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“I have something to ask of you,” Juliet told her father.

“Oh, anything for you, my child.”

“Leila…might I take her with me to my husband’s house? She is the only friend I have outside the convent, and I…”

“Say no more. Of course you are entitled to bring your lady’s maid with you.” The Earl waved off Juliet’s opening string of reasons. “Though I was hoping to find you a more suitable maid; Leila is new and just as young as you are.”

“No, she’ll do perfectly fine,” Juliet interrupted.

She wanted a companion and friend, not simply a maid, and Leila fit all her requirements seamlessly.

“Whatever you want then,” agreed the Earl. “Now, it is time we walked you out. The whole of London awaits the bride.”

She took her father’s arm with a sigh, and together, they walked to the chapel. As they moved through the halls, Juliet thought of her friends at St. Catherine’s. They were the only ones who hadcome close to family, and they were not here. The thought only heightened her deep regret about the impromptu wedding.

The chapel was filled with guests who all turned as one to watch as Juliet walked in. She felt their heavy gazes as they scrutinized and murmured at her every move.

But then she saw the Duke standing at the altar, and the world around her melted away. Her attention was focused solely on the man who would soon become her husband, noting how impeccably handsome he looked as he waited for her to arrive by his side.

His expression was stern, but his gaze relaxed as he watched her approach. Juliet felt inexplicably drawn to his soulful contemplation, and she suddenly felt that, perhaps, some of her worries about their marriage might have been mistaken.

Her friend had always been a good judge of character, and she had always spoken so highly of her brother. Looking at him now, Juliet could understand how easily one could come to adore him.

The Duke stood with an air of confidence and reliability that urged Juliet to expect the best out of their marriage rather than the worst. Deep in her heart, she wanted to trust that impression.

As they continued walking down the aisle, the murmurs faded into the background as Juliet focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Oddly enough, she was grateful for the strong presence of her father beside her, more so than she had expected.When they reached the altar, the Earl gently placed Juliet’s hand in Hector’s.

And thus, the ceremony began.

The reception that followed flew by in a blur of faces and conversations.

She was thankful that Hector stayed close by her side because she did not know how to interact with such high standing members of the Ton on her own.

Juliet feared that, without Hector to guide her, she would say or do the wrong thing and cause the Duke and her own family embarrassment She continually glanced at him to ensure that she was mimicking his relaxed expression and to determine how best to respond to a greeting before she parted her lips to speak.

If her husband noticed her behavior, he said nothing about it.

One thing that caught her off-guard was the continued whispers about her and her sudden marriage to the Duke.

She should’ve expected as much from her guests as London and gossip were peas in a pod. If that was included in the endlesson-goings of society and status, one would never run out of entertaining content for a weekly column.

It had been very strange being the subject of what appeared to be a profoundly serious uproar, but Juliet didn’t let it bother her. The tide of curiosity would shift soon enough, and it would be someone else’s private affairs that were openly butchered and laid bare for everyone to examine and discuss.

“Your Grace, you look lovely,” one woman said, her tone sweet but her eyes sharp as she looked Juliet over, openly studying their new Duchess.

The woman was Margaret Walters, the Viscountess of Blumesbury, and she was Lady Campton’s friend.

“Thank you,” Juliet replied politely. She was unsure she’d met the woman before, but since she didn’t know most of faces around her, she pushed aside the formalities.

“I see you have none of your mother’s traits,” said Margaret.

Juliet paled at the woman’s insensitivity. “I do not know who you are, but kindly refrain from speaking about my mother,” she warned.

“Oh, now, there is the feistiness I was looking for,” Margaret exclaimed. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

I will not tolerate such disrespect.