Page 89 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke

“Smile, Harriet,” Ralph reminded her through the side of his mouth, “this is supposed to be a happy day.”

Harriet forced a smile as the door of the carriage was opened and the cheers washed over her. The sky was a perfect blue, but to her, it couldn’t have been grayer. The happiness of the villagers seemed false, jarring next to her own emotions. Her thoughts went beyond the village to Penhaligon. She thought she could look directly at it, knowing where it lay beyond the horizon as though drawn to it.

What is he doing at this moment? Is he bouncing his son on his knee? Walking with his new fiancée in the gardens? Is he painting? I hope he is happy, whatever he does and wherever he is. Please, Lord, let one of us be truly happy…

She followed her brother into the church, seeing Henri at the end of the aisle. The service passed in a blur. She gave the appropriate responses. Heard Henri speak with more conviction and passion than she had. It was drawing to its inevitable conclusion. Her imprisonment was about to begin, the door slamming shut on the freedom she had tasted but once.

“Is there anyone here present that knows of any reason why these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony?” the priest asked. “If so, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

He waited, as was formality, and Harriet closed her eyes. Heard the intake of breath as the priest began to pronounce the final part of the ceremony.

“I speak!” A breathless voice bellowed from the other end of the church.

A gasp went through the gathered congregants. Harriet's eyes flipped open. Jeremy was striding towards her like a prince from her dreams. Half undressed and marked by stray paint, but with a wild light in his eyes. Ralph snarled and stepped between Jeremy and Harriet.

“Get out! I will kill you for this!” he roared.

“Step aside, old boy. I love your sister. I have been her fiancé in name only and now would be in truth,” Jeremy said.

Ralph made as if to strike Jeremy, but Henri de Rouvroy caught his arm, pushing him aside.

“No! I want to hear what this man has to say, why he interferes!” he said, chin high and tone haughty.

Jeremy turned to the man. “I interfere because I love the woman you were about to marry. My objection is based on the suspicion that she loves me, not you. That is the reason I know of why you should not be wed,” he said with utter conviction and passion.

Harriet found a smile tugging at her lips.

This is a dream. It cannot be. A child cannot be unmade, cannot be disappeared. Jeremy had an inescapable duty, and I know he would not shirk it. But he is here!

She gently moved Henri aside, standing before Jeremy.

“It is true. I love you. But love is not essential for marriage. What has become of your son?”

“I have no son. It was all a lie. And Simon Winchester is at the heart of it,” Jeremy muttered.

Harriet had never truly experienced joy until that moment. Nor had she understood the adage of hope being the greatest of qualities. It shone within her now, suffusing her. She laughed aloud, raising a hand to her face to cover it, feeling that such unadulterated joy must be restrained. But it would not be.

“I do not believe you,” she said, “you are a figment of my dreaming mind. I am asleep on the night before my wedding and conjuring this to soothe my misery.”

Jeremy stepped closer and kissed her. It was delicate but passionate, chaste but intimate. It conveyed the emotions that would take a novel to communicate in words, and it was the mostrealsensation Harriet had ever felt.

“Harriet Tisdale, will you marry me?” Jeremy asked breathlessly.

“Yes!” Harriet cried.

“No! He is the worst kind of man! A rake and a scoundrel! I will not allow it!” Ralph exclaimed.

Henri looked stunned. His dark eyes flitted from Jeremy to Harriet, widening. Then a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Something akin to realization stole across his face.

“I tell you, I will not allow it!” Ralph roared again.

“Hush,mes ami,” Henri said, crossly. “As a Frenchman, I know what true love looks like, and in the past weeks, I have never seen it in your sister's eyes until now.”

He gazed into Harriet’s eyes, smiling gently and with no little sadness.

“This…je suis desole, he is what you want? Not me? I will not deny that I would consider it a great honor to be the man you choose.”

Harriet smiled gently. “And you will make the woman you choose a fine husband, I am sure. But, it will not be me.Je suis desole.”