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On the lips of every guest, speculation stirred about what would, in the coming days, be called ‘the wedding scandal of the century.’ A select few believed that Willow was indeed Holly and that the resemblance between them was simply uncanny. Others pointed out that one sibling had noticeably been missing at the ceremony and believed something wicked was afoot. But the majority correctly assumed that the country “heathens” had pulled the wool over the duke’s eyes and swapped places.
Then, assuming the latter was true—it was the most scandalous and therefore the most gossip-worthy—the crowd began to wonder why the sisters would trade places, as if ensnaring such a grand-titled gentleman for a husband were at the top of every lady’s list. Which, of course, it normally was.
Holly listened to these wild rumors, ears pressed up against the wall, as they waited until they were confident that most of the guests had departed and that the duke had ushered his new bride from the church. St. Ives, at least, gave no indication that he had just married the wrong sister.
The more romantic of the guests surmised that Holly had fallen in love with another man and had eloped with him. Others theorized that she was barren and could not supply the duke with an heir—though how on earth they thought she would know such a thing was beyond her. Some of the older matrons even assumed her limbs must be disfigured, for why else would she desert the wedding?
Preposterous!
Holly even heard a person claim the fault lay with her father for refusing to remarry. “. . . heathenish behavior . . . a result of being raised by a man . . .” the woman was saying.
Heathenish?
Honestly.
But perhaps that person had been closer to the truth than anyone else. For their father had raised them to chase after their dreams, to be happy, and not to settle for anything less than what he had shared with their mother: love. So why had Willow gone and done such a lamentable thing as marrying St. Ives?
Holly let out a small sigh and concentrated again on the gossip. So far no one had remarked on the absence of the Marquis of Warton.
Her eyes flicked to him. He stood stiff as a tree stump and said not a word. And he held that starched position until the voices receded, leaving only silence in their wake.
Holly found herself intrigued by the taut expanse of his waistcoat. And though she really ought not to, she felt secretly thrilled that someone had come to her aid—even if that someone was the temperamental Marquis of Warton.
“It’s time,” he said and swiftly guided her from their hiding place and out of the church. Unfortunately, once outside, their luck ran out. Many of the guests were still waiting for their carriages and were using the time as an opportunity to continue to gossip about the scandal.
“Walk beside me.”
Holly nodded, drawing the oversize coat tight around her and securing Willow’s shawl around her head. Warton was a big man, frighteningly so, and his body provided the necessary shelter for her to sneak past the bystanders unnoticed. All things considered, dashing through town in nothing but her undergarments would not have counted in her favor.
She was still ruined, of course—irrecoverably so.
And all Holly could think about was how unfortunate that her ruination hadn’t been the result of a torrid affair. At least then she’d have known some kind of passionate encounter.
Then again, one could probably argue that love was a form of passion and that love had been what had ruined her. Or rather, the falling out of love had been. And for that, she placed the blame firmly on St. Ives’s arrogant head. He had been the root of the cause. Him and all of his rules. Nevertheless, had she not fancied herself in love with the devil in the first place, all of this might have been avoided.
In a way, they were both to blame.
Willow might have a point; maybe love ought not to be a prerequisite for marriage. Even Poppy believed that falling in love was not the same as loving a person, but Holly had always been of a different opinion. Love, to her, was love—regardless of the speed, duration, or form.
Perhaps that was the problem.
Perhaps they were both right.
Either way, it had been deeply irresponsible to agree to marriage on a whim. Now the duke would demand . . . well, Holly did not know what he would do, but he’d require something for this betrayal. That much was certain.
“I cannot believe how foolish I’ve been,” Holly muttered.
Warton snorted.
“Oh, all right,” Holly grumbled. “I can believe it.”
They turned a corner and Warton’s carriage came into view. For the first time that day, Holly allowed herself a breath of relief. With a bit of luck, they would depart without incident.
As soon as they reached the curve of the street, Warton’s strong hands gripped her waist, shoved her inside the carriage, and climbed in behind her.
“Was that really necessary,” she grumbled, settling into the seat.
Warton grunted. He leaned over to close the door, when a pair of pail fingers yanked it open again.
Poppy’s head poked inside. She arched a brow at the two of them. “Well, this is a sight I never thought I’d see.”
“Poppy!” Holly exclaimed. Guilt and shame churned in her belly but still she could not conceal the delighted flutter in her heart at the presence of her sister. She had never been so happy to see Poppy in her life. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Everyone is looking for you, but I wanted to find you before anyone else. What happened? Willow has been whisked away by the duke, and Papa is out of sorts. And not to say anything about the dowager—I heard she fainted right on the sidewalk!”
Holly blinked.
Had the Dragon Duchess fainted? Of course she had! It would be just like that woman to pull out every dramatic stop.
“What else happened?” Holly asked her sister.
Poppy bit her lip. “I heard the Countess of Rockworth say she overheard Lady Mastley tell Sir James that St. Ives will demand retribution for today’s deception.”
“But that’s just gossip.”
“Apparently Lady Mastley claimed to have heard the rumor directly from the source—St. Ives—after he roused his mother back from her faint.”
Oh, no.
She’d known the duke would want something but had not thought it’d go quite so far as retribution.
Already Holly’s imagination ran wild with possibilities and images of being flogged or paraded down the street while everyone snubbed her. She might even be ordered to work as a maid in the duke’s kitchen! Or what if he demanded she be sent away? Perhaps even to a country as far as Russia?
“Miss Middleton.” Warton’s sharp voice interrupted them.
When both their heads whipped his way, he raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “Please get inside before we are discovered.”
“Oh, of course,” Poppy said and jumped into the carriage, shutting the door firmly behind her. “How did the two of you end up together, in any case?”
“Oh, he followed me,” Holly said, motioning to Warton, who narrowed his eyes at her.
“After I saw you acting suspiciously.”
Poppy’s gaze flicked from one to the other. “That explains that but what of Willow? Why did she marry the duke?”
“That is what I would very much like to ask her. She was supposed to pin a note saying I had run away.”
“But she took your place, instead.”
Holly nodded.
“My question, then,” Poppy murmured, regarding them with avid interest, “is what the two of you are up to?”
“Who says we are up to anything, Miss Middleton?”
Poppy arched a brow as if to say, do you really expect me to believe that?
“I think it best to lie low,” Holly said. “At least until the dust settles. My presence in London will only remind the duke of what transpired here today, and I do not wish to make things worse for Willow.”
“That does make sense,” Poppy murmured.
“And the Marquis of Warton has agreed to escort me to one of his cottages in the country.”
At that, Poppy’s jaw dropped. Her eyes flicked to Warton. “He did?”
“Do not look so shocked, Miss Middleton. I am a gentleman, after all.”
“Ah, yes, the famed gentlemanly honor to assist ladies and whatnot.” Then to Holly she whispered, “I do not have to remind you that his,” she motioned to Warton with her head, “actions aren’t born of love?”
Warton’s gaze sharpened.
“Poppy!”
Holly’s face flamed. Of course, she knew that! She had just fancied herself loved by the man she left at the altar, and she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
“I’m just saying. Do you honestly believe this wise?”
Warton stiffened, his features clouding as his gaze narrowed at Poppy, who leaned forward, her voice dropping an octave. “You’ve already incurred the wrath of a duke, and running off with another gentleman may only fuel that anger.”
“The duke will not know because you will not tell him. In fact, you mustn’t tell anyone, except, maybe, Willow. I will send a note to father reassuring him I’m safe and well, visiting a friend.”
Poppy rearranged her skirts. “If that is what you wish to do, I will not stop you. By this time tomorrow word will have spread throughout the city and beyond. By next week the ‘heathen wedding swap,’ as people have labeled it, will be on the lips of every gossipmonger in England.”
The heathen wedding swap?
What a dreadful analogy!
“I am so sorry, Poppy,” Holly whispered. “This might ruin your chances at a good match.”
Poppy harrumphed. “The man I marry will not pay attention nor care for such minor things. You, on the other hand, must guard against further damaging your reputation.” Her sister spared Warton a purposeful glance. “Perhaps I should come along to act as your chaperone?”
Warton shook his head. “It will draw too much attention and unnecessary gossip if two sisters disappear.”
“Fine,” Poppy muttered. “But at least apprise me of your destination?”
“It is best if you are not party to all the details,” Warton said, massaging the bridge of his nose. “But if you must send word to your sister, you can arrange a message with my man of affairs. He will know how to get in touch.”
Poppy nodded. “Right. Thank you.”
Warton’s jaw tightened but he nodded. “If I were smart, I would hand you both over to your father and wash my hands of this mess.”
“So why are you helping me?” Holly challenged, her chin raising a notch, even though she held her breath.
His dark eyes bore into hers, which had an immediate effect, as all the hairs on her arms rose.
“I have always gotten the sense you do not care much for our family,” Poppy said, interrupting the moment.
If that had been a moment at all. Holly hoped not. There could be no moments between them. Of any kind.
Warton raised a black brow. “Well, at least we now know your senses can be on point.” There was a pause, and then his big shoulders shrugged. “At times.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Holly pressed.
“When I know the answer to that, Miss Middleton, you will be the first I inform. Rest assured, I will assist you—but only to our agreed-upon destination. Make no mistake. From there you will be on your own.”
“I ask for nothing more,” Holly said.
Poppy’s eyes flickered between them, a frown creasing her forehead. “Well, then, since you have everything in hand, I best get back. Will you stay in town for one more night? Willow may want to see you before you leave.”
“I rather doubt the duke will allow her,” Holly said miserably.
“Perhaps,” Poppy agreed. “But the duke has never come up against a Middleton before. Our sister might be able to slip out tonight. If not, she will at least pen a letter.”
Holly turned to Warton, who cursed under his breath. “Very well, you can stay in Josephine’s chamber, but we depart before the break of dawn.”
“Thank you,” the sisters murmured together.
“Do not thank me. You are not out of the woods yet.”
Holly nodded, leaning forward to pull her sister in for a tight hug. “Please tell Willow that I am sorry.”
Poppy nodded. “Good luck.”
Warton waited until she slipped from the carriage before wrapping on the roof.
Holly lowered her gaze and laced her fingers together, not wanting him to witness her inner battle to keep the tears at bay. Emotion clogged her throat. Now that she had spoken with Poppy and the tension of the morning had worn off, all she wanted to do was throw herself onto a bed and cry until there were no more tears left to shed.
Guilt overwhelmed her. How would she face Willow this evening? What would she say? She ought to have been stronger. Now Willow might be miserable for the rest of her life, all because of Holly’s enthusiasm to find a fairy-tale love.
“All will be well, Miss Middleton, given enough time.”
Holly lifted her eyes to find Warton staring at her. She rubbed her arms. Just how long was enough time? A few days? Weeks? Months? Years?
“I am concerned for my sister. The duke is . . .” Words failed her.
“St. Ives will come to his senses. And if your sister is anything like you, then I would not lose hope yet.”
Holly offered him a small smile. Those were the kindest words anyone had ever said to her. “You know, it occurs to me that this is the first time we’ve ever had a civil conversation.”
“No, Miss Middleton, it’s the first time we’ve ever had a conversation.”
Holly’s lips stretched into a wide grin. “I do believe you are right.”
He was also right about Willow. If there were anyone who could outsmart a duke and manage his ridiculous rules, it was her sister. Willow would not have married St. Ives if she hadn’t been confident she could handle him.
“I am always right.”
Holly refrained from rolling her eyes at Warton’s male arrogance. She also did not know why she was reacting to him, but she suspected it might be because he was playing the part of the chivalrous knight. Which was not good. Not for her. Because knights that save damsels usually end up kissing them. Which would be another bad thing. Because if Warton ever kissed her, then she might get all sorts of ideas—like how would it feel if he caressed her collarbone with his fingertip? What would it be like if he whispered sweet words into her ear? How would his bare chest feel under the palm of her hand? Or, God forbid—what if he was the one?
Poppy was right. Traveling with the marquis was not a good idea. But she was going to do it anyway.
Whether Holly liked it or not, today marked the beginning of a storm rolling her way. And whether she wanted to or not, she must steel herself for the repercussions. But she did know one thing: no matter what the aftermath or how much she feared it, she would never regret not marrying the Duke of St. Ives.