The Inconvenient Duchess

wife away from this house and leave me in peace. Now go to the chapel and prepare for the ceremony. Miranda and I will be there shortly.’
    The vicar hemmed and harrumphed his way out of the study, not happy, but apparently willing to follow Marcus’s plan without further objections. A generous gratuity after the ceremony would go a long way towards smoothing any remaining ruffled feathers and soon the scandal of his new marriage would fade away as though there had been nothing unusual about it.
    His mind was at rest on one point, at least. The interview with the vicar exonerated Miranda of any blame for the unusual and scandalous way she had appeared on his doorstep. She had hoped to make a match, but there was no evidence that she had tried to trap him by ruining herself. There was no reason to believe that she was anything other than what she appeared to be.
    Unless she was dishonoured before she arrived at his home.
    The letters from the mysterious Cecily said otherwise. They said she was innocent. But, of course, they would. No sane person would send a letter, claiming that the girl was a trollop but had a good heart. He struggled with the thought, trying to force it from his mind. He was well and truly bound to her by oath and honour, whatever the condition of her reputation.
    But not by law. Until his name was on the licence he was not tying a knot that could not be untied, should the truth come to light soon. He would watch the girl and find what he could of the truth before it was too late. And he would protect her while she was in his home; make sure he was not worsening an already bad situation. He rang the bell for Wilkins and demanded that he summon St John to the study.

    After a short time, his brother lounged into the room with the same contempt and insolence that he always displayed when they were alone together. ‘As always your servant, your Grace.’
    ‘Spare me the false subservience for once, St John.’
    St John smirked at him. ‘You don’t appreciate me when I do my utmost to show respect for you, Haughleigh. It is, alas, so hard to please the peer.’
    ‘As you make a point of telling me, whenever we speak. You can call a truce for just one day. Today you will grant me the honour due a duke, and the master of this house.’ He was close to shouting again. His plan to appeal to him as a brother was scuttled before he had a chance to act on it. To hell with his quick temper and St John’s ability to reduce him to a towering rage without expending any energy.
    ‘Very well, Marcus.’ The name sounded as false and contemptible as his title always did when it came from his brother’s lips. ‘A truce, but only for a day. Consider it my wedding gift to you.’
    ‘It is about the wedding that I meant to talk to you, St John.’
    ‘Oh, really?’ There was the insolent quirk of the eyebrows that he had grown to loathe. ‘Is there anything you need advice on? I’d assumed that the vicar would give you the speech on the duties of the husband. Or that perhaps you recalled some of them, after Bethany. But, remembering your last marriage, I could see where you might come to me for advice.’
    Marcus’s fist slammed down on the desk as though he had no control. ‘How dare you, St John? Damn you for speaking of Bethany, today of all days.’
    ‘Why not, Marcus? She is never far from my mind. Just because you wish to forget her does not mean that I will.’
    He flexed his hands and pushed away the image of them closing on St John’s windpipe, and then placed them carefully on the blotter. ‘You promised a truce and I see how quickly you forget it. Let us pretend for a moment, St John, that you have any honour left as it pertains to this house.’
    ‘Very well, brother. One last game of “Let’s Pretend”, as we played when we were little. And what are we pretending, pray tell?’
    ‘That you are planning to go willingly from this house, today, and that it will not be necessary for me to have the servants evict you.’
    ‘Go? From this house? Why ever would I do that, Marcus?’
    ‘Because you hate it here as much as I do. And you hate me. There. There are two good reasons. I must remain here to face what memories there are. As you are quick to point out to me, whenever we are alone, I am the Duke of Haughleigh. And now I am to be married, and chances are good that I will soon have a son to inherit. There is no reason for you to wait in the house for me to break my neck on the stairs