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Whatever confidence Helena’s family had in her might have waned, as the rain seemed determined to mock her wedding day.

She had never liked rain—especially in London.

The dull gray skies felt oppressive, as though nature itself was conspiring against the happiness she had been told should be hers.

If one were inclined to believe in ill omens, this surely was one.

Still, it could be worse. Thanks to the special license, Helena would be marrying in the comfort of her own home, sparing herself the burden of a church wedding she hadn’t truly wanted anyway.

Carrivick had been gracious enough to leave all the planning to her and her mother, though Helena often wondered if he might have preferred the formalities of a church ceremony.

From her room upstairs, the muffled sounds of the bustling activity below drifted to her ears: the clatter of chairs being rearranged, the hurried footsteps of servants, and her father’s booming voice reverberating through the walls as he directed the placement of tables and decorations.

The noise seemed excessive considering their guest list was small.

But then again, it was all for the Duke, wasn’t it?

To impress His Grace, to make sure everything was done properly.

Guests would be arriving soon, and Helena was nearly ready to descend the stairs. The ladies' maid she shared with Felicity had just finished with her hair, threading a blue ribbon—a color that matched the dress Helena was wearing—through the long strands.

After the last pin was carefully placed to secure her coiffure, Helena wandered downstairs to where her father waited at the foot. The guests, along with Carrivick and her family, had gathered in the drawing room, ready for the ceremony to begin.

“Ready, pigeon?” her father asked, smiling at her with shining eyes.

Despite herself, Helena’s throat thickened with emotion, and tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She could only manage a nod in response. Before escorting her to the drawing room, her father gently kissed her forehead.

It was a miracle Helena hadn’t fainted as she walked toward the makeshift altar.

Her body felt like it didn’t belong to her; it functioned purely out of instinct, while her mind seemed to float far above her home, lost among the clouds.

If she thought too much about what was to come tonight, tomorrow, and for the rest of her life, she was certain she’d collapse at Carrivick’s feet—an outcome she had no desire to make real.

Though she hadn’t seen her soon-to-be husband for almost a month, it felt as though she were seeing him for the first time again.

Striking in his elegant yet simple dark blue waistcoat, paired with a frock coat of lighter blue and dove-grey breeches, Carrivick’s appearance sent a surprising flutter from her stomach to her chest.

His eyes locked onto hers, the silver moons of his gaze bearing down on her intently, and it took everything in Helena not to look away.

She could barely hear the minister reading from The Book of Common Prayer over the wild thumping of her heart.

It wasn’t until Carrivick spoke—“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen”—that she came to her senses.

One of his hands gently held hers as the other gracefully slipped a gold ring onto her finger.

Helena glanced down at it, noting the cluster of diamonds surrounding a smaller diamond at the center.

The arrangement reminded her of a flower, delicate and beautiful.

The jewelry was much finer than anything Helena had ever owned.

She was now a married woman. A duchess. Helena Roskelley, Duchess of Carrivick. A ripple of goosebumps spread across her skin like a wave.

After signing the registry, it was time for the wedding breakfast. Hot rolls, buttered toast, cold pork with eggs, and drinking chocolate awaited them on the long table in the Hargreaves dining room.

Helena sat at one end and Carrivick at the other, with their family and guests squeezed in beside them, just enough room to avoid knocking elbows as they ate.

Helena had considered inviting Charlotte and Elias along with their families, but Felicity had persuaded her otherwise, warning that they might take it as an insult rather than the gesture of reconciliation Helena intended.

As a result, her only guests were her grandmother, Felicity’s fiancé Simon, and his mother.

Carrivick, however, had invited a distantly related aunt, a lady of some standing, who sat beside a face both unfamiliar and yet unmistakably familiar.

With the same coffee-colored hair and prominent nose, it was clear that Lady Thomasin was Carrivick’s sister.

Helena wished they were seated closer, so they wouldn't have to make their introductions in the carriage on the way to Carrivick’s home on St. James Square, but the girl looked as uninvolved as Helena felt.

The swell of tension had staved off most of Helena’s hunger, but, to maintain appearances, she pushed bits of ham around her plate, mercilessly tearing them apart with her fork and knife.

She hoped it would create the illusion that she had eaten more than she actually had.

If she kept her hands busy, no one would notice how little she had truly consumed.

The conversations started off tepid, but Helena’s father proved to be the saving grace.

Josiah had always been forthcoming and animated in his speech, a trait that rubbed off on nearly everyone at the table.

Even Carrivick joined in a few discussions, especially those concerning farmland propagation and parliament.

Helena pretended to follow along as the guests conversed, smiling and nodding absently, though beneath it all, she was eager for the day to end, longing for the moment she could finally retreat into some semblance of normalcy again.

Once the breakfast concluded, there was no dawdling.

Carrivick helped Helena and Lady Thomasin into his carriage, and with a crack of the whip and a whinny, the journey to her new home began.

Though her new home wasn’t far from her old, the ride was not as blessedly short as she had hoped.

For a Monday morning, the streets were alive with merchants preparing their wares, men of means rushing to appointments, and elegant ladies off to pay their calls.

Inside the carriage, there was no such energy. Helena turned to Lady Thomasin, who had her face nearly pressed against the window, keenly observing the scenes passing by. Her brother did the same, though his reflection in the glass couldn’t conceal the ennui that often marked his expression.

"Lady Thomasin, how was your journey from Cornwall?" Helena asked, offering a polite smile, suddenly unsure of her own manners.

Grey eyes, the color of rain-heavy clouds, met hers. Up close, Lady Thomasin’s resemblance to Carrivick was almost uncanny. “Tolerable,” she answered, “though I don’t wish to make the journey often.”

“One gets accustomed to such travels. At the end of every season, my journey home to Lancashire takes nearly seven days, and I almost never wish to spend so much time in a carriage again.”

“Well, you won’t be going home to Lancashire anymore. The ride to Cornwall is much longer, but I suppose you shall get accustomed to that as well,” Lady Thomasin replied, turning back to the window.

“Of course,” Helena said, mostly to herself. Carrivick remained silent, appearing as though he hadn’t even heard the exchange.

Defeated, Helena decided to follow suit, turning her attention to the world outside the carriage.

Eventually, they arrived at Carrivick House on St. James Square, pulling into the long courtyard in front of its grand double doors.

Helena had passed the imposing manor many times with awe, but now, taking up residence within its walls, felt entirely different.

The large home appeared to be built with perfect symmetry, its flat roof spreading across the horizon, and a domed central structure that resembled a crown of sorts.

A fitting abode for someone like Carrivick.

Dutiful servants were lined up in a row, eager to make her acquaintance, whispering among themselves as Helena passed by.

“Ricks!” Her husband called out. A tall, pleasant-looking woman, who could only be the housekeeper given the chatelain jingling at her waist, stepped forward.

“Please attend to the comfort of my new duchess, and then provide her with a tour once she has settled into her room.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ricks replied with a warm smile that reminded Helena of her mother. She felt at ease with the housekeeper immediately. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance and welcome you to Carrivick House, Your Grace. I’m Mrs. Ricks, the housekeeper.”

“A pleasure,” Helena returned the smile, glancing up at Carrivick, who had been watching her intently before averting his gaze.

“I have some work to do in my study, but I’ll see you again at supper—Ricks will fetch you,” Carrivick said before marching ahead into the manor, with Lady Thomasin quickly following behind, as though she feared being left alone with Helena.

“A busy man, just like his father before him,” Mrs. Ricks said apologetically. “Come, I’ll show you to your room, Your Grace. The trunks that arrived earlier this morning have been unpacked and put away for you.”

Helena followed Mrs. Ricks as they passed through the large double doors, went through the antechamber, and ascended the central staircase.