Page 6 of To Steal a Duchess

“I cannot wait to meet with you to discuss that business proposal you had.” He gave a wink as though they shared a secret, but the only thing Dorian felt was disgust that the business was his first thought. “You will be a fine husband to my daughter.”

He puffed up his chest, beaming.

He turned to Lady Eloise as Lady Wittby clasped both of Dorian’s cheeks before kissing one, then the other.

Dorian couldn’t shake the stiffness in his shoulders, noticing how Lady Eloise’s were still just as tight as his own.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, even as he nodded in acknowledgement at Lady Wittby, who finally stepped back, giving him space. Lady Eloise’s hair caught the midday sun, turning golden. The light all but took away the shades of brown that laced through it, too.

Her hair itself had mostly come loose from the elegant up-style where a shimmering band held it in a perfect circle. Wisps of her fringe had been curled to frame her eyes that gazed back at him. Despite his awareness of her parents, he couldn’t break their contact. He tracked the relieved expression on her face, the way her breathing didn’t seem as shallow as it had been when he approached the altar.

The furrow between her brows was gone, and her face had lost its overall tension.

But there was still something hesitant to her. Pensive, almost. She gave a small bite to the inside of the cheek that she had turned away from her parents.

Dorian noticed, though; he was always good at noticing the things people wished to hide. It was how he had been able to help her in the first place.

“Your Grace.” Lady Eloise finally broke the silence. “What happens now?”

She was practical to ask in the face of her parents’ distractions, already discussing business arrangements, how soon they could invite Dorian over for dinner and brandy, and how Lady Witty just had to tell everyone immediately that her daughter was to become the Duchess of Oldcliff.

He looked at Lady Eloise as he spoke, even though he knew he ought to address her father. But she had been the one to ask; she deserved the respect of being seen.

“I shall acquire a special license,” he told her, and the statement caught her parents’ attention. Still, Dorian didn’t look away from his now-betrothed. “It will speed up the process for us. I assume you have heard of such an arrangement.” Lady Eloise nodded. “In the meantime, I will ensure all preparations are taken care of so you will not have to worry yourself about anything.”

Lady Wittby’s eyes glittered, her hand pressing to her chest as though she was thoroughly indebted to him. They were, Dorian, supposed.

“This is most agreeable and generous, Your Grace,” Lord Wittby said, wiping his brow on his handkerchief.

His graying, brown hair was slick over his forehead with the day’s warmth, but his red cheeks, Dorian presumed, had more to do with the future now unfolding before him rather than just the heat.

Dorian only nodded in acknowledgement at them. “All you will have to do is show up.” He turned back to Lady Eloise, holding her gaze knowingly. She gave a small incline of her head. “Now, may I have a moment alone with my bride?”

Again, the words felt wrong in his mouth, but he forced them out. He would have to grow accustomed to them at some point.

Lady Wittby’s mouth tightened at the corners as she looked around before focusing back on him. “I… I do not think that is proper, Your Grace, for who knows⁠—”

“Oh, come, Olivia,” Lord Wittby chastised, dismissing his wife’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “We cannot deny His Grace anything! He has done a great deal for us today, and this is the only request he has made.”

He smiled widely at Dorian, who mustered the slightest ghost of a smile, just enough to placate the man who was trying far too hard to appease Dorian.

“Heavens,” Lady Wittby mumbled.

Whatever she said after that got lost as she moved away on her husband’s arm. It left Dorian in the shadows of the chapel’s alcove alone. For several agonizing moments, neither of them said anything.

While Dorian gazed at her, Lady Eloise’s eyes shifted around them, as though she shared her mother’s concerns about being seen together. Dorian stepped closer to her, catching her attention.

“I cannot help but ask if the day has gone as you expected and hoped for,” he said, finally acknowledging what had been lingering in secret since the moment Dorian entered the chapel to interrupt her wedding. “Has it?”

“It all went according to plan. You did a fine job.”

And there.

Her voice had changed. She’d dropped the poised, polite voice of a lady, and now he could see her true accent come out. Her voice was less pinched, less careful.

He rather liked it.

This was the voice that matched the letter he had received from her with her request.