I could have had Harris or any of the staff drop Manly's burial clothes and detailed instructions for his funeral and viewing off at the mortuary. But out of respect, and the fact that I knew how to handle the paparazzi better than anyone on staff at the castle, I decided to run the errand myself. It was better than being alone with my thoughts at home. I was still stinging from Ren's abandonment.

I took one of Manly's smallest, sportiest cars in case I had to outrun reporters. Don't ask me what make and model. I didn't pay attention. I wasn't naïve enough to think the reporters wouldn't follow me, but at least I could make it exciting.

It was still misty outside. Visibility was low, but I was grateful for the cloak of mist hiding me from prying eyes. I kept my windows rolled up and eyes straight ahead as I peeled out of the front gates, catching any possible pursuers by surprise. Reporters and photographers scattered. If I were lucky, I'd just added to my reputation as the Deadly Duchess. Both my beauty and my driving were dangerous.

Behind me, headlights lit up as reporters prepared to pursue me.

The funeral home was in the next town over from the village. By the time I arrived and parked, my fan club was on my heels. Fortunately, I knew how to run in heels and simper for the camera as I scurried away. It was an acquired skill. I paused at the door to the funeral home, looking over my shoulder, the soulful, mourning duchess, giving them the money shot. If I were lucky, they'd realize what I'd given them, realize how gracious I was, realize there was a limit to my tolerance and generosity, and leave with the hope I'd cooperate again later at the big event.

I ducked into the funeral home and met with the director. Marlin Simpson had the kind of sympathetic, calming nature any good funeral director should have. He was, after all, one of the best my mother's money could buy. Naturally, he was organized and reassuring. He already had a copy of Manly's funeral instructions in his database, but he was kind enough to go over them with me to make sure everything was up to date.

"I'm very sorry, duchess, that you had to start your married life under these sad circumstances. No bride on her honeymoon should be dealing with a funeral."

Good for him for being so good at his job. One wondered—after dealing with death and mourning people all day, did people in his position ever go numb to grief?

Words of condolence were difficult under the most usual of circumstances. But, really, what could you say to a bride whose groom died on the altar and was replaced with his nephew? To the Deadly Duchess? As a professional in the consoling business, Simpson made a good attempt. I gave him credit for that.

The funeral would be held in the church in the village at the edge of the estate, after an open-casket viewing and lying in state at the castle, as Manly requested. One last chance to show off and look dashing, Manly had joked. He had a sense of humor right up to the end. The afternoon before, Manly's body would be brought back to the castle to lie in state for the public to view. It was tradition for the duke to be transported by hearse to his funeral in the village on the day of his funeral. One last journey. Simpson insisted on showing me Manly's casket and pointing out the finer details, telling me how much Manly had delighted in picking it out.

"The late duke and I had a good professional working relationship, you might say," Simpson said. "I saw him more than I see most people. He first came in thirty years ago. Then again about twenty years past. About ten years back, he started coming in every few years. The last couple, he came in maybe twice a year. He wanted the latest model, the very best in final resting. He came in and we had a cuppa as we went over his latest choice and new details for his funeral plan. I looked forward to his visits, really."

I nodded. "That sounds like Manly."

"I'll miss the late duke. And, of course, it's an honor to tend to a duke's final needs."

"Yes," I murmured. "We'll all miss him."

Manly had expensive taste and liked luxury. He'd be doing his final resting in comfort, that much was true. Crazy as it was, the thought gave me solace and a small smile.

It was midafternoon by the time I left the funeral home. The reporters were as smart as I'd given them credit for. They were gone. I headed for the chapel in the village to meet with Reverend Hodgson about details of Manly's funeral service, unfollowed and in peace.

The mist had mostly burned off, leaving a few low clouds scudding on the horizon behind the hills in the distance. The village came into sight. The shadows were long and the light flattering. Nature was preening and ready to have her picture snapped. The sky was deep blue, and the yellow and orange fall foliage was lit up and highlighted. The day was as beautiful as a fall day could be.

The village looked quaint, like it belonged in a storybook or a picture postcard a tourist might mail home. The paparazzi were conspicuously missing. So easy. All they'd wanted was one tragic snap of a mourning duchess?

The historic spired stone chapel sat on a hillside with a quiet lane leading up to it, fall trees shedding their yellow leaves around it. The lane to the church had a modern white metal gate and was flanked on one side by a medieval gatehouse complete with its own turret and arrow slots. Farther up the lane, the churchyard was protected by a stone fence. The white gate was usually open, but it was manned and barred now, probably to keep curious onlookers and annoying paparazzi out.

The policeman at the gate let me through as soon as he recognized me. I parked in the small lot next to the vicarage and office. The sun still had a touch of warmth to it as I strolled up the walk. As cold as my emotions were, I was glad for any warmth at all, even simple physical warmth.

The church office was in a modern—by British standards, anyway—building no more than a few hundred years old alongside the chapel. I walked in and was greeted by a harried church secretary and shown into the priest's office without delay.

Although I'd only spoken with Reverend Hodgson a few times, mostly about my wedding to Manly, I liked him. He seemed sincere about his job. He looked as harried as his front office staff.

"Busy day?" I said. "I hope my scandal and the crowd of reporters from the gossip rags haven't upset your routine too badly? They're something, especially if you're not used to dealing with them."

He looked relieved that I understood. "We had to chase them off. Persistent, I'll say that for them. Didn't take kindly to being tossed out on their ears by a man of God."

My eyes went wide. "You're kidding! You bodily threw them out?"

The reverend nodded. "They were scaring the staff. No time to wait for the local bobby. I used to be a bouncer in my youth. Even though I'm older now, those reporters were nothing compared to some of the drunks I've handled, even since becoming a reverend. You made it through the gate, apparently. We had to post a guard."

I nodded. "He recognized me right away."

"Hard not to, I suppose," Reverend Hodgson said. "A pretty woman will catch the eye. And with the wedding and…events, you've been on the news a fair bit." He paused. "The new duke is in London, I take it?"

Everyone seemed to know where Ren was. "Yes," I said. "He had matters to attend to."

"His life, I suppose," the reverend said. "He wasn't planning on getting married, as we all know. And with as little time as he'd planned on spending at the castle, I imagine he had to go home for another change of clothes, if nothing else."

"You have it exactly." I relaxed. It was a relief to talk to someone who wasn't tiptoeing around me.

"Well, the news is making the most of it," he said. "I suppose you've seen it?" He lifted an eyebrow as he studied me. "You seem to be holding up well."

"You mean that I'm now the Deadly Duchess?" I said. "I'm used to lies and stories about my personal life."

"Or the Abandoned Bride," he said gently. "They're calling Ren a number of nicknames. The Deserting Duke seems to be the latest. Not quite as flattering as Daring Duke. It isn't usual, after all, for a new bridegroom to leave his beautiful bride the morning after the wedding."

"He isn't leaving," I said without conviction. "He'll be back…eventually."

"For the funeral, you mean?" He showed me to a chair by the window overlooking the chapel and offered me tea.

Which I gladly accepted. I would have preferred a real Seattle beverage. Coffee, mocha, or even flat white. Something you'd get at Starbucks or a local café at home. But tea was a comfort all the same.

"Bad sport for him to leave all this to you, though," the reverend said as he poured. "But exactly like Ren."

"He's hedging his bets," I said. "He survived a wedding and a wedding night with the Deadly Duchess. Surviving a whole honeymoon is pushing his luck." I took the cup from him.

The reverend laughed. "You're a good one, duchess. You're exactly what the estate needs. Someone young and full of life and ideas."

"I hope so," I said. "I'll try to be." I paused with a question on the tip of my tongue. What did I have to lose? "Manly's death, my wedding to Ren—it caught all of us off guard. Who knew Manly was such a manipulator?"

"Oh, you might have if you'd known him a little longer."

I frowned. "You really aren't surprised by Manly's stipulations?"

"No. He loved the dukedom, his family honor and name, and the estate in exactly the way he was raised to. Nothing he's done or would do to protect his legacy would surprise me," he said mildly, and got a faraway look.

Something about that look and his tone of voice raised the hairs on my neck. "What do you mean?"

The reverend reached for a biscuit to go with his tea. He offered the plate to me. I was famished and on the edge of being shaky from not eating for too long. I needed a sugar hit. A cookie was comfort food. I was glad it wasn't cake. Despite Libby's best efforts to get rid of it, we had too much of that still at the castle. I took one and gratefully bit into it while I waited for his answer.

"He married three women before you. He was willing to marry again at his age and try to sire a child. I think it's clear," he said. "The old duke would go to any length."

He was holding something back. I knew he was. There was more.

"You were very generous in agreeing to officiate for Manly and me," I said. "So many pastors would have refused, based on our age difference."

He took another biscuit. "I am the pastor of his dukedom and home church. I performed his last two weddings. There wasn't much ground to deny him on. It's not wise to refuse your biggest patron." His eyes twinkled as he spoke, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Who am I to stand in the way of a legacy?"

"And true love?" I said, taking another cookie.

"Is that what you're calling it?" He was the devil of a tease.

"And marrying Ren and me?" I asked. "You didn't balk at that, either."

"Ah, yes," he said, suddenly serious. "Marrying you without the time to give you the benefit of my wise marriage counseling. That was a risk." He laughed. "But at least half of you had been through it. You can fill the new duke in. I'm always available for marital counseling should a rough patch arise."

I laughed. The marriage counseling had been one session and mostly a joke and a lot of storytelling one-upmanship between Manly and the reverend. The reverend had argued, what could you tell a man of Manly's years who'd been married three times that he didn't already know?

"Seriously, duchess, I wouldn't have married you if I felt either of you couldn't hold your own with the other. Happiness in marriage is a matter of determination and effort. That part is up to you."

"And now here we are—the Deadly Duchess and the Deserting Duke. With a time limit on our union. Doesn't sound like much of a chance to me."

"It's as much of a chance as you make it." He studied me. "I've married a lot of couples over the years. It took one look at you and the new duke to determine the sizzle between you. Now that is rare, even for those who claim to be passionately in love. You can use that spark for good or let it consume you both."

"I knew I'd get some of that wisdom sooner or later," I said. "You can't help yourself."

He leaned toward me. "You may be right. Since I'm on the topic, I'll give you a few more bits. Number one, Ren has a history in this village. He was, and is, a handsome, charming young man from the prominent family. He left a trail of broken hearts behind him when he left after Will's death. My own daughter was one."

I stared at him. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "She got over it. I'm only telling you what you already know as far as Ren's reputation. The rumors have floated to us here over the years of how popular he is in London. I wouldn't expect him to change his ways, not immediately, anyway. Given time—"

"And two?" I asked, having lost the sense of fun. The assumption of Ren's obvious and immediate infidelity wasn't my favorite topic. A bride of barely twenty-four hours liked to assume she could hold on to her man for another few days at least.

"The new duke is a deep and private man. Brooding. He doesn't care for convention or what others believe about him. His brother's death is the prime example."

A bite of cookie lodged in my throat. I swallowed hard. "What are you saying?"

"That nobody knows what happened or what Ren's part was. It adds to his appeal, really. Women like the bad boys. Which makes me unpopular. Trying to reform them doesn't go over well." He lifted his brows and grinned.

It was hard to believe I was talking to an Anglican priest. He had more the happy temperament of favorite uncle.

"It's for you to decide what to believe," he continued. "Weigh the scant evidence for yourself. Ren never defended himself. Never professed his innocence. Never made a confession of it, either. Not even to me. Be careful, duchess."

I cocked my head, trying to figure him out. "And you think I can be dangerous too? Or at least defend myself?"

"You are the Deadly Duchess," he said with a trace of humor. "If you let sleeping dogs lie, as they say, it will all go better for you, I'm sure."

But Manly had charged me with freeing Ren and finding out the truth.

"I'll keep your advice in mind," I said.

He nodded and poured me more tea. "Good. We should get down to business. I'm more afraid of this funeral than I am of either you or the new duke and your newly infamous reputations." He winked and turned abruptly serious. "A duke's funeral is a supreme honor and a massive undertaking. We haven't had one here in fifty years, not since the late duke's father. That was before my time, I'm afraid."

I was glad to be on another topic. "Circumstances could be better. Less scandalous. But we have to consider Manly—he wanted to make a dramatic exit from this world. And he certainly did." I bit my lip. "Thinking of how much scandal and gossip his theatrical death caused would amuse him. That gives me some small comfort."

"You're a rare one, duchess. As I say, you're a breath of fresh air."

We moved on to discuss the details of Manly's funeral.

"You'll want to see the chapel so we can walk through the positioning and seating. While we're there, we can go over where to place the late duke's memorial plaque," the reverend said as we wound up. "We have a couple of options. We'll hang it and dedicate it in another ceremony, of course. It needs to be engraved with the final date of the late duke's life." He paused, studying me. "You look overwhelmed," he said at last. "We'll plan the plaque dedication ceremony at another time, of course. When things have calmed down."

I appreciated his concern. "Memorial plaque?" This was a new one to me.

He set his teacup down and pushed back his chair. "Each of the last five dukes has one hanging in the chapel. The dukes of old were buried beneath effigy statues of themselves in final repose in the chapel. Nothing so grand today. The expense and the space. Everyone is short on both." He rose and went to a cabinet, where he took out a box and pulled a wrapped plaque from it.

I followed him over and watched as he unwrapped it for me to see. It was engraved with Manly's title, given name, birth date, family seal, and a space for his death date. I shivered seeing it. It was like seeing his headstone. Or walking over it. I should have been prepared, but grief hit me oddly and out of the blue. One moment I was under control, the next I was struck with sadness and the finality of death. "Very nice." I looked away. "You'll handle the engraving?"

He nodded.

"Send me the bill," I said.

"That won't be necessary. The plaques are the church's responsibility. Our gift to the dukes. We will want you at the dedication, and if you'd like to make a donation to defer the costs of the ceremony, we won't turn it down." He grabbed his jacket.

I followed him across the path between buildings and into the small cathedral. He flipped on the lights. Inside it was cold. No wonder he'd grabbed a jacket. I shivered, but it was also at the thought of saying my final goodbye to Manly here in a place that was foreign to me. Manly hadn't been big on attending church. I had only been in the chapel briefly one other time.

I looked around now, taking it in with new eyes. The first time I visited had been more for historical interest. The place had seemed like a museum to me, not a working church. It was so different from most American places of worship. Yes, there against one wall of the church were effigies and the final resting place of the first duke and duchess. Farther down, the second. And there, in a prominent place, the duke and duchess holding hands—the white lady and her duke. I walked over for a closer look.

Art, of course, is subjective, but the duchess as sculpted was beautiful and serene. "She looks peaceful," I said. "This is the white lady, though, am I right?"

The reverend nodded. "Yes, yes, that's right."

"But if the legends are right, she's not at peace at all. She supposedly haunts the castle, one room in particular, the room she fell to her death from. Her duke was suspected of murdering her."

"You shouldn't believe all that." He looked at the graves. "But if the stories of her husband's treachery are true, one has to feel sympathy with her. In medieval times, women were considered the man's property and of little value, really. If the man murdered his wife, it was often considered his right, especially if he was the duke. Any man or woman would be a fool to challenge him. He had the power of death over everyone."

We both shivered at the thought.

"Back to the present. Come." Reverend Hodgson led me to the wall nearest the altar and pointed out the plaques. He had two spots in mind. "We can squeeze one more in this row, but it will be tight. Or we can move the late duke's plaque to the next row. It's a matter of what you think he'd like. He never got around to deciding for me. Always putting it off."

"The top row," I said with a shiver. Manly would always want to be as high up as possible. I wondered why he hadn't realized that himself.

Ren's plaque would have to go to the next row down. The thought wasn't a pleasant one, Ren dead. Or solo, the two of us long divorced. And my son, any son I had with Ren, would be right next to him. My son would have all this family history to bear and belong to. But he'd also have a small place in history, while I'd be written out. Duchesses didn't make the wall. Certainly not duchesses of the short duration I was likely to have.

"Are you all right, duchess?"

I nodded. "Sorry. Yes. It's been a long day. So many decisions to make."

"We'll get right on with it, then. Fortunately, there are very few decisions left to make. The late duke took care of most things. Very considerate of him, really. So many leave it to those left behind." Reverend Hodgson walked me through the funeral program. "We usually display the bodies and caskets here," he said, indicating a spot.

I nodded, hating Ren at that moment for leaving me to handle these details. And realizing I couldn't even correctly be called Manly's widow. I was just his fiancée and would be forever. Fiancées had no real status or clout, not like a wife.

"When I officiated the funeral for young Will, though, we put him here." The reverend pointed the spot out to me. "He wasn't a duke, naturally. That was part of the consideration, but—"

I froze. "You conducted Will's funeral?"

He nodded. "He's buried in the family plot here."

I took a deep breath. "I didn't realize."

"It's not customary. It's an honor usually reserved just for the duke and his immediate family. We're running out of space there, too, as you can imagine. But since Will was the heir, and died here, the late duke insisted." The reverend got that faraway look in his eyes again. "It was a grand funeral. Huge, really. The duke spared no expense. He was inconsolable. Will was the perfect heir. Everyone loved him."

He sighed. "You know how it is when young people die. So tragic. The church was filled. People standing and spilling out the back. Will was very popular and handsome." He shook his head. "And full of life and promise. People couldn't take his death in. It wasn't right."

I murmured my agreement. "And Zoe?"

The reverend looked puzzled by my question. "Oh, no. Not here. She's buried with her own family. Her funeral was in her home village in the church on her family's estate."

He pointed. "Young Ren sat in the front row between his mother and the late duke. He was the only one in the church with dry eyes. Just sat there stoically, looking…there's no other word for it, angry.

"Very odd behavior from a brother. He stood in line with the family to receive condolences, but at the reception afterward, he kept to himself and didn't speak to anyone but his mother. The rumors were flying, of course. Nasty rumors. His behavior didn't help his cause. An innocent person would protest their innocence, wouldn't they?" He watched for my reaction, finally sighing. I couldn't tell whether he was warning me or begging me to understand Ren. "Everyone grieves in their own way, I suppose."

He couldn't have done a better job planting the seeds of doubt about Ren in my mind if he'd tried. And maybe he had.

"Have you seen the late duke's final resting place?"

I shook my head.

He took my arm. "You really should. It's a beautiful day. There's a lovely view from it. It might give you peace to see it." He took my arm and guided me out of the chapel.