Page 1 of Her Beast of a Duke

Chapter One

“This is it,” Isabella muttered to herself as she stepped down from her family’s carriage.

Her delicate slippers met the soft grass, which was full, plush, and green in July.

Her stomach twisted as she looked up at St. Peter’s Church, scanning the stained-glass windows, wondering who had arrived. She pondered what Lord Stanton would look like, standing there at the altar.

“You must be excited, Isabella.”

Her head turned from the church to her father, the Earl of Wickleby, next to her.

Dutifully, she nodded. “Of course, Father. I have prepared for months for this.”

“Longer,” he pointed out. “As your mother has been saying.”

Isabella gave a tight smile that her father didn’t notice.

As they approached the open doors of St. Peter’s, she noted him more keenly—grayer at the temples, his mouth lined from frequent grimaces. His eyes, habitually squinting over his beloved antiques, were now filled with pride, for his daughter was about to be wed.

Soon, Isabella would marry the Earl of Stanton, leaving her mother’s scrutiny behind. Happiness might be secondary to security and social position, but she would have both, if only just.

On her way inside, she caught sight of her reflection. She was good at assessing it in a hidden moment, undetected. Her hair, not as golden as she wanted, but still a pretty, darker shade, was perfectly crowned atop her head. Headwear that resembled a tiara was nestled at the front, catching the light, displaying the message everybody already knew.

Lady Isabella Wicklebywasthe diamond of her Season, and that diamond had been claimed.

On her father’s arm, Isabella entered the church.

Before her, the aisle stretched out, suddenly much longer than she remembered it being. Isabella’s gaze immediately sought theend, but before she could catch a glimpse of the Earl who was waiting for her, three figures rushed into her vision.

“Isabella.” The first breathless voice was her sister Hermia’s. Her blue eyes were wide and filled with…

Withpanic?

Isabella frowned. She looked between Hermia, their mother, and Charles. But why were they blocking her path to the aisle?

“What—” she began, but her mother quickly intercepted.

“Heavens—heavens, Isabella. Oh, what more can befall this family?” Her mother, Lady Wickleby, croaked.

She was a dramatic sort; she could throw a ‘why, me?’tantrum over her preferred jam flavor being out of stock.

Isabella looked between the three of them, her own panic mounting, but she had gotten good at swallowing reactions to such calamities. She had gotten so good at not reacting so viscerally that her responses to any issues were noted.

“Will somebody please tell me what is going on?” she asked in her most polite, calm voice.

Everything is fine,she told herself.

But Hermia did not panic, nor did her husband, the Duke of Branmere. Even though the pair were rarely ruffled, and Hermia managed to maintain her composure, his expression was filled with something akin to concern.

“Now?” Isabella urged.

“Mama, do be calm,” Hermia pleaded. Behind them, guests began to turn at the not-so-hushed voices, their interests piqued. Isabella tried to force her notice away from them. “Focus on Isabella.”

“Yes,do so, so that we may know what has happened,” her father demanded. “Barbara?”

Isabella’s mother pressed a distressed hand to her forehead. “Oh, George—George.”

“Do notoh, Georgeme,” he snipped. “Use your words to explain!”