Chapter Twelve

June 5, 1812

William stared with dull eyes at his reflection in the looking glass. "No."

"You are certain?"

"Absolutely," said William, wrenching off the light orange silk waistcoat as though it were contaminated. "Next."

The orange silk waistcoat was removed from his fingers, to be replaced immediately by one of a shimmering gold.

"Next."

"But you have not even tried it—"

"I said next, Pierre," William snapped, every nerve taut. "And I meant it. Next!"

It was ridiculous. He had never been the sort of Brummell to care about clothes to such an extent. Clothes were... an armor. Protective for the body and for the soul. They stood between you and Society, ensuring that as long as you dressed adequately, in the correct fashions with the right fabric made by a respected tailor, you could pass through the world unnoticed.

Until today.

"This is a delicate linen blend," his valet was muttering as he slipped William's arms through the holes. "Very stylish, of course, a pleasant natural color..."

The man's voice faded away as William turned to the looking glass to glare at his reflection.

This was his fault.

His own, that was. Not Pierre's. The poor man had been given less than a week's notice, it was hardly his fault no wedding suit had been ordered. But that left him attempting to find the perfect outfit to become Alice's husband using only the clothes already at his disposal.

William glanced over his shoulder and saw the pile of waistcoats on the floor, discarded due to his dismissal. If he wasn't careful, he was going to run out of waistcoats.

His valet cleared his throat delicately. "Any of these would be most suitable, Your Grace. They have all been made with care from the finest—"

"Suitable isn't enough," said William quietly, turning back to his reflection and trying to compare the waistcoat he was currently wearing to the third one he had tried on, a cotton blue. "Suitable is most unsuitable."

"I see, Your Grace."

No, he didn't. How could anyone see who didn't know Alice like he did?

For the first time since his impetuous suggestion to the woman William was rather afraid he was now in love with, he started to wonder if he had been a little too rash with his suggestion.

"We need to get married. As—damn. As soon as possible."

"Well. I am free next Thursday."

It had seemed to be the perfect solution. William was struggling to keep his hands off the woman, and Alice seemed, most surprisingly, just as eager to receive his kisses as he was to offer them.

It had been difficult, always, for William to hide that particular part of his nature. That part of him that wanted to feel a woman beneath him, sink himself into her, know the connection two people could find in such a meeting. In such a mating.

It had been too long.

And then there was Alice. Just when he had been certain she would recoil from his ardor, she had matched it.

Dear God, she'd even reached for his—

"There are but two other waistcoats you have not yet tried on, Your Grace," came the reproving tone of his valet. "Do you wish to see them on, before you make your final decision?"

If you can make a final decision, were the unspoken words William nonetheless heard loud and clear.

Damn it all. This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his life, not the day he spent hours before a looking glass, attempting to find a balance between well dressed and fop.

There was a snorting laugh behind him. William was just about to turn and scold his valet for being so rude as to laugh at his master, when—

"I cannot believe you are actually doing this," said a conversational voice with just a hint of mirth as someone launched themselves onto his bed. "You're actually going through with it!"

William sighed and did not bother to turn. "Aylesbury."

"I mean, you hardly know her!"

His brother's comment was well-intentioned, William was sure. At least, he hoped it was. And he was not entirely wrong. How long had it been since he had first met Alice? Days? Weeks?

The time had flown by yet had been so enriched with conversation and connection and meaning... William had never encountered the like. It was starting to become difficult to remember a life without Alice. Which was ludicrous but still undeniably true.

"Here are the other two waistcoats, Your Grace," murmured Pierre, stepping to the side and holding out the two items.

William glanced between the two, both greenish, one with a pattern. Then he glanced at the one he was wearing. Then at the pile behind him.

He had to make it perfect—perfect for Alice. He didn't even know her favorite color.

"I mean, you decide to marry her at a ball, then less than a—"

"Yes, Aylesbury, I well know your opinion on the matter," said William stiffly, slipping out of the linen waistcoat and grabbing the green one without a pattern. "I'll thank you to—"

"You barely know this woman and she'll be the matriarch of our family," Aylesbury pointed out behind him, his voice tinged with laughter. "I never thought you'd be a fool in love!"

"Thank you, Pierre, that will be all," William bit out.

His servant bowed and immediately departed—though too late not to hear his brother's scandalously rude comments.

He would just have to hope his valet had the wherewithal to keep that information to himself. God help them, if he had to spend the first few weeks of married life quashing rumors that he had fallen in love with his wife, something dukes never did—

"Honestly, man, I don't know why you're doing this," Aylesbury said, his voice less teasing now. "Unless... unless you have to. Unless there's an heir to the title on the way I don't know about..."

William's stomach lurched as he attempted to button up his waistcoat. Damn buttons, damn thumbs!

"No," he said—perhaps too quickly.

If only . . .

"I am marrying Miss Alice Fox-Edwards today, and that's an end to it," William said curtly. "In this waistcoat." He looked at himself in the looking glass. "Probably."

Aylesbury sighed. "I just don't understand."

And neither did he, not really. William could not encapsulate in words precisely why it was so vital to meet Alice at the end of the aisle today, make promises to her that would bind him to her for life, take her to his bedchamber and—

Well. Perhaps that last was understandable.

But he could have a woman, a plethora of women, if that was what he wanted. He was the Duke of Cothrom. It would hardly be difficult to find a mistress. A woman for the night. But satisfying his urges... that wasn't enough.

What he had with Alice was not something he understood, but William had spent all his two and thirty years depending on his gut, his moral compass. It always told him when something was incorrect, and it had always been right. And there were no warning bells going off when he thought of spending the rest of his life as Alice's husband.

"I don't suppose you would understand," William said quietly, more to his reflection to his brother. "It isn't something that can be explained, I don't think. At any rate—"

"You are going to be late!" said a new voice.

"Lindow!" Aylesbury cried with evident delight.

William groaned as the bed springs creaked behind him, and his two younger brothers got comfortable. "Not two of you."

"You should just be grateful we're here, as you're running late," said Lindow sharply. "Why haven't you got him dressed?"

"What, do I look like a valet to you?" Aylesbury shot back.

"I didn't say you were a valet, but I sent you here to hurry him up and—"

"You're the younger brother, why don't you hurry him up?"

William could not help but smile. No matter what happened, no matter what he attempted, his brothers never changed. Irritating, utterly uncontrollable, and able to bicker at the drop of a hat.

And he wouldn't have them any other way.

Though if he could cease their gambling losses and convince them to keep their breeches on—

"I wasn't jesting, you truly are going to be late," said Lindow, suddenly at William's side and tugging on his jacket. "It's supposed to be the bride who is late, not you!"

William glanced at the carriage clock over the mantlepiece. "No I'm not, because it's only—oh, Christ!"

He could have sworn he had only been here twenty minutes. How long did it take to try on waistcoats, really?

As it turned out, far longer than the twenty minutes William thought had passed. It was more like an hour and twenty minutes. He was going to be late.

"Just get a jacket on, and—"

"No, I can't," William said, heat blossoming across his torso, constricting it, making it impossible to breathe. He was drowning in fabric—he had to get it off. "Lindow, let go!"

William wrenched off both jacket and waistcoat, dropping them both on the floor.

When he looked up, Aylesbury and Lindow were frowning.

"Cothrom?" Aylesbury said quietly. "You... you need to get dressed. You have a wedding to attend."

"I can't believe I didn't order a proper wedding suit!" William said, horror in his voice. "What was I thinking? The whole of the ton is going to be there, and I'm not wearing a—"

"Oh God, I was afraid of this," Lindow muttered. "Come on now, Cothrom, we can cancel the wedding, no one will—"

"I don't want to cancel the wedding," William said furiously, panic dripping into his lungs, making every movement hurt. "I just—"

"Look, you'll have to send a footman," Aylesbury was murmuring. "We can smooth the whole thing out, we've just got to—"

And desperation was clenching at William's mind—they wanted to cancel the wedding! No, he wouldn't let them, he had to marry Alice—

"Let go of me—"

"Hold him tight there, we can't have—"

"Good afternoon," came a quiet, slightly nervous voice.

All three brothers turned to see who had interrupted their struggle. Aylesbury and Lindow had each taken hold of an arm, but William was able to wrench himself free as they stared at the newcomer.

Pernrith.

He smiled weakly. "I... well. Good afternoon. As I said."

William could feel the tension spilling over into the room as Lindow glowered at the illegitimate Chance.

Dear God, this was the last thing he needed.

"What are you doing here?" Aylesbury asked roughly.

"Aylesbury," William began.

"No, it is a fair question," Pernrith said mildly. "I just... well, I thought you may not have time to order a wedding suit, so I thought I would bring this one."

A servant stepped in behind him, placed a box onto the bed and immediately left, closing the door behind him.

"You weren't invited here," Lindow said quietly as William stepped forward to inspect the box. "I don't know what you were—"

"Oh, my," muttered William.

The room fell silent as William slowly pulled out of the box...

"But... but... that's Father's best waistcoat and cravat," said Aylesbury quietly. "I... I knew you were given them in the will, but—"

"I thought, this way you'll be taking the traditions of the Chance family into your marriage," said Pernrith quietly, still standing by the door. "I hope it fits."

A knot tied itself into William's throat as he beheld the fabric. He knew it so well. Their father had always worn it on Sundays, at Christmas, whenever their mother decided it was a holiday and all of them should take a picnic out into the gardens.

His father's waistcoat. His cravat. Damn, they both still smelled of his favorite cigar.

He glanced up and tried to put into his expression all the words he could not say. "You will be there, won't you? At the church?"

If Pernrith was surprised at the comment, he did not show it. "I would not miss it."

Someone cleared their throat. When William turned around, it was to see a grim look on Lindow's face.

His heart sank. Was his most roguish brother truly going to make such a fuss about this—on his wedding day?

"If we're going to get you there in time," his brother said darkly, "we're going to have to dress you in the carriage..."

It was not an experience William ever wished to repeat. There was something rather unpleasant about having one's hands jammed through sleeves and someone—he was not sure who—forcing his feet into court dress shoes.

By the time William was deposited outside the church, he felt as though he had been through a mangle.

But he was here. And the church bells were pealing. And the bride, most importantly, had not beaten him to the altar.

"There's still time to run, you know," muttered Aylesbury as the four Chance brothers strode down the nave. "I've got a fast horse waiting at the chapel door."

William snorted as they halted at the front pew. "You haven't."

It was the silence that made him hesitate.

He turned to his brother. "You... you haven't, have you?"

Aylesbury winked. "Would you take me up on it if I did?"

William nudged his brother so hard, the man almost fell over.

"Now what was that for?"

"Shhh!"

Glancing up, William saw to his dismay that their laughter had echoed around the packed church. Packed full of Society. All staring and watching him.

Worse, it had gained the attention of the vicar who was even now glaring at them with a righteous look.

William inclined his head and tried to ignore the muffled laughter of Lindow, who was seated behind him. Along with Pernrith? Now that was a first.

Clasping his hands together before him in what William hoped was a clearly contrite expression, he waited.

And waited.

The organ music continued, extending on and on until he fairly hummed with it.

Where was she?

"She's not coming, you know."

This time William managed to avoid thrusting his elbow right into Aylesbury's gut, but it was a close call. Especially when he wanted to so badly.

How could he say such a thing? Alice had been just as eager to wed as he had when he'd made the impulsive suggestion that they move the wedding forward. Had she not kissed him with just as much ardor, clung to him with just as much need—hadn't she wanted him? Hadn't her hand wandered down to his—

No, no, this was not the time nor the place to be thinking of things like that!

But William had been certain, absolutely sure, that Alice wished to marry him. Perhaps he had been a little eager, a little forward. It was unlike him. She drew that from him in a way he could never have predicted.

He shuffled his feet, hating the tightness of the court shoes.

Still. He had not been so overly forward that she had retreated, had he? Would she change her mind?

A tingling ache of uncertainty flowed up William's spine.

He was not a bad man. The very worst of his soul, the worst of himself, the aching needs that his body demanded of him had always been ignored. He had always done his utmost to offer the best of himself. Keep his family in line. Keep the name of Chance respectable.

Had he still managed to make a fool of himself?

William glanced, just for a moment, over his shoulder. The church doors were closed. Alice had not arrived.

Before his gaze could return to the front of the church, it met that of Lady Romeril. She was glaring.

She was not alone. Muttering was starting to move through the church like a breeze.

He was being talked about.

Perspiration beaded on William's forehead, but he refused to permit himself to brush it aside. He would not, could not, let anyone in the place see how desperately this was affecting him.

Dear God, they were going to be talking about this for weeks! William Chance, the Duke of Cothrom... stood up, at his own wedding?

"You know, I never thought I would need to ask this," muttered Aylesbury as he leaned forward as if to brush a piece of fluff from William's coat. "But you didn't... well, say anything or do anything stupid, did you?"

William met his brother's gaze. "You know me."

"And that's why I hesitated to ask," said his brother softly, so quietly William could barely hear him. "But it's..."—he reached into his waistcoat, pulled out his pocket watch, and frowned—"half an hour past."

William's stomach twisted with a mixture of nausea and pain. "It isn't."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Cothrom, not about this," came the quiet reply. "Are you absolutely sure she's coming?"

It was not a question William had ever wished to consider.

His mind whirled as he attempted to run through every conversation they had ever had, every slight he had accidentally made, any offense he could possibly have given...

And came up empty.

To be sure, he was not always the most eloquent gentleman, but he had always erred on the side of caution, always ensured he was as polite as could be. He behaved as was expected, not only for a gentleman betrothed, but for a duke. The few times he had erred he had apologized. Been given an apology. He was a Chance, and there was no possibility he would ever permit the name to be brought into dispute.

Except . . .

William tried not to groan aloud as he closed his eyes, the weight of the realization heavy on his shoulders.

Except when he had been open, far too open, about his desire for her. Dear God, what had he said?

"Every chance I could take to kiss you is agony. And I very much... I very much wish to take you upstairs and show you."

No wonder the woman had turned tail and run. She had given him some platitude about getting married at once but had surely made her escape. What woman of Alice's breeding and elegance would wish to submit herself to a ravenous man like himself?

William swallowed hard, knowing in the depths of his soul he had made a catastrophic mistake. And worst of all, he had not comprehended it until now—until it was too late!

He might have had a fighting chance of convincing her if he had not been so dunderheaded as to ignore the consequences of his rash actions. But now Alice knew him—really knew him. Knew the depths of his soul, knew what he thought whenever he looked at her. And she had decided she had no wish to be a part of his life anymore, let alone his wife.

And that meant he was standing right now, before all the ton, waiting for a bride who was not coming.

"Aylesbury," William said hoarsely, his hand clutching that of his brother. "I—I think I've made a terrible mis—"

The rest of the word was drowned out by the sudden creak of doors—doors that were opening.

Every head in the church turned, creating a rushing sound that poured into William's ears and made it impossible to think.

And then his mind righted itself, and he turned around.

The organ music changed. Handel's March began. And there in the doorway appeared—

A woman. Just a woman. Standing there on her own.

To anyone else in the church, perhaps, that would have been all they would notice. But William was not just anyone else in that church. He saw so much more.

Alice. She was smiling nervously, creases of worry around her eyes. Eyes that sparkled, that surely dazzled everyone she looked at.

The gown she was wearing was simple, elegant. William could not have hoped for better: it was clearly of the latest fashion but was not clinging so desperately to the current mode that she could be considered trite.

The soft gentle silk, the same russet as William's waistcoat, seemed to drift across Alice's body like water. It clung to her curves and skimmed to the floor, drifting elegantly with every step that she took.

Every step closer to him.

William's gasp caught in his throat, his lungs tight, so constricted he hardly knew how he would take the next breath.

Oh, she was . . .

She was beautiful. She was elegant.

But more importantly than that, she was his—or was about to be.

And the sheer relief that she had not decided to abandon him, to give him up after discovering part of his most vulnerable side, almost brought William to his knees.

This woman. He did not deserve her, and he would spend the rest of their married life ensuring she knew that.

After approximately an age, Alice drew level with him, and William stepped forward to take his hand in hers.

"I've been waiting for you," he blurted out, unable to hold the words back.

Alice's hands were warm, but not as warm as her expression. "I know," she said softly. "But I'm here now. I'll always be here."