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“ A re you ready, My Lady?” Isabella asked as she adjusted the small cluster of white roses pinned to Selina’s pale blue gown.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Selina replied as she studied her reflection in the mirror.

She had chosen simplicity for this third trip to the altar. No elaborate white gown this time, no veil, no fanciful dreams of romance. Just a well-made walking dress that was her finest garment. Her hair was arranged in a simple twist and adorned with a pearl comb that had belonged to her mother.

Two days had passed since the disastrous engagement party. Two days of scandal, whispers, and hasty preparations for a wedding she did not want. The special license had arrived yesterday, along with a brief note from the duke’s solicitor outlining the arrangements.

St. George’s Church, Hanover Square. Ten o’clock. No delay.

“You look beautiful,” Isabella said softly. “Despite everything.”

Selina attempted a smile. “At least this time, I’m certain the groom will appear.”

Isabella’s eyes filled with concern. “You don’t have to go through with this. David and I could take you in. You could stay with us until?—”

“Until what?” Selina interrupted. “Until the scandal fades? It never will, Isabella. Not after two broken engagements and a duke’s public claim on me.

” She turned from the mirror and clasped her friend’s hands.

“I appreciate your kindness more than I can say. But we both know this is my only option now.”

A gentle knock at the door signaled it was time. Isabella’s husband, David, the Earl of Bingham, entered the small sitting room of Selina’s dower house. His kind face was solemn as he offered a bow.

“The carriage is waiting, ladies,” he said. “And I believe I have the honor of escorting you, Lady Galerton.”

“Thank you, David,” Selina told him, then turned and squeezed Isabella’s hands once more before releasing them. “Thank you for standing with me today.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Isabella promised. “Now, let’s make you a duchess.”

The journey to St. George’s was brief and silent. Selina stared out the window at the London streets, remembering another wedding day nearly a year ago. She had been nervous then, too, but with a flutter of hope beneath the anxiety.

Today, there was only resignation.

The church appeared far too large for the tiny gathering that awaited inside.

Only ten people occupied the vast space.

On the right side of the aisle stood Isabella’s six-year-old son, James, beside his maid.

On the left, a cluster of what appeared to be the Duke’s household staff huddled together, looking uncomfortable in their Sunday best.

And at the altar, there were two figures. The taller one turned as the church doors opened, his gray eyes finding hers immediately.

Rowan Blackmore, Duke of Aldermere. Her almost-husband, now to become her actual husband.

He wore a perfectly tailored black coat, his cravat arranged with precision. If not for the slight tan of his skin and the beard following the sharp contour of his jaw, he might have looked exactly as she had imagined him a year ago—the faceless duke she was to marry.

Beside him stood a handsome man with a mischievous glint in his eye. He gave Selina an encouraging smile as David led her down the aisle.

Mercifully, the ceremony was brief. Selina spoke her responses clearly. Her voice betrayed none of her inner turmoil. When the Duke slid the ring onto her finger, a simple gold band rather than the elaborate family heirloom she had expected, his hands were warm and steady against her cold ones.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

The words fell into the hushed church with the weight of finality. The Duke bowed his head slightly to her, but did not kiss her as tradition allowed. Selina found herself pathetically grateful for this small mercy.

Outside the church, Isabella embraced her tightly.

“I must go into seclusion now until the birth,” she whispered. “But promise you’ll write to me often. Tell me everything.”

“I promise,” Selina replied, fighting back unexpected tears. “Give my love to dear James.”

Isabella stepped back, her gaze moving to the Duke, who stood a respectful distance away, conversing quietly with the man who’d stood close to him before the ceremony.

“Be kind to yourself, Selina,” she whispered. “And remember, even arranged marriages can grow into something good.”

Isabella gave Selina’s hand a last squeeze before leaving with her family.

Selina found herself alone with her new husband and a small group of nearby retainers.

“Duchess,” Rowan said, stepping toward her, “the carriage is ready for our journey to Aldermere.”

Selina nodded, the lump in her throat making it impossible to speak.

This was real. As the Duchess of Aldermere, she was legally and morally obligated to a man who was more threatening than reassuring.

The Duke offered his hand and helped her into the carriage, then took his place across from her. The door closed, and the wheels jolted into motion.

Behind them, the city faded, replaced by the expansive landscape of fields and hedgerows.

Inside the carriage, silence settled thickly between them. Selina kept her eyes on the passing countryside, though she was acutely aware of the Duke’s presence, filling the small space with a weight she could not ignore.

Finally, the Duke spoke, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “We’ll stay at Aldermere for a month,” he said. “After that, we will return to my townhouse in the city.”

Selina turned her head just enough to glance at him and to give a slight nod before returning her gaze to the window.

The Duke said nothing else.

The miles slipped past under a heavy sky. As dusk crept in, the carriage turned onto a long drive bordered by towering oaks.

Ahead, Aldermere Hall came into view, its honey-colored stone catching the last faint light of the setting sun.

Despite the knot tightening in her chest, Selina could not help but admire it. The house was grand, but not gaudy, a testament to old wealth and careful taste. Three stories of tall windows faced the sweeping circular drive, framed by gardens trimmed with the precision of a jeweler’s hand.

When the carriage rolled to a halt, the Duke spoke again. “Welcome to Aldermere, Your Grace.”

Your Grace. Her new title. Selina suppressed a hysterical laugh. Yesterday, she had been a desperate widow on the verge of a modest match. Today, she was a duchess.

A line of servants waited on the front steps. Their faces showed varying degrees of curiosity as Rowan helped her down from the carriage. He led her forward to introduce her.

“Mrs. Wilson, our housekeeper,” he said, indicating a plump, motherly woman who curtseyed deeply.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” Mrs. Wilson said, her warm smile seeming genuinely pleased.

One by one, Selina was introduced to the butler, Mr. Simmons, followed by the cook, Mrs. Tibbs. Next was the head footman, James, and several other members of the household staff. They all regarded her with hopeful expressions that made her uncomfortable.

What did they expect of her?

The Duke pointed to a young woman who approached with a shy bow. “This is Agnes. She’ll be your lady’s maid.”

Selina finally regained her voice. “I’m pleased to meet you all.”

Mrs. Wilson gave her an enthusiastic smile. “If you’d follow me, Your Grace, I’ll show you your chambers.”

Selina followed Mrs. Wilson into the house. A grand entrance hall led to a spacious foyer, which featured a curved staircase. The walls of the room displayed the Duke’s ancestors, whose serious expressions and motionless eyes seemed to follow her every step.

Mrs. Wilson guided her up the staircase then down a long, carpeted hallway until they reached a set of double doors.

“These are the Duchess’s chambers, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said as she pushed the doors open. “They were freshly redecorated for your arrival.”

Selina stepped inside and paused. The rooms were more beautiful than she had expected.

Soft blue wallpaper warmed the space, setting off the cream-colored furnishings.

A four-poster bed stood against one wall, its hangings pulled back to reveal fine linens.

Tall windows overlooked rolling parkland, the fading light casting long shadows across the floor.

A smaller door stood open, leading to a dressing room, and beyond that, she caught a glimpse of a private bathing chamber.

Agnes had followed them and was already unpacking Selina’s modest trunks. The sight of her few possessions being arranged in this grand space highlighted the strangeness of her situation.

“Is everything to your liking, Your Grace?” Mrs. Wilson asked.

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Wilson,” Selina replied automatically. “It’s beautiful.”

Mrs. Wilson smiled. “His Grace was very particular about the renovations. These chambers haven’t been used since the late Duchess, but His Grace insisted they be made ready for your arrival last year and then…”

Selina moved to the window and looked out at the darkening grounds, unsure of what to respond. The estate stretched beyond her line of sight with rolling hills and carefully tended gardens fading into woodland.

All of it now technically hers, as Duchess of Aldermere.

Security at last. No more counting pennies, no more worrying about next quarter’s allowance. No more living in borrowed homes or rented rooms.

And yet, she had never felt more trapped.

“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” Mrs. Wilson asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Selina turned from the window. “What time is dinner served?”

“Eight o’clock, Your Grace. But if you prefer to dine earlier or later, that can be arranged.”

“I think I would like to dine in my chambers tonight,” Selina said. “The journey was tiring.”

Mrs. Wilson curtseyed. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll inform His Grace and have a tray sent up.”

Before leaving, the housekeeper paused at the door. “If I may say so, Your Grace, we are all so pleased that the Duke has returned to us. And to see him with a wife… well, it brings hope to Aldermere again.” Her kind face softened further. “I hope you will find some happiness here.”

Selina couldn’t bring herself to respond. Mrs. Wilson, seeming to understand, quietly withdrew.

Left alone with Agnes, Selina sank onto a delicate chair by the fireplace.

The reality of her situation pressed down upon her like a physical weight. She was married to a stranger who had forced her hand. Trapped in a grand house filled with people who looked at her with expectations she could never fulfill.

“Would Your Grace like a bath prepared?” Agnes asked, having finished with the unpacking. “It might help you relax after the journey.”

“Yes,” Selina agreed. “Thank you, Agnes.”

The girl nodded, heading toward the bathing chamber. “I’ll see to it right away. And shall I add some lavender oil? It’s very soothing, and…” She hesitated, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Many brides find it calming on their wedding night.”

Selina stiffened. The wedding night. How had she forgotten that final obligation?

Of course, the Duke would expect to consummate their marriage. It was his right as her husband, and practically speaking, the point of their union. He needed an heir, and she was the vessel chosen to provide one.

Lord Galerton, her first husband, had been too old and frail to claim his marital rights. Now, at twenty-six, she faced the reality of the marriage bed for the first time.

“Your Grace?” Agnes prompted, concern in her young face. “Are you unwell?”

Selina forced herself to breathe. “No, Agnes. I’m fine. Lavender would be lovely, thank you.”

As the maid bustled about preparing her bath, Selina remained by the window, watching darkness claim the estate.

Her estate. Her prison.

The Duchess of Aldermere. The title should have felt like victory. Instead, it settled over her like chains.