Much Ado About Dukes

Kit frowned. “Whatever do you mean, she needs you?”

He said nothing.

“As in her loins burn for you?” Ben drawled melodramatically.

He gave Ben a hard stare. There were not enough stares to keep the puppy in complete check, though. Ben would be Ben. And truth be told, he was grateful for his lighthearted play with the world.

He needed a touch of it just now.

Honestly, he still had not told his brothers the facts of the case. He would, but it was not his secret to tell.

He would tell Kit before that marriage; it was wrong to let Kit marry without knowing it.

But today?

Today was not about that.

Today was about marrying Beatrice for herself, even if that was not the instigating motivator. He didn’t want his brothers thinking that he’d been maneuvered into it. He hadn’t. It had been a choice of his own, made freely. It had been his suggestion, in fact.

But it was a choice so precarious that they had decided not to wait. He wondered if it was because they both felt so off foot on this new and unfamiliar path.

Suddenly the organ let out its low hum as the organist pumped air into the ancient instrument. A surprisingly sprightly hymn struck up. One she had chosen.

He tensed but couldn’t stop his smile. It seemed, with Beatrice, he was ever doing things he normally wouldn’t. And it felt…unnerving. For he had controlled his fate so thoroughly for so long, ensuring his stoicism. But now, he felt as if he was heading down a path and he had no idea if there were curves or rocks ahead.

The music picked up, and a long chord resonated through the nave.

She was here.

Slowly, breath held, he turned.

There she stood at the back of the nave. Sunlight spilled behind her through the arched door, her golden dress illuminated by the equally golden rays.

He loved the way she looked with that glow caressing her, tracing fiery red strands through her hair and lighting up her spectacles perched high on her nose.

In that moment, she looked more like a goddess than she ever had before.

Bouquet of white roses and pink camellias held firmly in one hand, she did not look afraid at all. There was no trepidation to her, no nervousness, no lack of surety.

She looked as if she was more self-possessed than any person in the entire world.

Her uncle looked significantly less so.

And as she took her uncle’s arm and proceeded up the aisle, she met Will’s eyes and smiled. It was the most mischievous smile he had seen in his entire life. Clearly, she had no intention of letting any of her present misfortunes get her down.

All of his concern lifted, and he felt lighter than he had for years.

Perhaps he truly had no reason to fear.

He and Beatrice would be the greatest allies England had ever known, far more fortuitous than any royal match ever could be. And likely they would actually be happy together.

Now that she was here, looking so bold, he waited easily. His brothers came to stand beside him, a veritable bastion of support, and he loved them for it.

He did not draw breath as she and her uncle moved steadily toward him. It was a moment out of time.

And when they arrived beside him, her uncle bowed to him. He clearly was far more nervous than she, as if he was afraid the whole thing might not come off.

As if all his duplicity, his hiding, would finally be exposed.