisement for a pen pal inThe Lady.For all he knew, Booklover was an eighty-year-old spinster with many,manycats.
Still, as sweat trickled down the back of his neck, Peter kept his hand in his coat pocket, his thumb running along the edge of her latest missive. The knowledge that Booklover was not otherwise attached was a relief on a day when relief was hard to find.
It was devilishly warm in the church, as though Westminster Abbey sat directly on the gates of hell. Under any other circumstances, he would loosen the knot of his black cravat and drag in a breath, but the entire congregation had their eyes set on him, the Duke of Strafford, no doubt wondering what on earth he was doing there.
Margaret nudged him. “Smile, for heaven’s sake.”
Next to her, Winnie tut-tutted as she shuffled to the side, away from her sister. “Blasphemy in the house of our Lord, Meg. You might be struck down for that.”
Meg took a long breath in and out as she tried to ignore theiryoungest sister. “Just smile,” she muttered. “We promised we’d look friendly.”
Peter plastered a smile on his face and tried not to make eye contact with the curious busybodies who’d come to witness the maybe-marriage of Lady Cordelia Highwater to the Duke of Moorhouse. “I don’t understand why we have to be here.”
“Because Della asked us to be. Because you sent a letter to the editor ofThe Timesannouncing your betrothal to Lady Cordelia before you’d even asked for her hand, and now all of London thinks she threw you over like she did the Duke of Hornsmouth. The least we can do is help salvage her reputation by showing that there is no bad blood between our families.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably on the wooden pew. That whole blasted scenario had been a mess. It had seemed like the perfect solution—an unmarried duke’s daughter had come to Peter’s tiny town of Berwick just as Peter had decided it was time to wed. He could have avoided the whole rigmarole of courting a bride through traditional means.
Every week, one peer or another would stop by the desk at which Peter reviewed the packets prepared by parliamentary advisors to confirm that Peter had, in fact, received his invitation to their wife’s ball, garden party, or dinner.Lady Amos would be honored to host you. As would my daughter, of course.
Just as Peter had decided there was no other option but to join the whirl the following season, Lady Cordelia had arrived. She was there. She was convenient. Her father had proposed the match a few years prior when she was far too young for Peter to accept, but now she was of age. What objection could she possibly have?
Quite a few, apparently.
When the betrothal announcement had been published—damn the footman who’d posted that letter—Peter had offered to do the right thing. He had been willing to marry Lady Cordelia, despite the fact that just weeks prior, she had put him in a coma. Very magnanimous on his part, he’d thought. Yetshehad rejectedhim. Vehemently.
Now, just over a year later, the gossip that had eased was flaring back to life as the wedding spectators wondered why Lady Cordelia’s former betrothed was attending her wedding to another man.
“Hornsmouth isn’t here.”
“Then you are a better person than he is,” Meg said.
Lady Cordelia had left Hornsmouth at the altar only a week before she had knocked Peter unconscious. All of London had been in attendance, apparently, just as they were today.
In attendance and staring. It made his skin crawl. Good Lord, how he hated to be the center of attention.
“Jac is going to hate missing this,” Winnie said with a satisfied smirk.
“Edwina, there is no need to sound so pleased. Besides, there will be plenty more weddings this season, no doubt,” Meg replied.
Winnie sniffed. “Dukes’ weddings? Hardly.” She gave Peter a sly, sidelong glance. “Unless you’re planning on proposing again, brother? If so, please do actuallyaskher before you announce it.”
Peter gritted his teeth. His sisters would never let him forget that miscalculation. Ever. They were like dogs with a bone, which was precisely why he did not plan to tell them that, yes, he would find a wife this season. If he had to attend social engagements as Winnie debuted, then he might as well address the duchess problem at the same time. Efficient.
His thoughts turned toward the letter in his pocket. Was Booklover an eligible candidate? He wouldn’t know unless he could find out who she was, but the secrecy she and Jac had agreed to made that difficult.
“Itisa shame that Jac is not here,” Meg said, taking less satisfaction in the fact than her sister had. “She is quite despairing.”
He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Jacqueline’s despair was of her own making. “Dr. Peabody is in high demand. This was the time he had available for her surgery. He was not going to rearrange his schedule so that she could witness gossip firsthand.”
Winniehmphed, seemingly pleased that his comment might be construed as siding with her. That would come back to bite him in some form at some point. “So true, brother. But you really should smile, or people will think that you’re put out with me, and I am innocent.”
People. Blast. Just as he turned to observe the rubberneckers staring at him, there was a murmur and their attention shifted. Thank heavens. His shoulders loosened as the Duke of Moorhouse strode down the aisle. Lady Cordelia had already entered the church and was waiting in the doorway. Even from this distance, he could see the grip her father had on his daughter’s arm.
“She’s beautiful,” Winnie whispered.
“Stunning,” Meg replied.
