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There would be no romantic husband, no marital intimacy, and no possibility of the children she had once dreamed of having. She had told herself she could bear it. She would simply have to keep telling herself until she believed it.

The blacksmith cleared his throat and looked between them before declaring, "You have come to be joined in marriage beneath the ancient custom of the anvil."

Olivia nearly smiled at the solemnity of it all. Elopement marriages had made Gretna Green famous, all one needed were witnesses and a blacksmith to do the ceremony. Far quicker than the permits and time needed in England.

He proceeded through the familiar words with admirable seriousness, asking "James Delves, the Duke of Glenmore do you take Olivia Shirley as your lawful wife?"

James answered in his deep, steady voice.

When the question was put to Olivia, she swallowed against the strange tightness in her throat and answered, "I do."

There is no other answer I can give without destroying everything I have worked so hard to protect.

Olivia thought that the vows sounded rather grand for two people who had privately agreed not to behave like a married couple at all.

Then came the anvil.

The blacksmith placed his hand upon it with great ceremony and announced that, as iron was forged beneath the hammer, so were these two lovers symbolically joined in a bond that could not be broken.

Olivia snorted before she could stop herself.

Lovers?

The word seemed particularly ridiculous considering James had spent the previous evening explaining that he did not intend to consummate their marriage. She saw James's eyebrow rise as he looked at her, and she pressed her lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to appear dignified.

The blacksmith lifted his hammer and struck the anvil with a resounding clang that echoed through the smithy, and Olivia thought that if nothing else, the man certainly knew how to be dramatic.

When the brief ceremony ended, Olivia accepted James's arm and allowed him to lead her outside into the crisp Scottish morning. Her cheeks were still warm from the absurdity of the proceedings, and she suspected she was dangerously close to laughing.

James glanced down at her as they walked, the corner of his mouth already threatening to turn upwards. "Was the ceremony up to your standards, Your Grace?" he asked, his voice carrying that familiar teasing note which had become far too easy for her to recognize.

Olivia lifted her chin and imitated his solemn manner, though she could not keep the amusement from her eyes. "It was splendid indeed. That was the finest hammer I have ever seen. Quite romantic."

She gave him an exaggeratedly thoughtful look, as though judging a grand ball rather than a blacksmith's shop. "I particularly admired the anvil. It lent such elegance to the occasion."

James's smile widened as he glanced toward the smithy behind them. "It most definitely was," he agreed, playing along without hesitation. "Two people who barely know each other, hiding a secret baby, racing against time, crossing the border into Scotland, and marrying."

His eyes met hers, amusement warming his expression, and despite herself Olivia laughed. The sound escaped before she could restrain it, and for one precious moment she forgot that this was supposed to be a practical arrangement rather than anything resembling happiness.

Then James's expression softened into something more serious, and his teasing faded as they continued along the path. "This marriage was only necessary because Lord Boulton intended to drag you to Scotland himself," he said quietly, his hand resting lightly over hers where it lay upon his arm. "I wanted to make certain he could never do that to you."

Olivia looked down at their joined hands, suddenly aware of how warm his fingers were against hers.

No. You must remember that this marriage is born from necessity, and for practical reasons, and I only agreed because the alternative would be unbearable. So do not dare focus on how his hand wraps around yours.

Yet something in his words touched the part of her that had spent years wondering whether anyone would ever choose her simply because they wanted her. She swallowed and looked ahead, refusing to let him see her emotions.

"I know," she murmured, though her heart was far less certain than her voice.

She had married a duke beside an anvil with two witnesses and a blacksmith, and somehow, despite everything she had lost, she could not quite convince herself that she had made the wrong choice.

Perhaps that is what frightens me most?

The return to the inn was considerably less dramatic than the wedding itself, and Olivia found herself strangely grateful for it. There was something comforting about the modest wedding breakfast waiting for them, with its warm tea, fresh bread, eggs, ham, fruit, and a small assortment of cakes that looked as though they had been prepared with more enthusiasm than refinement.

It was hardly the wedding feast she had once imagined for herself, but then very little about her life had unfolded according to the dreams of the girl she had once been. She sat beside James at the table, with Louiza opposite her and Hubert at the other end and tried to behave as though she had not just become a duchess beside an anvil.

James seemed entirely at ease, which Olivia found both admirable and infuriating. He poured her tea before serving himself, then reached for the bread. She caught herself watching his hands and immediately looked down at her plate, annoyed that even now her thoughts could betray her.