The hour was not yet seven, yet the manor was rife with activity. Ewan watched the servants bustling through the kitchen blankly like he was not part of the room. He had not slept for even an hour and a glance in the glass in his quarters showed him a haggard image. He knew he must collect himself before the ceremony commenced at ten o’clock, but he could not bring himself to return to his apartment to bathe although one had been cooling for over an hour.

“Lord Peterborough, is something amiss?” Gerome asked when he caught sight of Ewan standing. “May I help you?”

“I may be beyond help,” Ewan heard himself mutter.

“I am sorry, My Lord?”

“Nothing,” he sighed quickly. “I will require more hot water for my bath.”

“At once, My Lord.”

Gerome turned away, but Ewan called out to him.

“Gerome.”

“Yes, My Lord?”

“You must not allow what the General said to you last evening trouble you.”

Ewan thought he caught a glimpse of anger in the servant’s eye, but it was instantly replaced with a stoicism.

“I haven’t a clue to what you are referring, Lord Peterborough.”

Ewan smiled.

“As you were then.”

Gerome nodded, but again, Ewan noted a glimmer in the butler’s eye, this time of appreciation.

In a few hours’ time, the manor will be free of this business and all will return as it was.

Yet, if Ewan was being honest with himself, he knew it was not the bustle which troubled him—it was clearly the wedding itself.

There is no sense prolonging the inevitable. He forced his body out of the shadows and through the kitchen. As he rounded the servant’s corridor toward the front of the house, he paused, gazing about at the décor. His mother and Tabitha Oliver had done a stunning job preparing for the guests who were due to arrive at nine o’clock. Ewan admitted that the foyer was as lovely as he had ever seen it, and he must thank both his mother and his bride’s mother for their tenacious work. If nothing else, it was promising to be a beautiful reception.

Up the stairs he climbed and made his way back into his chambers, suddenly very tired.

I must not fall asleep. That will not bode well with the Olivers.

Privately, he grinned, thinking of the fuss it would cause if he were to be found asleep in the bath on his wedding day.

I highly doubt the General will be amused.

The night past, Aaron Oliver’s demeanor seemed to sour more with each drink. It was not that the man was drunk but that the alcohol only seemed to bring forth a darkness he kept well hidden in sobriety. If Ewan had to think of specifics that Aaron had done or said, it was elusive enough that the Marquess could not but under the surface, there was something brewing inside the General, something Ewan did not understand.

“I have more water coming, My Lord,” Gerome told him as he entered his chambers. “Forgive me for not having it ready.”

“You are forgiven,” Ewan chuckled. “There is time. I daresay I do not need three hours to prepare.”

“Your bride certainly will,” Gerome chimed, and Ewan nodded.

“Ladies tend to be more laborious with their appearance.”

“I hope she is a comely girl, My Lord.”

“As do I, Gerome. As do I.”

“Are you well acquainted with the Olivers?”

Ewan eyed the butler, slightly taken aback by the boldness of his question, and instantly, the servant paled.

“I am too familiar, My Lord. Forgive me. As a newcomer, I do my best to understand the relationships here. I was quite out of place.”

“You were not,” Ewan replied quickly. He did not mind Gerome’s questions. He remembered that not two weeks earlier he had looked to the servant for an ear himself.

“I have never previously met the Olivers before this engagement,” Ewan told him. “Although my father does insist they are held in high esteem. I assume that is so—I could not imagine my father would like the Clark bloodline tainted with sordid familial ties.”

“Bloodline? Do you intend to start your family immediately?”

Ewan’s face clouded suddenly.

“Now you are too familiar,” he snapped at Gerome who balked and bowed his head.

“Of course, My Lord. Forgive me,” he groveled. “I meant no disrespect to you.”

“You may fetch me that water now, Gerome,” Ewan told him curtly, his heart pounding. The mention of children instantly dissolved his illusion of rationality.

I shall not touch her, Ewan swore as Gerome disappeared. I will not.

The Marquess knew what a scandal it would cause if anyone were to learn he did not consummate the marriage, and Ewan did not deign for any such talk.

I will only need to ensure that Miss Oliver does not spend her days gossiping among the abigails.

He hoped he would not need to resort to desperate measures to ensure such a thing.

The Duke appeared at nine thirty, dashing in a top hat and new top coat. His eyes lit up at the sight of his son.

“You look like a proper gentleman, Lord Peterborough,” Phineas teased. “If I did not know differently, I would think you a duke’s son.”

“A Marquess perhaps?” Ewan replied dryly, and the men chuckled in unison.

“Shall we? The reverend awaits eagerly. He is more excited about this union than you, I am certain.”

“Father, I have forsaken my protests,” Ewan assured him. “I am certain that you have chosen wisely for me.”

“I am pleased to hear you say so, Ewan. I think you will be quite pleased with Miss Oliver.”

There was a lilt under his words which was unmistakable.

“Father, have you a secret you wish to share?” he asked but the Duke only laughed.

“You will see for yourself soon enough.”

“I understand Miss Oliver is quite attractive,” Ewan said begrudgingly.

“It is more than that, Ewan but again, you shall see if I can ever tear you from this room.”

“I will follow you, Father,” he laughed. “Come along.”

For a moment, he felt like the man he had been before Patricia had died. It was difficult not to be in high spirits when his father seemed so proud of himself.

“Your mother will be overwhelmed with emotion when she sees how handsome you look.”

“I daresay, Father, you are acting uncharacteristically sentimental today.”

“Am I?”

Ewan cast him a sidelong look as they moved along the corridor, but Phineas did not meet his gaze.

“Godspeed, Ewan,” the Duke told his son when they reached the landing atop the stairs.

“Thank you, Father. I shall see you in the chapel.”

Phineas paused to embrace him before scurrying away to take his place with his wife. Ewan paused for a moment to steady his breath before beginning his own descent.

Most of the guests had taken their places, but a few watched him as he shuffled into the chapel in the east wing of the manor. There were smiles and nods, gentle greetings but no one stopped him from taking his place at the altar before the minister.

“Lord Peterborough,” the Reverend Michael Smithers intoned. “You make a fine bridegroom.”

“Thank you, Reverend.”

Ewan turned his attention toward the pulpit and smiled at his mother in the pews. Her kind eyes shone with tears and Ewan was beginning to feel that perhaps, despite all of his deepest reservations, his parents had done the proper thing by presenting him with this opportunity. He thought of the Duchess’ words.

Perhaps I do require a wife to consider. I became a better man for Patricia. She did bring forth the best in me.

Such a whirlwind of highs and lows had overwhelmed him for over a year. It was time to put the past in its place, let the memory of Patricia rest, and move forward with his life.

Across the aisle sat the General and his wife. Aaron stared at him unflinchingly, his gaze neither a challenge nor one of interest. The man may as well have been studying a piece of art impassively at a museum. Tabitha wore a smile frozen on her lips, her blue eyes darting about like she was trapped inside her body, longing to escape. Ewan was relieved that they would both be leaving the following morning. They made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he could not help but imagine what an offspring produced by the two might look like.

If Miss Oliver is fair, she would take more after her father.

Ewan hoped Henrietta was considerably more feminine than the bear of a man perched on the bench. An usher appeared at Aaron’s side and murmured something which Ewan could not hear, but as the General rose, the Marquess knew it was time to meet his bride.

Aaron disappeared through the doorway, and Ewan cast the minister another small smile as the organ began to play.

“Are you quite ready?” Reverend Smithers whispered.

“Yes.”

No sooner had the word left his lips did his dark eyes fall upon the lace-clad figure entering on the arm of the General. Instantly, Ewan’s heart began to thump, his eyes searching her face, but of course it was covered by a powder-blue veil to match the conservative, floor-length gown which hid her figure. Not one iota of flesh was visible from gloved hand to leather shoe and the anticipation of seeing her was giving him palpitations of the heart.

“Dearly beloved,” Reverend Smithers commenced. “We are gathered here today in the name of matrimony. Who does give this bride to her husband?”

“I do,” Aaron replied, an unexpected flatness to the words as he untangled his arm from his daughter and stepped aside. Instinctively, it seemed, Henrietta turned toward the General as though to implore him to stay. It sparked a sense of sadness in Ewan.

Of course, he had considered that Henrietta would have reservations also, but watching the exchange in that moment made the reality of their union stunning. More so when Aaron refused to look at his daughter, despite the plaintiveness in her face. Anger overtook Ewan’s sadness. He could not fathom why the General could not offer her a reassuring smile at minimum.

“Shall we commence?” the Reverend asked, and Ewan forced his eyes away from Aaron.

“Please.”

“We are here, under the eye of God, in the presence of family, peers and friends to join a well-matched couple in the holy bond of marriage.”

Henrietta’s shoulders were raised in tension, and Ewan wished desperately to remove the veil from her face, if only to look deeply into her eyes which he could barely see were blue. He longed to tell her that he would not be cruel to her, and while they might not have a union born from romance, they might have a happy future together.

Provided she does not expect intimacy.

“Recite these vows to your betrothed as I say them,” Reverend Smithers continued. “I, Ewan, Marquess of Peterborough, take thee, Henrietta Oliver, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance.”

“I…” Ewan faltered slightly but quickly regained his composure and echoed the vow.

“You must now do the same, Henrietta. Repeat them as I speak the words. I, Henrietta Oliver, take thee, Ewan Clark, the Marquess of Peterborough, to be my wedded husband . . . to love and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance.”

There was a soft murmuring from the crowd, but Ewan barely heard it. He felt as though he had been standing at the altar for far too long as it were, and the desire to rip the veil away was becoming insurmountable. Perhaps sensing his anxiety, Reverend Smithers cleared his throat and nodded.

“By the power vested in me, in the name of God and the Church of England, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now raise the veil and look upon your bride.”

He did not waste another second, his hands fumbling to find the edge of the delicate lace before he moved the garment away, his pulse rushing through his ears.

Ewan froze, choking in shock as the bluest eyes returned his gaze.

He dropped the veil and stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief. The guileless irises followed his movement, widening in surprise and hurt.

“What is it?” Henrietta breathed, alarmed and shamed. “Am I not what you expected, Lord Peterborough?”

She looked helplessly toward her parents who were equally perplexed by what was happening, but no one overtly explained the issue to her.

Ewan whirled to stare at his parents, the betrayal filling his chest.

“How could you do this?” he gasped. “You add insult to injury!”

“No!” the Duchess protested, her face paling. “You should be pleased!”

“Please,” Henrietta whispered. “What is the meaning of this? Is it something I have done?”

“Come along, Lady Peterborough,” Reverend Smithers implored her. “Lord Peterborough needs a moment to collect himself with privacy.”

Ewan looked about the chapel blindly, unsure of which way to turn. He was overwhelmed with confusion.

“Come with me, Ewan.” The Duke marched toward his son and took his arm, leading him from the gossiping crowd beyond but Ewan wrenched his arm free.

“How could you find this acceptable? I had only learned to accept the fact I was getting married again,” he mumbled desolately. “Was this done purposefully?”

“Ewan, I am stunned at your reaction. What is the matter? She is comely, charming—”

“You know precisely what the matter is! She looks…” he could not finish the thought aloud, his breath catching in his chest.

“There is a resemblance, Ewan, yes. It is why we considered her to be such a decent match.”

“A resemblance?” Ewan growled skeptically.

“Indeed. Nothing more.”

“You are wrong!” Ewan retorted hotly. “It is far more than that! What am I to make of this?”

“Your new wife is a gift from God,” the Duke told him firmly. “He wanted you to have what you lost again. That is precisely how your mother and I see it and you should too. You have a second chance now. You must not forsake it. You see Patricia everywhere you look. It is natural, but you must not fight this. If you permit yourself to look without blinders, you will see they are very different women—inside and out.”

Ewan wished with all his heart to believe what his father was saying, that God had sent Patricia back to him, but he knew that Henrietta Oliver was not his beloved Patricia.

No matter how identical they may appear on the outside, Ewan thought grimly.