Page 67 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

“Why, whenever there is a problem, it is always one of you lot,” the Archbishop of Canterbury sighs as he shakes his head. “Another special license? Are none of you capable of finding a woman and marrying her in the proper way?”

“When the heart yearns…”

“Yes, yes. I understand. At least it’s a reasonable hour and I’m not already abed. You find me in a gregarious mood. Tread lightly. Now then, who are you to marry?”

“Miss Cynthia Campbell.”

The man pauses, his quill poised above the parchment. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I must have misheard. Did you say Miss Campbell?”

“Indeed, I did.”

“Miss Cynthia Campbell.”

“Yes.”

“Miss Cynthia Campbell, daughter to Miles Campbell, Baron of Kirden?”

“One and the same.”

He chuckles and wipes his hand down his face. “Do you come here to waste my time? What means this foolishness? My ears and brain must not be in agreement for me to be hearing such things. Are you not aware that Miss Campbell is already slated to be married to David Richardson, Viscount of Henhaven, this coming Saturday?”

“I am very aware.”

“And yet you stand here before me, asking for a special license.”

“I do indeed.”

“For Miss Campbell.”

“I can say it as many times as you need, but yes. Miss Cynthia Campbell.”

He places the quill on the desk and looks up at me. “Have you gone mad, Your Grace? A woman cannot marry two husbands.”

“I am very much aware. Henhaven is no longer able to marry her. I am taking his place with her father’s blessing.”

The Archbishop snatches the papers out of my hand and looks over them, his brow furrowing. “This is highly irregular.”

“I am more than willing to pay for the inconvenience.”

“And if I say no?”

“If it pleases you, our joining is a love-”

“Love match,” he finishes, rolling his eyes. “Where have I heard that one before?”

“We have all been blessed to find our perfect mate. Much, in part, to you and your magnanimity.”

He glances up at me and raises an eyebrow. “Flattery, Norhaven? Really? You think that is the way to get what you need?”

“I’m merely stating the truth. Think of it. All these couples you helped to find love. Why, if you’re not Cupid in disguise.”

“Blasphemy to mention a pagan god to me,” he intones before lifting a kind eye and a smirk my way. “But I will take the sentiment. Here. Your license. Are there any more in your group I need to know of?”

“I am the last.”

“Good,” he chuckles. “See that it stays that way. My magnanimity is finite, and you lot have stretched it to its breaking point.”

With a low bow, I grab the license and leave, not wishing to vex the good man any further. I can’t chance him changing his mind. Or worse, should he tell the Queen and get her involvement. She so does love to meddle in the affairs of others.