Page 37 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

T he drawing room was a battlefield of satin, spools, and laughter.

Gowns were draped over armchairs like sleeping swans, discarded gloves hung from the edge of the pianoforte, and someone’s tea had been abandoned, cooling dangerously close to a pincushion.

“I swear this ribbon changed color since yesterday,” Gretchen said, holding a length of pale peach against the light. “Or perhaps my eyesight is going. What a scandal…blind at eighteen! The scandal sheets will be delighted.”

“You only dislike it because it isn’t dark enough,” Julia said dryly, rummaging through the pile of trimmings on the table.

“I dislike it because it’s peach,” Gretchen replied, flicking it away. “No woman ever seduced a man wearing fruit tones.”

From her seat by the hearth, Anna sighed, but the corners of her mouth were curved, soft. “I don’t know how this became a social event.”

“It’s your fault, dearest,” Julia said sweetly. “You’re the one marrying a duke.”

Gretchen held a scrap of ivory lace between her fingers, eyes narrowed. “If I see one more cherub embroidered into a hem, I shall rip it out myself.”

Julia leaned over the tea tray. “You’ve become insufferably fashionable since your trip to Bath.”

“You’re all insufferable,” Anna said from the armchair, though her smile was irrepressible. She had a rose-pink ribbon between her fingers and no idea what it had originally belonged to. “And you’ve taken over the entire room.”

“Entire house, more like,” came Heather’s voice from the doorway as she entered in a flurry, holding up a half-pinned bonnet like a trophy. “This one makes me look like a respectable lady, doesn’t it?”

“You’re seventeen,” Julia said, “you shouldn’t look respectable.”

Gretchen smirked. “Yet here she is, the most prepared of us all.”

Heather twirled once, then flopped beside Anna on the settee. “Mama says the seamstress will be here by noon. She’s threatened to faint if your hem isn’t precisely to the floor.”

“She’ll only faint if we let her read the guest list,” Anna murmured.

Julia turned to her with a grin. “I still can’t believe it’s happening this week. How did you get around the usual wait?”

Anna glanced up, cheeks warm. “We’re marrying by special license.”

There was a beat of stunned silence, followed by a chorus of scandalized delight.

Gretchen gasped. “Oh, how wickedly convenient.”

Julia sat up straighter. “You mean to say His Grace went to the Archbishop himself?”

“Or had someone go,” Anna said. “I’m not entirely sure, but the license arrived yesterday.”

Heather’s eyes went wide. “That’s terribly romantic.”

“It’s terribly fast,” Julia muttered, but she was smiling too. “Even for a duke.”

Gretchen waggled her brows. “And you don’t look the least bit sorry about it.”

Anna said nothing. She only reached for the ribbon again and looped it between her fingers, her smile softening at the edges.

Julia eyed her. “You’re… glowing.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, she is,” Gretchen said. “You can always tell when a woman has been thoroughly ruined.”

Anna choked on her tea.

Heather blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing,” Julia said quickly, elbowing Gretchen.

Anna covered her face with her hands, laughing despite herself. “You are all impossible.”

Heather said from the corner, where she was perched beside the window, watching the bustle with bright eyes. “Dukes must have access to things the rest of us don’t.”

“Like efficient bishops,” murmured Julia.

“Or conviction,” Gretchen added, batting her eyes at Anna.

Anna’s cheeks flamed, but she said nothing. Instead, she reached for a piece of lace she had no intention of stitching and tried to look thoughtful.

“Don’t tease,” Heather said, though she was grinning. “She’s going to be a duchess.”

“She’s already glowing like one,” said Julia. “Which is infuriating, because I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a week and I look like I’ve been dragged through a milliner’s cupboard.”

Anna laughed softly, feeling the sound deep in her chest.

“Have you decided what flowers you’ll carry?” Heather asked, looking up. “Mrs. Leeds said she could get white lilacs from her cousin’s greenhouse, but you might prefer peonies. They mean bashfulness.”

“I’m afraid I haven't thought about it,” Anna said, amused.

“Lilacs,” said Julia firmly. “They mean ‘first love.’ Very appropriate.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Gretchen groaned. “Let’s not pretend this is some girlish fantasy. She’s marrying a duke. It’s the most practical thing any of us could do.”

It was the morning of her wedding. For a moment, she lay still beneath the weight of her coverlet, the room dim with early winter light.

Her fingers curled into the edge of the sheet– fine, but frayed from age.

She'd slept in this room for most of her life.

Woken to the same wainscoted walls, the soft creak of the window frame, the faint sound of street vendors stirring the city awake.

And now, just before it changed, it all felt different. Quieter.

Her slippers were cold when she stepped into them.

The fire had burned low. She wrapped herself in her shawl and padded toward the small washbasin, pouring the water with careful hands.

She did not know if brides were meant to feel like this, so full of something she couldn’t name.

Joy, certainly. But also a kind of ache, like the last page of a beloved book.

Anna stood by the window in her nightdress and shawl, the air still cool, the city not yet fully awake. Across the room, her wedding gown hung from the wardrobe, all ivory silk and luminous in the pale light.

There was a knock.

The door opened without waiting.

Heather peeked in, eyes wide, braid already slipping down her shoulder.

“You’re awake.”

Anna smiled softly. “So are you.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Heather entered with exaggerated care, as though worried any sudden movement might make the day go faster.

“I brought the gloves,” she said, holding out a small linen bundle. “And Mama says you’re to eat something, but I said you wouldn’t.”

Anna took the gloves and set them beside her gown.

Heather stared at it for a long moment. “It’s real, then.”

Anna didn’t answer at once. “It’s very real.”

Heather looked at her. “Are you happy?”

Anna turned, the faintest smile on her lips. “More than I know what to do with.”

There was another knock– this time, Julia’s voice came through. “We’re not allowed in yet, are we?”

“Not yet,” Heather called, giggling. “She’s still decent.”

The door cracked open anyway.

Julia stepped in, trailed by Gretchen, both half-dressed in their wedding clothes and wholly impatient.

“We thought to supervise,” Julia said, breezing in. “The bride can’t be trusted to prepare herself.”

“I thought I’d be nervous,” Anna said, letting them circle her like hens. “But I’m not.”

“That’s because you’ve already done all the scandalous bits,” Gretchen murmured. “Now it’s just paper and poetry.”

Julia pressed a hand to her heart. “How romantic.”

Anna laughed. “You’re both absurd.”

She was still laughing when a soft knock came at the door.

It creaked open to reveal the housemaid, looking slightly breathless, cheeks pink. “Pardon, miss…but a letter just arrived. From…” she hesitated, “His Grace.”

Julia stood first, snatching it before Anna could reach for it. “A letter from the Duke of Yeats? On the morning of the wedding?” She pressed a hand to her chest, mock-gasping. “Oh, I might swoon.”

“Give it here,” Anna said, reaching out, though her face was already flushing.

Julia handed it over with great ceremony, as though presenting a royal decree. “If this is anything less than a love letter, I shall be personally offended.”

Anna broke the seal. Her eyes moved quickly at first, then slowed. The corners of her mouth curved, soft and involuntary. Her breath caught once. And then she read it aloud, her voice quiet but steady.

My dearest Anna,

By the time you read this, you’ll be only hours from becoming a duchess. (Or perhaps you are already practicing the signature. I do hope you’ve mastered the intimidating ‘Y’ in Yeats.)

I meant to write something elegant. Thoughtful. Perhaps even poetic. But I find my words, when it comes to you, fall short. You make a ruin of my composure, and I’ve never been gladder to lose it.

I will keep this brief, or I’ll write through the morning and miss the ceremony altogether.

Just know that when I stand at the altar, I won’t be waiting for a duchess. I’ll be waiting for you.

Yours,

H .

Silence settled for a breath.

Then, Julia sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “Well, that’s it. I shall never love again. My heart belongs to your duke.”

“I told you he was romantic,” Heather said quietly, beaming.

Anna folded the letter carefully, her fingers lingering on the parchment. Her cheeks were pink, her lips parted in that stunned, radiant way that came only from being truly seen.

Gretchen waved her fan. “If you smile any wider, your face will split.”

“I don’t care,” Anna murmured, brushing the letter with her thumb. “I truly don’t.”

Julia sat back up, crossing her arms with mock indignation. “I can't reconcile who he is now to what he was when we arrived at Yeats?”

Anna blinked. “What?”

“A brooding duke,” Julia declared. “All shadows and clipped answers. I assumed he hated everyone, especially women.”

Heather giggled. “He didn’t hate Anna.”

“No,” Julia said, dramatically. “He fell like a great stone down a well. And now he writes letters.”

Anna said nothing, but her smile only deepened.

“Well,” Gretchen sniffed, her joy radiating. “I suppose you can have your girlish fantasy after all.”

Anna looked down at the letter once more then out the window where the morning sun had finally broken through the clouds.

There was a bustle at the doorway. Lady Stenton, entered slowly, wrapped in a fresh shawl, her hair loosely pinned. Her steps were measured, but her eyes were full.

“You all chatter too much,” she said quietly. “Let your sister breathe.”

The girls stilled.