Page 5 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars (Ton’s Beasts #1)

“ M other?”

“Hmm?”

“Are all of these preparations truly necessary?”

Theresa tried to tamp down her bewilderment as she stared at her mother in the mirror above her dressing table.

The Marchioness had come into her bedchamber with a maid at the crack of dawn, her disposition overly bright for the hour. If Theresa herself had not been used to waking up so early for the morning prayers in the nunnery, she would have been caught in her nightgown.

Or dragged out of it.

In the mirror, she saw her mother dismiss the maid with a subtle nod of her head.

“You must forgive me, dearest. It is just that… it is just that I have not been able to do this for you for the longest time…” The Marchioness trailed off with a choked sob.

Theresa felt the guilt stab at her chest like tiny needles. “Forgive me, Mother. I did not mean to offend. I am… just unused to all of this.”

“I understand, my dear. The nunnery looked rather… austere. ”

Theresa smiled slightly. Austere was a rather kind way of putting it.

For a place where spirituality was supposedly nurtured, the Congregation of St. Agatha was practically soulless in its privation.

“Sister Mary always stressed upon those who are to take their vows that our Heavenly Bridegroom preferred to see us in our… natural state,” she said softly instead.

“Well, weddings are more festive for us outside of the nunnery, so you need not worry overmuch.” The Marchioness smiled at her as she inserted a bejeweled pin into her elaborate coif. “There. You are almost ready.”

Almost? Theresa felt as if she was decked out in enough finery to feed a small family for a lifetime. The sheer amount of jewels she wore on her head made her neck ache already.

She watched as her mother took out a polished wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl in a delicate pattern of vines, flowers, and leaves. She opened it to reveal a necklace lying on dark velvet, the emeralds and diamonds shining so brilliantly that it left Theresa dazed.

“Mother, I do not think this is?—”

The Marchioness cut her off with a pained smile and draped the necklace around her neck with shaky hands. “I had this set aside for you especially. The emeralds are a perfect match for your eyes.”

What was Theresa supposed to say to that? How could she refuse such extravagant generosity when her mother had set aside this necklace for her? Would it not be a slap to the face if she refused such a gift?

“It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she said instead, feeling the weight of it around her neck as surely as if it had been a noose. She smiled and added jokingly, “With all the jewels I am wearing, one would think I am the one getting married!”

The Marchioness shook her head, her laughter a little shaky. “Naturally, I have made preparations for your sister as well. What you are wearing today is only befitting the daughter of the Marquess of Wyndham.”

She motioned for Theresa to take off her nightgown so that she might help her into the dress that had been laid out for her—a piece of deep green silk that seemed to flow like water through her fingers.

No sooner had Theresa shrugged off her nightgown than she heard a horrified gasp behind her. She turned around and found her mother staring at her back, her eyes wide in horror.

“Y-Your back!” The Marchioness gasped. “W-What are…?”

Theresa bit her lower lip as she felt shaky fingers trace the raised scars on her skin. “Discipline,” she said simply.

The Marchioness closed her eyes. “Was your life at the nunnery so horrible?”

Theresa shook her head. “No, not all of them. There were some who were very kind to me.”

“The nun who wept that day we came to take you home?”

Theresa nodded. “Sister Edith was like a mother to me.” She looked up at the mirror to see her mother’s distraught face. “I am sorry.”

“No, no… it is not something you have to apologize for.” The Marchioness shook her head, her smile wavering as she helped her into the dress.

Theresa barely felt her fingers on her back as she buttoned up the dress from behind.

The Marchioness let out a shaky breath and gave another unsteady smile. “There now. You are ready.”

Finally!

Theresa beamed at her in relief. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she let out a stunned gasp.

The young lady who stared back at her was almost unrecognizable.

Just yesterday, she had been garbed in rough wool, her hair knotted haphazardly, wild from hours of riding. Now, she was bedecked from head to toe in glittering jewels. Even the satin slippers on her feet were studded with crystal beads.

I certainly hope I need not attend a great many weddings after this.

She struggled to keep her head upright, what with the weight of all the jewels she now carried.

The degree of extravagance left her absolutely stupefied.

The preparations had lasted all of four hours, and she was not even the bride!

Why are they looking at me like that?

Theresa squirmed as heads turned and eyes swiveled to the entrance as soon as she and her mother arrived. With the church filled to the rafters, there were easily a hundred guests in attendance.

“There you are! We have been waiting for you!” A loud voice boomed from amongst the crowd.

Theresa squinted as a tall man with dark brown hair strode toward them with a smile that spoke of practiced ease. As if nothing could ever faze him.

“My dear, this is your father,” the Marchioness whispered to her.

“Oh. Good morning, Father,” Theresa greeted with a nervous smile.

“Well, don’t just stand there gawking,” the Marquess told them briskly. “The guests have been waiting for almost an hour!”

The Marchioness’s smile faltered. “You have to forgive us. I had to make sure that Theresa looked lovely for the…”

She was left unable to finish her sentence, for her husband had already looped Theresa’s right arm around his and proceeded to march them down the aisle as the music began to play.

“Wait!” Theresa cried out in confusion. “I do not think this is right. Why are we… where is my sister?”

Where was Hope? It was she who should be walking down the aisle, after all, and not her.

But the guests did not even so much as flinch, their eyes turning back to the altar. Some of them looked at her with pity. Others simply did not seem to notice that her parents were practically dragging her down the carpeted aisle or that she was digging her heels in resistance.

Her insides gave a sickening lurch. The man she was supposed to call “Father” did not so much as glance at her. Her mother had paled, her lips trembling, her eyes refusing to meet Theresa’s frantic ones.

That was when the realization hit her—that her supposed sister was nowhere to be found. That the wedding she had thought to attend as a guest was her wedding.

“Why?” She mumbled, aghast. “Why would you do this to me?”

Her father—the Marquess—finally deigned to spare her a glance. It reeked of the guilt she could not find in her heart to pardon.

“Because by order of Her Majesty, the Queen, a daughter of the Marquess of Wyndham is to be wed to the Duke of Blackwell,” he replied flatly.

“The Duke of Blackwell?” Theresa could hardly hear her voice above the thundering of her heart.

The Marquess’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “It is your duty—and ours—to obey the decree of the Queen.”

At that point, the Marchioness burst into tears. “You must forgive us, Theresa. Hope—your sister—she ran away just a few days before the wedding. We… we have searched everywhere, but we could not find her.”

“Why…?” The word escaped bleakly from Theresa’s lips.

Why would Hope flee from her own wedding? Why would she risk inviting the ire of the Queen herself by running away?

The questions raced through her mind as they continued to march her down the aisle, their faces set in grim determination. It was almost as if they were escorting her to the guillotine instead of her groom.

Theresa wanted to burst into mirthless laughter, but cold dread had gripped her like a vise.

“She refused to marry the Duke,” the Marquess told her flatly. “She thought she was going to marry a monster .”

At that point, the sheer absurdity of what was transpiring bubbled up her throat. She giggled. And shook her head.

“A monster?” Her voice rose in pitch. “And you thought nothing of marrying me to him?”

“Keep your voice down!” the Marquess admonished. “We cannot defy the Queen’s orders, girl.”

Theresa turned toward the Marchioness, her eyes pleading. Imploring her to help her make sense of the chaos all around her. “Mother, what do they mean by this?”

The Marchioness patted her hand in a vain attempt at reassurance, tears streaming down her face.

“It simply means that the Duke is a soldier, my dear. A little rough around the edges, if you know what I mean,” she explained, meeting Theresa’s gaze with a plea of her own.

“Surely it is much better to marry a man of such lofty status than to be a nun. We… we were not able to give you a good life, but we have every hope that His Grace will.”

Hope .

Hope was her sister , named so by parents who loved her, cherished her since birth.

But now, her sister had fled, terrified of the fate that awaited her at the altar.

And with her out of the picture, the burden had been shifted onto her shoulders.

And how fortunate that they happened to have a spare daughter to present just for the occasion , a small voice whispered insidiously in the back of her head.

She had every right to feel aggrieved. To harbor resentment in her heart.

She could make a scene. Put her foot down and cry off from the wedding.

And then what?

She could still return to the nunnery. Mother Superior and Sister Mary would not be so pleased to find her at their doorstep once more, but they could not exactly turn her away either.

And her parents—she looked at the grim resolution etched on her father’s features, the distress on her mother’s pale face. And worst of all, the man who was waiting for her at the altar.

Even if they called him a monster, he would still bear the humiliation of having his wife flee from him at his own wedding.

Theresa could not see his face through her tears, but she could make out the proud set of his shoulders. The rigid way he held himself before man and God.

He, too, had been forced into this union by a mere slip of paper.

He was every bit a victim of circumstance as she was.

She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. “I will do it. I will marry the Duke.”

Her father stiffened. Her mother looked at her with relief.

Theresa took one step closer to the altar.