“Because we are regular people, Reverend, who desire to be regularly married people.”
Penelope liked the sound of that—not that she objected to being a duchess.
“If the bride would move to the other side,” the vicar was instructing, “and stand on my right?”
Beech wouldn’t like that—she’d be on his wrong side. “We’re fine as we stand, Reverend,” Penelope said. “God will know which one of us is which.”
“I daresay.” The vicar retreated into his book, presumably to find the order of prayers. “Let us begin.”
“Now you’re in it,” Beech whispered at her side.
“Pease Porridge in the pot?”
“No.” Beech took her hand to kiss it. “Pease Porridge Perfect.”
Her heart was so full it started to leak out the corners of her eyes. “I love you, Marcus Andrew Beecham. I love you so much I don’t mind that you’re Duke of Warwick.”
“Because I’m the right Duke of Warwick,” he said with assurance. “And I love you Penelope Anne Pease.”
In front of them, the vicar cleared his throat. “If you two would be so good as to follow the order of the service?”
“We will,” they said together.
And they did.
And when the fellow at last pronounced them husband and wife, Penelope took Beech’s dear, different, familiar face in her hands, and kissed him with all the love she had left in her leaky heart.
But it was enough. Because she could read the truth of his words in his beautiful grey-green eyes—apart they were two damaged people, but together, they were perfect.
Perfectly united in love.
What a difference one duke had made.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Essex is the award-winning author of critically acclaimed historical romances, including Reckless Brides, and her new Highland Brides series. Her books have been nominated for numerous awards, including the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award and Seal of Excellence Award, and RWA’s prestigious RITA Award.
Elizabeth loves to hear from readers, so please feel free to contact her at the following places:
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DISCOVERING THE DUKE
MARCH
MADELINE MARTIN
PREFACE
Reunited at a house party after a lackluster start to their marriage, the Duke of Stedton attempts to win his Duchess’ heart. Will a sizzling wager be enough to melt the frost between them, or will it truly remain the coldest winter in London?
CHAPTER 1
March 1814
IT WASN’T the jostling carriage through the frozen country roads that had Julia Sinclair’s stomach twisting with knots; rather it was the idea of seeing her husband again. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d woken to find William gone after a very awkward wedding night. He’d left a note simply stating his need to depart at once.
On the heels of that note was yet another slip of paper found near the hearth, crumpled as though it had been meant to join the flames. And considering the contents, it was no wonder. William had been called away with the insistence that he come posthaste on account of someone called Maribel.
Maribel. The name seethed inside of Julia.
The idea of a house party in the country with her dearest friend, the Countess of Bursbury, had been a blessing and a curse. A blessing if William did not show, and a curse if he did. Of course, everyone would want to see the new Duke and Duchess of Stedton together.
Blast it.
The carriage made its way down a long drive lined with trees, their stark limbs layered with mounds of glittering snow. Julia pressed her temple to the cool glass window pane to better see the massive structure of Bursbury Manor in the distance. Well, that was a bit of a lie—she was actually scouring the landscape for any sign of her new husband.
Her heart rattled about her chest like a trapped bird. Dread pummeled its way into her stomach and she found herself praying that William not be in attendance. She needed these four days in the country, away from their grand home in London, away from the servants who all probably knew about her husband’s mistress. Every time they gazed at her, she wondered if they were secretly pitying her, or if they were whispering gossip amongst one another.
How could she have been so stupid? This marriage was supposed to have saved her from her father’s house, but now look where she’d landed herself.
Tension squeezed at the back of her throat. No. She would not crumple into tears. Not again. This whole awful mess had been given enough of her sorrow. Continuing to mourn, well, it was pathetic, and it needed to stop. And anyway, she had made her decision.
The carriage pulled to a stop before the manor, and a footman opened the door to help Julia from the small cabin. The wind hit her with a sharpness of the cold March. The chill lasted but a moment before she was swept into the grand entry of Bursbury Manor into Lady Bursbury’s warm greeting.
“Your Grace.” Nancy clapped her hands to her chest. “Don’t you look lovely? Marriage becomes you.”
“I’m still Julia to you.” Julia embraced her dear friend. “Thank you for having us. Has my husband arrived?”
“Not yet, nor have I heard from him.” Nancy rolled her eyes playfully. “You know how men are. I expect he’ll be here any moment and without a bit of notice.”
Julia gave a small laugh to keep from appearing as miserable as she felt.
Nancy waved her hand. “Come on, then. I’ll show you to your chamber, so you can refresh yourself. I know the roads are just terrible. Elias told me it was a bad idea to throw a house party in March, but I thought it would be the perfect time to get out of London while it’s so dismal and gray. Besides, isn’t it lovely how white and sparkling the snow is out here? So much better than the grimy slush sopping the city streets.”
Nancy continued to chatter on with her usual genuine excitement while she led the way, for which Julia was grateful. This felt normal, the way things were before the wedding. Before Julia realized she’d made a monumental mistake.
After having been escorted to her chambers, she took her time recovering from the journey, pausing periodically to glance out the large windows of her room. It was not the view that drew her, although it was lovely. She was on the lookout for her husband’s arrival, to have the conversation she knew would not end well. Yet, it must be done.
She refused to end up like her mother.
An hour later, in a fresh gown and with her mind certain that William would not arrive in the next several minutes, Julia opened the door. There, she met a most unwelcome face. Lady Venerton, the wife of the very old, very rich earl, and a onetime friend of Julia’s.
Lady Venerton did not appear at all surprised at Julia’s presence. Her lips curled in a cool smile. “How wonderful to see you here, Julia.” She dipped in a quick curtsey, more as an afterthought than with respectful intent.