She nibbled her bottom lip as her trepidation resurfaced. When Sterling had insisted that she attend the Royal Gala, she’d never imagined it would become the source from which all of her darkest doubts would fester and grow. It was all too much too soon, and she yearned for the quiet solitude of Hawkridge Manor when it was just the two of them.
Things had been simpler then. Easier. Now, secret kisses in the library had been replaced with hasty marriage proposals and instead of a carriage ride into town, they were attending a Royal Gala. Was it any wonder the ground under her feet was spinning faster than she could keep up? Prior to becoming Sterling’s fiancée, she was known as the woman with a squirrel in her pocket. In a matter of weeks, she’d gone from the Squirrel Girl to the future Duchess of Hanover.
All things being equal, she preferred the former title.
Her gown rustled as she crossed the terrace and leaned against the balcony to gaze contemplatively at the rose garden below. Had Joanna and Evie been besieged with similar questions and moments of uncertainty after they’d agreed to marry Kincaid and Weston? Probably not. They were both so confident. So sure of themselves and what they wanted.
“Here you are,” said Sterling as he stepped out through the glass French doors. “I’ve been searching everywhere.” He nodded a greeting to the men smoking their cigars and then joined Rosemary at the far end of the terrace. “What are we looking at?” he whispered, following her gaze into the roses.
“Nothing.” As if things weren’t maudlin enough, to her utter embarrassment, she felt little hornets sting the corners of her eyes. Then, without any warning, she began to cry.
“What’s this?” Sterling demanded gruffly as he grasped her by the shoulders and folded her into his chest. He was warm, and sturdy, and roguishly perfect. A safe harbor in a storm of silk and satin and snide remarks.
Blowing out a stream of air to steady herself, she tilted her head back and blinked at him through her tears. “I-I don’t belong here. I stick out like a sore thumb. My dress…” She shrugged helplessly. “It’s awful.”
“Iwasn’t going to say anything.” Curling his finger, he rested it under her chin, his gray eyes filled with concern. “Then again, none of your dresses are about to win any awards, are they? Boxy rubbish, the lot of them. Just think of the bonfire we’ll have when we’re married. I am going to have to put Higgins in charge of it, or else we’ll set the entire country ablaze.”
She gave a watery laugh. Trust Sterling to say the absolute worst thing possible…and somehow make it better. “It’s my grandmother’s modiste, Mrs. Broomall. Her designs are a tad…antiquated.”
“We’ll find you another modiste. The best one in all of Europe. Your cousin, Evie, will turn green from jealousy, and won’t that be a sight.”
“It’s not…it’s not the gown. Not really.”
“No.” He tracked a tear as it rolled across her cheek and then dashed it away. “I did not think it was.”
How to explain without sounding ungrateful for all that she’d already been given and was about to receive? For most women, becoming a duchess would be a dream come true. They’d be counting down the days to their wedding. Not standing in the dark on a terrace wishing they were home with a cup of tea and the latest edition ofGardner’s Chronicle.
“Your Grace–” she began, but he cut her short with a wry look.
“I’ve seen your squirrel, Ravina. I believe we can dispel with the formalities.”
“But that’s just it, I don’t know if we can,” she said, hands fluttering in distress as she turned away from him to stare blindly out at the garden. Narrow walking paths dressed in white stone formed a rectangular grid pattern. Each rosebush was of equal size with the same number of blooms. They were beautiful, in a sterile sort of way. But what about the roses that didn’t conform? The ones that wanted to grow wild? What happened to those? She had a feeling that she already knew. And that it was the same fate that awaited her if she tried to curb her uniqueness in an attempt to conform to a Society that had never shown any inclination to accept her as she was. “I don’t…I don’t know if I can be a good duchess.”
“That’s fine, as I’m a shoddy duke.” The tips of his fingers skimmed along the curve of her spine before settling with feathery softness on the small of her back. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
She frowned at him. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
How to make him understand?
“You are a duke,” she began slowly, carefully. “If I marry you, I will become your duchess. There will be certain expectations placed upon me. Expectations that I am not confident I can meet. In fact, I’m sure that I cannot. I am not…I am not ignorant of the fact that thetonfinds me peculiar.”
“Did someone say something?” Sterling’s entire body coiled; a lion ready to spring in defense of his lioness. “Who was it? Tell me their name.”
“No one said anything. Not directly to my face, at any rate. But they didn’t have to. I know what they think of me. And it’s all right. That is, itwasall right,” she amended, “before we became engaged. Don’t you see? I don’t enjoy these fancy galas. I’m a fish out of water in them, flopping about. And it’s not just this one. I’ll be a wretched hostess for the house parties we’ll have to throw. I am terrible at remembering names, and I always eat too much cake, and I struggle to stay awake for the parlor games.”
“Who said we have to throw house parties?” he asked blankly. “Was it Weston? I bet it was Weston, that arse. Don’t listen to a word he says. He’s only trying to get out of the one he’s been saddled with since his father made it his responsibility.”
“No. I’ve not spoken to the Earl of Hawkridge. It’s common knowledge that having a house party is simply what’s expected of a duke and duchess,” she said, gesturing vaguely with her arm. “They have elaborate parties, and attend a different social function every night, and speak at charity events. All while dressing fashionably and being charming and popular.”
Sterling shuddered. “That sounds bloodyawful. Let’s not do any of it.”
“But…but we’ll have to,” she said, perplexed by his response. “I’llhave to. And I am going to be terrible at it. Just awful. I can already tell.”
“And?” he asked, arching a brow.
“And…and I thought we should have this discussion now, before things proceed any further.”
