Page 110 of How Not to Marry a Duke

“Is it? Or has she succumbed to Edwin’s manipulations?”

“Mary is more intelligent than you give her credit for.”

“Perhaps.”

“Mary is older than you, yet you always feel the need to protect her. It is time for you to let go.”

Adeline rubbed her temple. “I cannot let her ruin her life!”

Hasmik scowled. “You want to ruin yours instead?”

At Adeline’s silence, Hasmik sighed. “You must know that I will support you and stay by your side no matter where that leads, even if I do not agree with your reasons.”

Adeline’s lips turned upward, and she embraced Hasmik. “Thank you.”

Hasmik pulled back and raised a finger. “But as for the duke—”

Adeline shook her head. “What’s done is done. I won’t back out now. The duke can find another to fulfill his needs.” If only the thought didn’t cause her such despair and anguish.

“Sometimes it’s hard for a man to comprehend his feelings or to voice them. You love the duke.”

Adeline pressed a hand against her breast. Her misery was like a weight pressing against her chest. “I will not settle.”

Unrequited love was the most painful emotion of all. Could she stand to marry a man who looked at her only as the most logical choice?

No sense worrying about it now. Edwin had taken away her free will by involving Mary. What a bloody mess.

Her half brother had won after all.

…

Adeline was silent for most of the trip back to London, her limbs limp with misery. A storm had made the roads treacherous, and they had to stop at the nearest inn. A dark and dreary common room matched her mood. Adeline ordered a tankard of ale and hoped to sleep in one of the procured rooms. Instead, she spent the night tossing and turning on a lumpy mattress. When she finally succumbed to slumber, she had nightmares of Mr. Slade.

She was wearing a black dress and veil to her wedding. Edwin walked her down the aisle, a satisfied sneer on his arrogant face, and when she reached the altar and Edwin lifted her veil and handed her to her groom at the altar, she fainted.

The next day, she had a roaring headache. She rested her head on the side of the coach and prayed the road would open up and swallow the carriage. She dreaded facing her family—both Edwin and Mary.

What would she tell her sister? That she valued her sibling more than she valued herself?

Truth.

That Mary had a better chance of finding a fine English lord who would love and adore her? That Adeline’s Arab blood prevented many from wanting to mix their pure blue blood with her?

Double truth.

Years of her brother’s taunting had eroded her self-worth. If Warwick didn’t love her, what lord would?

Perhaps the best she could do was a greedy, wealthy moneylender like Stan Slade.

“We are here.” Hasmik touched her hand.

Adeline startled. She’d fallen into an exhausted slumber. She lifted her head, which felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and opened her eyes a crack. Her headache increased in intensity at the sight of the Piccadilly town house. She rubbed her temples. Gathered her courage.

Hasmik leaned forward and touched her hand. “I’m worried about you. I can tell the driver to take us elsewhere until you are ready.”

Adeline shook her head. “Putting off the inevitable will not stop it.” She straightened her spine, smoothed her skirts, and squared her shoulders. The least she could do was to appear composed. Even if it was necessary to fake it.

Together, they climbed the porch stairs and Hasmik lifted the brass knocker once. The sound echoed in Adeline’s head like a death knoll.