His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

The morning of the wedding arrived, and Rosalie awoke feeling like everything was just as it should be. She was curled up in James’ arms, Burke at her back, Tom on his other side. Her men loved her. They loved each other. They were content. George would marry Piety and they would take off for adventures in Lisbon and Greece for the next four months. Meanwhile, Rosalie would go home…to Alcott. The dream of calling a place home had never been so tantalizingly close.

It was a beautiful, crisp morning, and Rosalie and several of the others opted to walk the few blocks to the church, rather than ride in the carriage processional following the duke and Piety. She paired her favorite green and pink morning dress, layered with a blue pelisse and the navy-blue bonnet with golden satin ribbons. She strode out on Tom’s arm, Burke following behind escorting Mariah.

As James hinted, that was another benefit to this wedding business finally coming to a close: all the house guests would leave. It was quite the boon to learn even the duchess was opting to stay in Town, citing her strong dislike of the bitter cold of long winter carriage rides. The only people returning to Alcott would be James, Rosalie, Burke, and Tom.

Rosalie couldn’t hardly wait.

“Oh, look at all the ribbons,” cooed Blanche.

The streets leading from Corbin House to St. George’s at Hanover Square were draped with colorful ribbon garlands that fluttered in the breeze. Society weddings were quite the draw, and the mood was festive. Eager spectators were already milling about, ready to see the duke and Piety pass by in their carriages. Even more exciting than seeing a duke and his bride was the chance to see the Queen. Rosalie wasn’t too shy to admit she was giddy with anticipation.

“Why do you smile?” Tom said in her ear.

“I’m happy,” she replied.

“We have plans for you tonight,” he teased, mirroring her smile. “Burke has put together something special.”

“Oh, yes?” A flutter in her chest had her smiling wider. “Can you give me a hint?”

“Not a chance,” he replied, placing a hand at the small of her back to guide her up the stairs and into the church. The noise of the crowd quieted once they were inside.

“Let’s find our seats,” said Burke, leading the way down the side aisle towards the front.

Within the hour, the church was fit to burst. Outside, the crowd squealed, announcing the arrival of someone important. A few minutes later, the duchess floated down the main aisle, a vision in burgundy and pearls. She nodded to various assembled guests, before taking her place in the pew in front of Burke, Tom, and Rosalie.

“Stop fidgeting.” Tom placed a hand over Rosalie’s. She’d been twisting her program into a tight coil, ruining it, and getting ink on her glove.

“I’ve never seen her before,” she whispered. “Not up close, at least.”

On her other side, Burke gave her hand a squeeze.

She glanced over her shoulder and gasped.

“What is it?” said Tom, turning his head.

“Don’t look,” she hissed, facing back towards the front with a little smile.

“Rose, what—”

“Hartington just arrived,” she whispered. “He just wedged himself onto the pew next to Olivia. I said don’t look—” She groaned as both her men turned their heads.

Tom turned back with a chuckle, while Burke narrowed his eyes with interest. “She looks miserable.”

“She always looks miserable,” Tom replied, earning him a pinch from Rosalie.

“This will never work,” Burke muttered.

“We must have faith,” Rosalie whispered.

“I’ll give them two more days to settle things, then I’m locking them in a closet and losing the key until they come out engaged,” he warned, turning back around.

“I’m not certain that would be the outcome,” Tom replied with a smirk. “Hart is stubborn as a mule. She’s more than met her match.”

Burke turned away. “Oh, here he is.”

The three of them glanced towards the front of the church, watching as George and James appeared from a side door, following the archbishop over to the altar space. As soon as George was in place, the crowds outside erupted in exuberant cheers.

Trumpets blasted and the whole church got to their feet. Rosalie bounced on her toes, trying to see through the thick sea of people towards the back of the church.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see her,” Tom teased. “She’ll sit beside the dowager, so you’ll have the best seat in the church.”

Rosalie smiled, ignoring the way they both smirked. She didn’t care if she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t every day one got to see—

“Her Majesty, The Queen!”

The trumpet sounds now filled the inside of the church, echoing off the high stone walls. As one, the crowd sank into bows and curtsies. Rosalie kept her head bowed, but flicked her eyes up, smiling as the Queen swept past her row, taking up the end seat next to the duchess.

Rosalie gasped, overcome by her beauty. She wore an elaborate gown of teal and cream, embroiled top to bottom with glittering gold thread in a pattern of florals and swirls. She wore a powdered white wig of massive curls festooned with jeweled pendants. Waves of delicate white lace spilled over at her cuffs.

The Queen smiled at the Duchess with closed lips, though Rosalie noted a sparkle in her eye. She and the Duchess were friendly then. She entered the Duchess’ pew and gave a nod to the archbishop. With a gesture of his hand, he signaled for the rest of the congregation to remain standing.

Outside the doors of the church, the crowd cheered again. Piety’s carriage must have arrived at last. It wasn’t long before Prudence was walking down the aisle looking beautiful as ever in a butter yellow gown. She clutched a small bouquet in hand, all smiles, her eyes glistening with tears.

As the music crescendoed, the congregation inched closer. And then Piety Nash was walking down the aisle on her father’s arm. Rosalie’s eye focused on the Corbin’s sunburst tiara perched atop her golden curls. A veil flowed behind her, catching the sunlight from the open doors beyond, making her glow like an angel.

While the rest of the congregation watched Piety make her long walk, Rosalie glanced towards the front. She let her eye fall to George, curious to know his feelings as he watched his bride draw nearer. He stood stoically, his chin held high. He was almost too still. The duke Rosalie knew was prone to fidgeting, slouching, and all manner of appearing visibly discomfited. But this was a solemn occasion. Perhaps, for once, he was doing his duty admirably.

Piety and her father paused at the Queen’s pew, giving her a curtsy and a bow before they proceeded past. Mr. Nash deposited her at the alter at George’s side, and the archbishop raised his hands for the congregation to sit.

Rosalie sank onto the hard wooden bench, feeling Burke and Tom press in at either side. She appreciated how close they sat, letting the shoulders and arms brush together. Even if she couldn’t openly hold their hands, she could feel their touch. She smiled.

The archbishop cleared his throat and gave a nod to the Queen before he called out in a raspy orator’s voice. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted by God in the time of—”

“I object!”

Rosalie stilled, unsure if she heard the words spoken aloud.

A buzz hummed all around the church as the archbishop blinked, looking up from his notes.

Piety’s saccharin smile fell.

James stepped in, leaning over George’s shoulder. They whispered a few hushed words before George waved him away.

“No, no. I said I object!” George called in a strangled voice. He glanced around at the crowd, his eye settling back on Piety, who’s bottom lip was quivering.

The archbishop cleared his throat. “Your Grace, if you require a moment to—”

“Yes,” he squawked. “A moment. I need a moment. James!” Grabbing his brother by the collar, the Duke of Norland dashed away from the altar, leaving the archbishop, his blushing bride, the Queen of England, and all assembled behind as he dragged James down the side aisle and out the closest door.

The congregation erupted in gasps and whispers.

To either side of Rosalie, Burke and Tom were still as stone.

Burke slowly exhaled. “Well…shit.”