Chapter 1
When a Middleton caused a scandal, it was never by half measures. In fact, they usually engaged in the exact amount of caution one would when casting one’s fate entirely to the wind. And this was certainly the case with Willow Middleton, who had thrown every bit of care into the mid-May breeze.
Willow inhaled deeply, smoothing her hands over the soft pink silk wedding gown with a growing sense of resolve. It was often said new relationships held the promise of a bright future, a future with love, happiness and prosperity.
Whoever said that ought to be run through with a blade, Willow thought darkly as she and her father reached the edge of the aisle she was about to walk down. As far as promises go, she was not feeling any kind of promise—except the promise of infamy.
But there was one memory that came to mind in this moment.
Willow had once advised her sister, Poppy—quite teasingly—whenever the day should come where she lost her marbles, she ought to take care to wear her best gown for the occasion.
Willow had never thought a day would come when she’d be the one following her own advice. She smoothed her hands over her skirts. Well, nearly following it. This was not her best dress, after all—it wasn’t even her dress to begin with.
“So much for that then,” she muttered under her breath, dropping her gaze to regard the exposed flesh of her ankles. It wasn’t as though she had planned, or even prepared, for this to be the day she descended into madness. It had come on rather suddenly, a wild impulse that had replaced all common sense.
And this was by far the craziest, most impetuous and reckless thing she’d ever done. Far bigger than the odd prank she’d played here and there. Colossal even, for it entailed handing over the oh-so-small thing called her life and pledging it to another.
The Duke of St. Ives.
The man her sister had deserted at the altar only moments ago.
Beside her, her father stood tall, proud. Her rock. Willow hoped he would still be that proud after today was through. But for better or worse, there was no turning back now.
“Are you ready, dear?” Her father’s soothing voice tugged at her twelve-year-old self—a time where her only thought had been colorful ribbons and pretty bonnets.
As ready as I will ever be.
In answer, she took a resolute step toward her fate just as the wedding march struck up, each chord slamming into her chest with the subtlety of a nail driving into a piece of wood.
But there was peace in knowing she was saving her sister from ruin at least, particularly seeing as she had her own selfish reasons for wedding the duke.
That was the true secret—the reason for her impulsive actions. She could fool everyone—her family, St. Ives, and even the guests—that she wed the duke to save her sister. But she could not fool herself.
In her chest, a cauldron of emotions churned.
Willow knew that she had quite willingly descended into this madness. She was walking down the aisle because she wanted to, because her sister had provided her the perfect opportunity to do so.
Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure her actionswouldsave Holly’s reputation. She may very well worsen everything with her efforts this day. But she took another step forward anyway.
Madness. Utter madness.
Willow clung to that madness like a lifeline. It was the only way she managed to put one foot before the other. So much was at stake.
But for every step she took, her heart stuttered to a stop and then charged into a full beat again. The duke could still discover her deception, even though she wore a veil thick enough to obscure her face.
She was, after all, a few inches taller than her sister—a fact made obvious by the length of the dress. For anyone looking closely, it would be a telltale clue that duplicity was underfoot. Willow prayed the duke only saw the shortened dress as a final rebellion on his fiancée’s part.
In truth, his reaction upon finding a different bride under the veil was the real cause for concern. Would he be humiliated beyond belief? Would he annul the marriage?
Willow supposed the worst that could happen was that the duke marched off in a fury upon the discovery, leaving her and her fleshy ankles to the mercy of the wolves. But even as she considered that, she felt the combination of the duke’s arrogance and male pride would demand he go through with the wedding regardless. At least, she hoped that would be the case.
Darting her eyes to the row on her left, then to her right, Willow became aware of curious eyes dropping to her slippers, whispers reaching her from all sides.
Willow’s ears burned.
Fortunately, her father hadn’t seemed to notice either of her fashion faux pas. Not only was the shortened skirt an issue, but it was also rather out of fashion to wear a veil. She also sensed her father’s worry for her—or rather for Holly, the “her” he thought she was—since the wedding had been hastily patched together. They had all been worried, in fact, but Holly had insisted she had found her true love.
That proclamation had lasted all but four days.
