Page 9

It’s been three weeks since her last wedding, if you could even call it a wedding. These past weeks have been a whirlwind of last minute planning and endless conversations with her family.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother worrying her handkerchief as she sat next to a wide eyed Beatrice. Her mother’s emotions these since her announcement ranged from relief, to grief, from elation at his family stepping up, to terror that the family is a part of some secret society that lured women in to their doom.

And she questions where her daughters get their flair for the dramatics?

This wedding was so quickly thrown together that Eleanor and Derek weren’t able to make it back from their estate to join them.

The thought of having her older sister here to witness this fever dream made her palms itch. No. It was better this way. The less people here to witness the mess her life had become the better it was for her. Her reputation was ruined, she no longer believed in fate or love or anything else as frivolous as romance.

She joined the Duke at the end of the aisle. There was a small part of her brain that was still conscious of her actions that told her to pay attention, that one day her grandchildren may ask her about it. Unfortunately, the numbness that settled into her bones on the day of her last wedding attempt only solidified these past few weeks dulling any emotion she once had. It took too much strength to keep her wits about her.

The priest cleared his throat.

Sarah dragged her eyes up to his. “Excuse me?”

Her voice cracked from misuse and hours of crying. She didn’t even care her hoarseness echoed throughout the church.

“I asked if you will have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy state of Matrimony.”

A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. She looked up to her soon-to-be husband and quickly sobered. Dark green eyes zeroed in on her causing her heart to race. Her new husband certainly knew how to use intimidation to his advantage.

Licking her dry lips, she refocused on the priest. “I will.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, her brain clicked off again. The cool sheath of numbness surrounded her until she felt someone tugging at her arm. She looked to her right where the Duke stood.

“It’s done,” was all he said.

“Oh.” She looked back to the priest. “Do we kiss?”

The priest looked to the Duke in unsettling confusion.

“I mean, not you and me.” She laughed nervously. “Obviously not you and me. I mean, me and him.” Sarah’s hand waved in between her and the Duke. “The Duke and me, I mean, His Grace and I. Me. The Duchess. Ha! I’m a Duchess, I suppose.”

Her mind whirled. What was she doing? She had lost all control of her mind, body and mouth. Embarrassment rose high in her cheeks as she realized the absolute fool she just made out of herself.

Her eyes dropped. A wave of nausea from grief washed over her. There had to be a crevice somewhere for her to crawl into.

She felt the Duke shift beside her. Strong hands landed on her arms as she was turned to face him.

A big hand took her chin and tipped it up ever so carefully. Sparkling green eyes peered down into hers.

She was expecting to see derision, regret, even fear for his own life. After all, she was raving like a mad woman.

Instead, she saw compassion. It was fleeting, but she knew what she saw.

His eyes were soft and concerned for a just a moment. It was enough to settle her.

The Duke leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. It was the briefest of kisses, one that most definitely would look like it held no emotion.

Yet, when his lips chastely touched hers a calmness settled within her.

He pulled away and his eyes moved to look at someone standing just behind her.

She turned in time to see her mother approach her. “Mama?” Sarah’s voice sounded distant even to herself. “Mama, I’m married.”

Charlotte’s lips thinned into a tight smile. Sarah could tell her mother was willing her unshed tears not to fall.

“Don’t cry, Mama. This is a happy thing, remember?”