Page 1 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke
Chapter One
“He’s late,” Isabella whispered, her voice carrying the sharp edge of disapproval that had become increasingly familiar over the past fortnight. “A gentleman does not keep his bride waiting at the altar.”
Lady Beatrice Hunton drew in a measured breath, her gloved fingers smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her ivory silk gown.
The small chapel, adorned with modest arrangements of white roses and delicate greenery, suddenly felt airless despite its vaulted ceilings and ancient stone walls. Shafts of colored light filtered through the stained glass, casting jeweled patterns over the assembled guests.
Today’s gathering was mercifully limited to family and intimate acquaintances due to the hasty nature of the arrangement.
“Philip will arrive any moment,” Beatrice murmured, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her uncertainty. “The roads fromLondon might be congested. Perhaps there was an incident with his carriage.”
Her twin sister’s blue eyes, a perfect mirror of her own, narrowed skeptically.
“The Marquess of Mallingham has had ample time to prepare for this day. His tardiness speaks volumes about his regard for the occasion.” Isabella adjusted her position slightly, the rustle of her pale blue silk gown punctuating her disapproval. “Particularly when the occasion concerns a daughter of Ironstone.”
Beatrice could not deny the truth in Isabella’s assessment. The hastily arranged wedding had come together with remarkable efficiency, thanks to her stepmother’s organizational prowess. Yet the groom’s punctuality appeared to be the one element beyond the Duchess of Ironstone’s control.
Now, the Duchess approached, her elegant figure the very embodiment of aristocratic composure.
“My dear,” she said, her voice pitched low enough to ensure privacy amidst the growing murmurs of the assembled guests, “you look pale. Are you quite well?”
Beatrice opened her mouth, her mind racing to come up with a response that would neither alarm nor mislead her stepmother. Then, her father came over, his features arranged in an expression of barely contained impatience.
“This is unacceptable behavior,” the Duke of Ironstone said, his jaw tensing. “I shall give your groom a piece of my mind once the ceremony is over.”
Beatrice fought to keep her expression neutral.
Her stepmother placed a calming hand on the Duke’s arm. “Edwin, let us give him a few more moments. Gentlemen often find themselves delayed on significant occasions.”
Her smile belied the quiet authority in her tone—a skill Beatrice had long admired in the woman who had so gracefully assumed the role of mother figure in her life.
“A man who cannot arrive promptly to claim a daughter of Ironstone is undeserving of her hand,” her father muttered darkly, though he remained in place at his wife’s gentle insistence. “If Mallingham thinks that his rank affords him the luxury of discourtesy, he must be swiftly corrected.”
“Father, I am certain it’s an honest mistake,” Beatrice whispered softly. “Philip will be here, as he promised.”
Her father’s nostrils flared, but he offered no response.
Beatrice’s gaze drifted once more toward the chapel entrance, both anxiety and relief swirling within her breast.
Her arrangement with Philip had seemed so sensible when they had agreed to it: a marriage of convenience that would provideher with security and status, while allowing him to maintain appearances. She fidgeted uncomfortably and tugged on the sleeve of her gown.
Where is he?
Immediately, Beatrice’s mind flashed to Anna, the commoner whom Philip truly loved.
Is he with her? Did he go to her before our wedding?
Yet standing here amid the expectant silence, the hollow nature of their bargain pressed upon Beatrice like an unexpected weight.
The logical part of her wanted him to appear in the grand chapel doorway, but a deeper, hidden part of her…
Yes, becoming her friend’s wife meant a respectable title and comfortable existence, certainly, but there would be no love. No romantic love, at least. The kind that Beatrice had been reading about since childhood.
To forget the tightness in her chest, her eyes drifted further away.
Then, she noticed him.
There was a tall, imposing figure standing near the rear of the chapel, partially obscured by shadow. The stranger’s severe countenance bore a minor resemblance to Philip, though his features were sharper, more commanding, and far, far more handsome.