London could not be relied upon to have nice weather, even in the midst of spring and even on important wedding days. So much of Georgiana’s time in London had been spent ducking under awnings and into coaches when sudden onslaughts of rain had hampered the daily stroll she shared with her mother and sister. The occasional evening ball and a townhouse they couldn’t quite afford, if the slim staff and plain food were anything to go by, seemed a poor compensation for the cozy vicarage they’d abandoned. This day, though, was different.

Sunbeams danced on every surface, illuminating buildings and branches with indiscretion. Once dour squares radiated magnificence, and even the Londoners smiled. The opulent coach, a cast off from her grandfather and splendid in a manner only achieved by people in the last century, rattled over the cobblestones, and everyone wore their finest attire. Mama had somehow managed to get Papa to try a more advanced cravat knot and she’d selected for the occasion a turban of such magnificence that she had to duck her head to best ensure the feathers’ continued beauty.

Georgiana smoothed the netting of her new canary-colored gown. Cheerful ribbons trimmed the hem. It was the finest dress Georgiana had ever owned.

“That dress is the most impractical thing I’ve ever seen,” Papa remarked. “That gauze can tear easily.”

“It’s fashionable,” Mama exclaimed.

“Only so women will need to see their dressmaker quickly again. Even the color is too light and susceptible to stains.”

“Georgiana will not eat anything until the wedding breakfast,” Mama said. “By which time her sister will be a duchess. Besides, she might always remain your little girl, but she is quite capable of getting through the wedding without the destruction of her attire.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Georgiana said.

“You needn’t be so surprised. I have been paying attention. After Charlotte marries her duke, you can marry the duke’s brother. It will make holidays so convenient.”

Just as quickly Georgiana’s spirits fell. “The man was attempting to make his brother drunk.”

“Attempting?” Papa snorted. “He succeeded.”

“Success is a virtue,” Mama declared.

“Not that sort,” Georgiana said hastily, hoping to convey satisfactory indignation without overly conveying that Charlotte’s new family was utterly unsympathetic.

“Besides, you noticed his action, my dear,” Mama said. “There seemed a definite spark between you too.”

On that Georgiana could somewhat agree, though she refrained from remarking that any spark derived from Lucifer, a person whom Lord Hamish Montgomery undoubtedly would find himself spending very much time with.

The coach slowed and rattled over the cobblestones, and the elegant columns of St. George’s portico came into view. Georgiana and Charlotte leaned toward the window. Charlotte’s veil fluttered with the additional movement, and her face remained somber.

A trickle of uncertainty moved through Georgiana at her sister’s expression, but Charlotte had a habit of being serious, and marriage must have its serious aspects.

“Sit down, Charlotte. You’ll crease your dress,” Mama said. “You wouldn’t want the dear duke to think you prone to gallivanting about in wrinkles. It would be enough to have him question your housekeeping abilities.”

“The duke will not be depending on her for housekeeping abilities,” Papa said. “She’s going to be a duchess.”

“Well, then she’ll have to tell servants if she sees wrinkles so they can correct it,” Mama said, though it seemed obvious that she’d only said that to be correct.

Finally, the coach halted.

“Mr. Butterworth and I will greet the minister,” Mama said. “Wait five minutes, girls. We need to make sure the duke is not at the entrance. He mustn’t see dear Charlotte before the wedding ceremony begins. Who knows what might happen?”

“That is really no concern, Mrs. Butterworth,” Papa said. “If the man had changed his mind, we would not be sitting here now.”

Their parents left, still arguing amiably, and Georgiana was left alone with her sister.

This was the last time she’d be alone with Charlotte before she married. They’d been alone hours upon hours before this, but these minutes felt monumental.

“I’m so very happy for you,” Georgiana said.

“Thank you.” The words were appropriate, but Georgiana wondered whether Charlotte’s eyes should sparkle more. Instead, her fingers trembled, a less reassuring action.

Despite Georgiana’s unmarried state, she imagined that some nervousness would be normal.

“I’m certain the duke will take excellent care of you,” Georgiana said, using her most reassuring voice.

“He has been most agreeable,” Charlotte said.

Georgiana nodded.

Agreeable wasn’t precisely the word Georgiana would select to describe a future husband, but then, despite their shared proclivity for romantic stories, Charlotte was perhaps too timid to pontificate on her betrothed’s qualities like some Shakespearean heroine tasked with a soliloquy.

“I hope you’ll be very happy,” Georgiana said, certain she should be offering some words of wisdom, but aware she had none. She opened the carriage door and descended the steps, waiting for Charlotte to do the same. “And don’t mind the man’s brother.”

“Lord Hamish Montgomery?” Humor emanated through Charlotte’s voice. “Why on earth are you thinking of him at a time like this?”

“I found him...unpleasant.” Georgiana tossed her hair, though soon regretted the action. Sudden sharp movements were unlikely to benefit her updo.

Charlotte nodded, but her eyebrows seemed to have ascended to a placement a trifle higher than was their natural perch.

Hmph. Georgiana’s cheeks were definitely warmer than they had been previously. In fact, even the back of her neck seemed to have risen several degrees, as if they’d driven into Cairo, and not merely Hanover Square.

She should refrain from further babbling.

Georgiana was quite certain Charlotte didn’t need to spend the last moments of her unmarried life listening to criticisms of her ever-impending brother-in-law.

After all, the marriage was happening.

They were here, and Charlotte looked magnificent in her very best gown. The ivory color suited her.

“You look beautiful. Let’s go to the church.” Georgiana helped her sister from the coach. She adjusted Charlotte’s veil and floral crown and then gave Charlotte her bouquet.

They strode toward the church. The elaborate portico and columns gleamed under the bright light. Curious onlookers smiled at them, no doubt recognizing that Charlotte was a bride.

“And now for the start of the rest of your life,” Georgiana murmured.  

Charlotte gave her a soft smile, but the sides of her eyes didn’t crinkle, and Georgiana wondered again whether there was any chance Lord Hamish Montgomery might be correct after all.

She shook her head.

The thought was obviously impossible.

Georgiana followed Charlotte up the steps to the church. No music wafted from the inside, but birds chirped merrily. 

All the same Georgiana’s heartbeat had decided to quicken, sending blood throughout her body at a normally unnecessary pace. Perhaps she should say...something. “You don’t have to marry him.”

Charlotte’s face wobbled, but then she smiled. “Naturally.”

They embraced, and a few of the people outside clapped.

“Come, let’s get inside before the duke and his brother arrive. We can speak to the minister.” Georgiana placed her hand on the door handle and pushed.

The door didn’t budge, and she pushed again.

And again.

“I’ll try it.” Charlotte brushed her veil away from her face, and blonde wisps of hair spilled over her forehead.

This wasn’t how Charlotte’s wedding was supposed to go.

“Perhaps there is a different entrance,” Georgiana said hopefully.

The statement seemed an absurd one. What other entrance could the minister have intended them to use?

She glanced at the onlookers. “This is where the brides normally enter?”

The onlookers nodded, appearing puzzled, and her heart sank.

*

THE COACH JOSTLED ON the way to the chapel, and Hamish whistled. Perhaps yesterday morning had not gone well, but fortunately his list had comprised multiple methods. He attempted a more complex melody, hitting each note exquisitely.

His brother widened his eyes and removed his glossy hat. “Are you happy?”

“Perhaps,” Hamish said nonchalantly.

“On my wedding day?”

“Aye.”

“Good,” Callum said with a skeptical tone that was entirely deserved. He ran his fingers along the brim of his top hat and then adjusted his boutonniere. He seemed to exude nervous energy.

“Those flowers are most flamboyant.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Callum grumbled. “Not a regular occurrence.”

“I hope not,” Hamish said. “I don’t like being dragged to London. The ride is unpleasant.”

“England is beautiful.”

“Not in—”

“Comparison with Scotland,” Callum said. “I know. You’ve—er—mentioned it. I suppose you’ll be there soon enough.”

Hamish flushed. Perhaps it had been forward of him to travel with his bag, but he abhorred the thought of remaining in London. Remaining in London might cause him to call on Miss Georgiana Butterworth, and that would be dreadful. He would be able to catch a stagecoach in Smithfield Market and be rid of this town.

“Well, it would do you well to remember Scotland,” Hamish huffed, “given your position as one of Scotland’s premiere nobles.”

Callum gave a tight smile.

“You could still change your mind,” Hamish said.

“I know.”

Hamish raised his eyebrows.

“I mean, obviously it’s a possibility. That’s just common sense,” Callum said. “We’re not yet linked to each other.”

“For all eternity,” Hamish said.

Callum shifted his legs. His expression seemed to grow more serious, and he moved his head toward the window.

Hamish leaned back.

If Callum flinched when Hamish described the wedding as lasting for all eternity, well, that was a sign the marriage shouldn’t be happening.

People married for duty all the time, especially when their names came with fancy titles, but they did not marry virtual commoners. Was his brother madly in love with Miss Charlotte Butterworth? It was a question that should have been meaningless. Weren’t romances confined to penny dreadfuls, such as by Loretta Van Lochen, that were essentially fairy tales? Marriages were legal contacts that were vital to the functioning of society. Perhaps at times love was involved, but that was hardly a necessary ingredient in a successful marriage. Still, some romance-filled people might revolt against his realism, but surely that only pertained to cases in which love existed.

He smiled and stretched nonchalantly. The guilt that had accompanied him from Scotland dissipated, and he relaxed against the sumptuous pillows.

Callum looked at him curiously, as if he were expecting Hamish to make another protest, but Hamish refrained from doing so.

It would all be over soon.

The Butterworths must be already at the chapel. He almost sighed. He didn’t want to hurt these people, though he supposed his ancestors had not retained, much less achieved, their wealth without focusing on their goals.

Miss Butterworth was no concern of his, he reminded himself. It didn’t matter how pleasantly the light fell on the contours of her cheeks, and it certainly didn’t matter that her brown eyes sparkled.

She’d wasted his precious time, leading him to believe she was marrying his brother. If she had done the decent thing and told him, he could have made the same offer to Miss Charlotte Butterworth. Perhaps she would have had some sense; after all, someone must be in possession of it, since the rest of her family seemed devoid of the quality.