The Inconvenient Duchess

work.’
    ‘Was the window commissioned in your honour, then?’
    ‘Can you not see the resemblance?’ He tilted his head to the side, tongue lolling out of his mouth and eyes rolled to show the whites. And, despite herself, she laughed.
    ‘No, it’s an old family name, and the window was commissioned after some particularly reprehensible St John before me. Probably lost his head over a woman, the poor soul.’ He touched his blond hair and admitted, ‘There is a slight resemblance, though. Most of the art in this room was made to look like family. It is my brother who looks more like my mother’s indiscretion than my father’s first child.’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ she remarked, pointing at a marble statue. ‘That scowling martyr in the corner could well be him. See the profile?’
    St John laughed. ‘No, my brother was never named from the bible. He was named for a Roman dictator. Quite fitting, really.’
    ‘What are you doing still here?’ St John was right. It was an imperious voice, and its owner did nothing to hide the contempt in it as he spoke to his brother.
    ‘You needed witnesses for this little party, Marcus. And how could I miss my brother’s wedding?’
    ‘You could miss it because I ordered you to,’ growled Marcus. ‘I believe I told you to vacate your rooms and be off this morning.’
    ‘But you meant after the ceremony, certainly. I doubted you’d allow me as best man, but surely someone must give the bride away.’
    She frowned. She’d already been given away, certain enough. She didn’t need any presence of her father to remind her of that.
    ‘And I suppose that is why, when I went to Miranda’s chamber to fetch her, I found it empty.’
    ‘Dashed bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.’
    ‘For you as well as me.’ There was a murderous tone in her future husband’s voice.
    ‘Please, your Grace,’ she interceded. ‘Would it be so wrong of St John to stay for just one more hour, if I wish it so?’
    ‘If you wish.’ The short phrase seemed as though it was being wrenched from the heart of him. The duke pointed down the aisle and towards the altar and muttered to his brother, ‘If you insist on being party to this against my specific instructions, then try my patience no further. Walk her to the altar and we can commence.’
    St John linked his arm with hers and set off on the short walk to the front of the chapel at a leisurely pace, with Marcus a step behind. She could feel him behind her in a cloud of irritation as thick as incense. St John twitched next to her as his brother’s hand prodded him to speed up.
    ‘In a rush, Marcus? I could see why, of course, with such a lovely bride awaiting you. But we must try to respect the solemnity to the occasion. No need to race up the aisle, is there?’
    ‘Just walk.’ He almost spat the words. She was afraid to turn and face him, but could already guess his expression. It was the one he got right before he began to swear.
    They reached the front of the chapel and the vicar looked down at them with a beneficent smile. ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and the face of this congregation…’ He faltered as he looked out over the empty pews and a snort escaped from St John.
    His voice rose and fell monotonously. ‘…nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly…’
    She bit her lip. Taken into unadvisedly, indeed. What could be considered unadvisable about this?
    ‘…let him speak now, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’
    There was a loud and disapproving sniff from the vicar’s wife in the front pew, to fill the dramatic pause.
    He turned back to them. ‘I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know of any impediment…’
    Dear God, forgive me for what I am doing today. I swear that I will be a good and faithful servant to this man , she prayed fervently. And do not punish me for the secrets in my heart, for I swore to keep them. It was wrong, I know, but I swore to Cici and to my father…
    She felt her husband’s hand tighten on hers even as she was praying. Without realising it, he had pulled her closer to him and she leaned against his arm, which was as solid as a marble pillar. Perhaps this was some sort of sign, his strength guarding and upholding her as she faced her fears.
    The vicar led them through the vows, the