And yet, despite her lack of interest in his position and assets, she truly did seem to see him—Hart, not the duke. She saw him, but she didn’t seem to like him very much. They quarreled almost every time they met. So why would she marry him? For a baby? She could get that from any man.

He stared into the golden depths of his glass, then drained it. These were not thoughts to calm a nervous bridegroom. He could think of no good reason why she’d be at the church in the morning. All he had to cling to, like a man in danger of drowning, was that she’d given him her word. And she hadn’t let him down yet.

He knew why he’d chosen her. He wanted her, wanted in a way that he didn’t care to examine too closely. It was enough that he desired her and that she was independent enough not to be the sort of wife who would cling and want to live in his pocket.

He went inside. There was no point in going round and round and round with the same unanswerable questions. It was simple: either she’d turn up at the church tomorrow or she wouldn’t.

He held out his glass for a refill.

Chapter Seventeen

She is loveliness itself.

—JANE AUSTEN, EMMA

George stood in front of her looking glass, contemplating her reflection while her maid, Sue, fluttered around her, making a few last-minute adjustments. “Lordy, m’lady, I never seen a bride dressed so bright before. My sister wore her best Sunday-go-to-church dress for her wedding, and it was a lovely bright blue, but this—”

“It’s a new fashion,” George said.

“You don’t say. I was thinking maybe you’d wear silver tissue like the poor late princess, but I suppose people think it’s a bit of a sad fashion now.” Sue tweaked the skirt to adjust the fall. “In the country if a girl wore red to her wedding, well, people would talk . . .”

People would talk in London too, George thought. That was the point. They’d called her a hussy, a jezebel, a strumpet, and today she would flip it back in their smug, hypocritical faces. She’d show them she didn’t give the snap of her fingers for their stupid opinions.

Besides, white made her look sallow.

“Fetch me the black silk domino from the wardrobe, would you?”

“Domino, miss?”

“A black silk cloak thing with a hood.”

Sue looked horrified. “You’re not going to wear black to your wedding, are you, m’lady?”

George laughed. “No, just to the church. It’s a bit chilly outside—that breeze—but I’ll take it off before I get out of the carriage.” Really the domino was to stop any potential argument from her family. Who knew what aunts, especially skinny old busybodies, might still be lurking about.