Page 1 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

F or Heaven’s sake, Frances. Say something. If you don’t say something now, it’ll be too late. Speak!

Behind her, the congregation’s murmurs and whispers had faded to almost nothing, as generally happened at a wedding when the vows were about to be said.

The rector was still talking, but soon the crux of the ceremony arrived. There was no going back. No changing her mind.Unless...

They’re all waiting for me.

The church was packed to the rafters. Everybody loved a wedding, and after Frances’s disastrous first Season, she knew what they were all thinking—that she was lucky to get a match at all.

Beside her, Viscount Easton scowled down at her. He had told her to call him Nicholas, as befitted two betrothed persons, but somehow Frances couldn’t compel herself to do it. They’d never acted as though they were betrothed.

It had always been very clear between them. Nicholas needed a wife, a rich one, and Frances needed a half-decent husband to keep her place in Society.

Besides, Mama wanted her to marry.

Twisting around, Frances glanced at the front pew. Her mother sat there, of course, dressed in her finest black velvet and pearls. She was still remarkably beautiful, despite having a grown-up daughter of one-and-twenty.

Her hair was resplendent, gold just like Frances’s own, barely streaked with gray, and her features were firm and even, perfect as always.

They bore the same freckles on their noses, spilling across their cheeks, and the same large, round eyes.

Frances could only hope to retain her grace and elegance as well as her mother.

Mama smiled and nodded encouragingly. Go on, she mouthed. Pay attention.

Mama approved of the match and of Nicholas.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” she’d said, as if trying to coax Frances. “A good head of hair, and those lovely brown eyes. And he’s barely five-and-twenty, so your ages are extremely compatible. You won’t find a better match, Frances.”

Mama was generally right about these things. She herself has married a Baron whom Frances had barely gotten to know before he died, and secured them a place in Society forever.

Well, not forever . Women, without the support of men, tended to fade quickly from Society, even respectable, dashing widows and pretty daughters.

Beside Mama stood Uncle Cassian and Aunt Emily. They were a handsome pair, although they did not look particularly handsome now.

Uncle Cassian was pale with worry, dark circles rounding his eyes. Aunt Emily clutched his arm as if for support, chewing her lower lip. She tried to summon a smile when Frances looked at her, but it was not convincing at all.

Uncle Cass doesn’t approve. He did argue with Mama about it, but I imagine she got her way after all. She generally does.

Of course, nobody could know that Uncle Cassian visited them so frequently, as he was not meant to be her uncle at all. Officially, she had no uncles because the Baron, the man she called her father, had no siblings. Enough of that, though.

“Will you please turn around?” hissed a low, angry voice beside her.

Frances whisked around to face the rector again, who fixed her with a faintly disapproving stare. It was, of course, her groom who had whispered so angrily to her.

Frances was not tall, and her groom overtopped her by a good head. He stood very straight, like a military man, with squared shoulders and head held high. He might have been handsome, as Mama said, if he weren’t always scowling.

Has he ever smiled at me? Even once? Even when he proposed marriage to me?

No, Frances thought that he had not.

“It is a match which will suit us both,” was what he’d said. “It’s a practical choice to make, don’t you think?”

The romance books that Frances adored so much did not use such language. The hero was always flowery and poetic, quoting sonnets and likening the heroine to sunrises and so on. Of course, Frances knew that real life wasn’t exactly like that, but couldn’t there be some similarities?

She thought, uneasily, of the more robust romances she’d read, the ones she carefully kept hidden from Mama.

The ones that were not readily sold, but could be found if one knew where to look.

Ladies weren’t supposed to read that sort of material.

They weren’t even supposed to know such things existed.

Will my husband despise me if he learns about the kind of things I have read?

“Now for the vows,” the rector said pompously, having finished his lengthy sermon. “Lord Easton, repeat after me. I, Nicholas Harvey, Viscount of Easton, take thee…”

“I, Nicholas Harvey…”

Frances bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper.

I don’t want to marry him. This is all a mistake. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? I can’t cause a scandal. I am a scandal. My very existence is a scandal. Mama approves of the match. Uncle Cass thinks that it is what I want.

Nobody is coming to help me.

Beside her, Nicholas finished his vows. He let out a sigh of ... relief? Or resignation? She couldn’t tell. The rector turned to her and gave an encouraging smile.

“Repeat after me, Miss Knight. I, Frances Knight, take thee, Nicholas Harvey, as my lawfully wedded husband.”

The room seemed to swim around her. Frances’s mouth suddenly seemed to be full of wool, dry as a bone.

“I… I…” she stammered. The rector frowned, glancing up at Nicholas as if for an explanation.

Nicholas turned slightly towards her.

“Come on, girl, out with it,” he whispered, barely louder than a breath.“Can’t we just get this over without any theatrics or hysterics?”

“I don’t feel well,” Frances murmured.

Nicholas rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake. Are you going to faint?”

“No.”

“Then would you please repeat after the rector? People are starting to whisper. It’s mortifying.”

Nobody was coming to help her. It was too late. Her chance to avoid the marriage had come and gone. Swallowing thickly, Frances fixed her gaze on a point somewhere above the rector’s head.

“I, Frances Knight, take thee…”

“I’m afraid she can’t take anyone, rector.”

An unfamiliar male voice boomed out in the silence, echoing off the walls of the cavernous church. A ripple of whispers flowed through the congregation.

Frances and Nicholas spun around in unison.

A man was walking up the aisle towards them. Slowly, at a leisurely pace, as though he had all the time in the world.

“What is the meaning of this?” Nicholas snarled. “Who are you? Get out!”

The man ignored him, instead fixing a pair of cool gray eyes on Frances.

“You can’t marry him, Miss. You’re already mine.”