Page 27 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

The church was old, cold, and mostly empty. His family, going back generations, had donated this church to the city, and it was a tradition for every duke of the family to get married in it. Only Owen took his place beside Brandon’s solicitor at the pews on Brandon’s side. The rest of the Dark Hand kept their distance on purpose since there was a rule within the order not to expose too much of their relationship. Owen just happened to be his old childhood friend.

Brandon turned his attention to Marigold’s side. There weren’t a lot of people there, just a few stone-faced matrons whom he surmised were his mother-in-law’s friends. Their looks were sour, as if they were sucking on a lemon, positively envious that Marigold had managed to secure such a match.

“Well,” Owen groaned with disappointment, “this is even worse than I imagined. They could have at least brought their daughters, even if it was only for a crash course on how to secure a duke. I happen to be one, and I would gladly pose as a test subject.”

“Close your mouth, start thinking with your upper head, and take your place.”

“Fine,” Owen almost groaned like a child told he had to take a bath. “I wouldn’t want to miss this joyous festive occasion.”

“Keep your sarcasm under control,” Brandon ordered. “Now. Sit.”

“Oh, I bet Lady Marigold loves it when you talk to her like that,” he said ironically.

Brandon’s eyes turned dark, thinking of the way Marigold reacted to that exact tone, but he was not going to share that insight with Owen.

“Sit. Down.”

Then Brandon heard the distant sound of carriage wheels stopping outside and the murmuring of the people waiting to see the bride. He gripped the railing, but when he realized what he did, he forced himself to relax.

Then the doors opened. The first thing that poured in was sunlight, and then she walked in. A collective gasp was heard from the onlookers, and for some reason, that made Brandon chuckle softly.

Marigold stood at the other side of the small, intimate church. Aside from her mother, she was alone. No father to give her away, no friends to be her bridesmaids.

All that he noticed in seconds before focusing on how she looked. He convinced himself it was just a thorough inspection of how his bride would be perceived by the world. And also a personal challenge because it was the first time he had chosen anything for a woman.

Marigold was wearing the gown he had sent her, and he knew instantly that he had made the right choice. The silver-white silk caught the light like the moon on a steel lake. The pearls on the embroidery made a soft sound each time she moved, and the fabric of her skirt made her look like a nymph.

His reaction was visceral before he could completely control it. His breath caught, and his jaw clenched a little right before he commanded it to relax again. His eyes could not focus on one thing. They went from the little auburn curls touching her neck, to her golden amber eyes, down to how the exquisite dress hugged her body to her hips before the skirt flowed outward.

Marigold was arranging her skirt, ready to walk toward him, when her mother leaned into her ear, perhaps with one last piece of advice or wish though Brandon was not sure Marigold’s mother could spare either. The moment lasted only a few seconds, and then her mother stepped back, her fake smile back in place, making her way to the front pews and waving at her friends.

But Marigold was left there pinned to the floor. She had been composed and almost serene when she entered the church, albeit a little nervous. But after whatever it was her mother whispered in her ear, there was now a flicker of something akin to fear crossing her features.

What did that woman say to her?

Brandon gritted his teeth and held back from giving his mother-in-law a piece of his mind. He decided the best course of action was to focus on Marigold.

So, he turned his full attention to her, his black eyes finding her amber ones, and he nodded. Marigold took one step toward him slowly, her posture perfect. She kept her eyes on him, holding a small bouquet of white flowers. Her eyes were a bit distant. She was not just nervous as a usual bride would be. Marigold was always thinking and calculating, so he could tell that something wasn’t adding up for her.

“What a liar,” Owen whispered from the first row.

Brandon was momentarily distracted as he turned a warning look to his best friend, but Owen seemed to have his full attention on Marigold. Then he turned to Brandon with a judging look. Brandon smirked because he knew what his friend was saying.

Marigold looked magnificent, a bride worthy of a duke. She pulled even closer, and now, Brandon could hear the whisper of her wedding dress against the cobblestones. He could catch flashes of the pearls as they reflected the candles. And he noticed the slight tremble in her gloved fingers clutching onto those flowers as if they were a lifeline.

She was finally in front of him, and Brandon looked down at her with an encouraging expression. She was doing well. Always surviving, always managing, even if she was all alone.

From now on, she would no longer be alone.

The thought hit him like a bullet through the chest. Of course, this was just a transaction. She had information, and he gained the things that he needed. But this particular transaction was a lifelong commitment, tying someone else to his fate.

These thoughts had crossed his mind during the past days. Of course, they had. He was not an imbecile. But seeing her in her wedding dress made it real.

He had no time to dwell on it because the rector began the ceremony, but Brandon’s attention was split between the words and Marigold’s profile. Whatever had happened and whatever her mother had told her, she had buried it deep down. She did that a lot, he assessed, judging from the nonchalant way she spoke about being threatened by London gangs.

“Dearly beloved,” the rector’s voice echoed against the walls, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony…”

Brandon had sat through weddings before. It was, after all, part of the political and economic process of the gentry. Men who married for lineage, alliances, convenience, and heirs.