"You Are Not the Bride I Was Promised," Said the Duke — She Smiled, "No. My Sister Was Indisposed"
Timeless Love
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"You Are Not the Bride I Was Promised," Said the Duke — She Smiled, "No. My Sister Was Indisposed"
12 151 просмотр · 12 дней назад
Timeless Love
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12 151 просмотр · 12 дней назад
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Felicity Ashhurst had spent nine years learning how to stand where the servants stand. She kept the household book, turned the malt at six in the morning, and counted the candles at the assembly rooms while her younger sister was congratulated for the ninth time that evening — because Amabel was to marry a duke of the north country, a man who had arranged the whole thing by letter and had never once seen her face.
On the morning of the wedding, the bride was gone. The little grey mare was gone with her, and there was a letter on the pillow. Sixty people were already in the church, the bells were going, and there was one person in England who could tell the Duke of Ravensleigh the truth before it became a public disaster. So Felicity put on her sister's gown with the sleeves pinned, walked up the aisle under the veil, and turned it back herself at the chancel step. "You are not the bride I was promised," he said. "No," she answered. "My sister was indisposed."
What was agreed in that cold little vestry was meant to last five months and no longer — a cold, tidy arrangement between two sensible people, a great shut-up house in the north, a seven-year-old girl whose future was being argued over in Chancery, and a sealed letter in a desk drawer that a grieving man had not been able to open in nineteen months. And when a plain, honest man from her own county came to town with a paper drawn and every word of it true, the woman the world had never bothered to look at would have to open her books in a cold parlour and let them read.
A tender regency tale of a woman who told the truth in a church full of strangers, and the guarded man who did not want to be seen wanting anything. Sit back, relax, and let this story carry you to the candlelit ballrooms and great houses of old England.
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Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and events are entirely fictional and the product of creative storytelling. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental. This story and its narration are produced with the assistance of AI tools for entertainment purposes only.