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Beatrice felt as if she were in a dream.

“But we did. And now I am here, and I must go through with it, Mama.”

Helena was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. “If you are sure.”

Sure? Of course, I am sure! Sure that I’ll be purely miserable with that wretch. Sure that I put my trust in the wrong man. Sure that I’ll live with regret for the rest of my life.

Swallowing down bile, Beatrice turned away and pushed open the door. She began to walk down the aisle by herself, not waiting for Helena to catch up with her.

A few familiar faces stood out to Beatrice as she passed. She saw the anxious face of her old friend, Anna, and thought guiltily of her unanswered letters and notes, getting increasingly more desperate.

I should have asked Anna for help. Too late now.

Anna’s husband, Theodore, sat beside her, which made Beatrice think ofhisfriend, the Duke of Blackwood. A wave of anger shot through her. She couldn’t spot the Duke in the crowd.

I daresay he was too cowardly to turn up.

There were other friends and acquaintances in the crowd. Doubtless, a couple of the guests would be anonymous gossip column writers, keen to get more material for their next articles. Beatrice was well aware that her dress hugged her in all the wrong places, and that there was no way to hide the unflattering cut and color from staring, prying eyes.

Her maid, bless her, had done her best to style her hair in a flattering way, as if that would mitigate the awful effect of the wretched dress. It was piled on top of her head, long curls hanging down around her face and neck, glittering with tiny glass flowers pinned here and there.

Nobody was looking at her hair, though. Eyes raked up and down her form. Some people looked sympathetic, probably imagining that Beatrice was a silly girl who wanted to wear a fashionably cut dress without realizing that it did not suit her at all.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

Beatrice searched for one particular, familiar face, but it seemed that Edward was not there. The Duke of Thornbridge was likely still sequestered in his house, grieving the death of his wife. Beatrice thought briefly about the baby and felt a pang of pity.

She wondered what was happening to the baby, her nephew, the one who had killed Jane. Rumor had it that Edward was becoming quite the recluse. She might have worried about him if she wasn’t so busy saving all of her worry for herself.

And then, at the top of the aisle, waiting by the altar, was the Marquess himself.

He was generally considered a plain man, of average height and a powerful build, with thinning brown hair and narrow, unpleasant eyes. He was ambitious to a fault, severe, and unforgiving. There were rumors about him killing men in duels,and many stories about a fiery, terrifying temper. Beatrice had met him before, naturally, and had not been impressed.

He smiled tightly at her as she came to stand beside him.

“You are late.”

“It is a bride’s right to be a little late on her wedding day, I believe,” she responded.

“AndIbelieve that a wife is meant to obey her husband. We shall start as we mean to go on, I think.”

She clenched her jaw. “You do not own me, Sir.”

“Not yet. The ceremony hasn’t even begun. By the way, I think that dress is a little tight on your arms, my dear,” he remarked, his voice low so that the congregation could not hear.

The vicar did hear, however, and shot him a disapproving look. The Marquess ignored the look.

A couple of sharp, cutting retorts sprang to the tip of Beatrice’s tongue—mostly concerning his high forehead and receding hairline—but she bit them back.

I’m going to marry this man,she thought, fear sweeping dizzily over her.I’m going to have to bed him. Tonight. What on earth is that going to be like?

She risked another glance at him, the feeling of nausea getting worse. The answer presented itself at once, clear and plain and sickening.

Awful. It’s going to be awful. And probably painful.

He’ll want children. Lots of them.

“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, casting a quelling gaze at the congregation. The chatter died down. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this man and woman. An honorable institute, marriage is…”