Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
D aphne rested her forehead against the cool glass, tracking individual droplets racing each other down the window.
The rain was coming down heavier than ever, sleeting down the windowpane in a gray veil. Outside, the London streets were slick with water, puddles growing out of the gutters and spreading across the roads.
If the one on the left reaches the bottom before the one on the right, everything will be all right. Emily and I will pack our things and run. I will say something to Mama, tell her the truth, and she will stop all of this.
The right-hand droplet won.
“It’s bad luck, you know,” Emily said, her voice flat and cold. “Rain on one’s wedding day. It’s bad luck. Like leaving the house with your left foot first.”
Daphne twisted around to look at her twin, slumped over on her dressing table.
“You aren’t superstitious, Emily. And you’re left-handed. You do everything with your left foot or hand first.”
“Telling, isn’t it?” Emily lifted her head from the dresser. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but the tears had stopped. For now, at least. Her spectacles were gone, carefully folded and left on the edge of the dressing table.
Without her spectacles, the two of them looked more alike than ever.
Not today, of course. Emily was trussed up in her wedding finery, drowning in acres of ice-blue satin. A translucent lace veil was wrapped around her elaborate hairstyle and hung down around her head and shoulders, threatening to choke her.
Daphne was suitably inferior today, as befitted a bridesmaid. Her gown was a simple one, the same green as her eyes, with a demure, little posy of flowers to carry.
“You don’t have to do this,” Daphne said after the pause had grown too painful. “Nobody understands why. If I could just tell Mama, or at least Anna, then?—”
“No,” Emily interrupted, shaking her head. “Nobody knows about my secret, and if it came out, I would be ruined. Don’t underestimate him, Daff. He was very clear. I marry him, or he tells everybody and I am ruined. Mama and Anna knowing about it won’t change a thing.”
“But perhaps?—”
“Stop it, Daphne,” Emily burst out, jumping to her feet. She paced up and down the room, hobbled by the stiff, uncomfortable bridal shoes she was wearing. At last, she gave up pacing and threw herself down on the edge of the bed with a cry of frustration. “Oh, Daff, I’m sorry. I can’t do this. But I must do it. How could I have been so foolish?”
“It isn’t your fault,” Daphne insisted, lowering herself to sit beside her sister. “It’s all his fault for blackmailing you. I’m quite sure that Anna and Theodore could do something about it. He’s a duke, after all, and they’re so terribly rich.”
Which, of course, was why Anna had been so baffled at her younger sister’s inexplicable choice of husband.
“You are one-and-twenty , Emily!” Anna had said, on more than one occasion. “We aren’t poor and vulnerable anymore. You don’t have to marry simply for convenience. And frankly, I do not like your choice of husband. Won’t you reconsider?”
Emily would not reconsider. Daphne, who knew the full story of why her sister would not—and could not—change her mind, stayed silent.
The guilt gnawed at the edges of her mind.
There were a great many things they did not know, not least of all why the infamous Duke of Clapton would be so happy to exchange his silence for a bride, but frankly, Daphne did not care. The man had no right to force her sweet, sensitive sister into a marriage that she did not want.
“You always wanted to marry for love,” Daphne murmured aloud. Emily said nothing, only placing her hand over her sister’s. “Everybody thought that I would be the sentimental, romantic one, desperate to marry for love.”
Emily snorted. “You were, and are, an absolute hellion, Daff. We all thought you’d marry early because you were always ogling men. I think Mama nearly fell over in shock when you announced your intention never to marry.”
“Well, one must admire the scenery, yes?”
Emily chuckled at that, bumping her shoulder against Daphne’s. The twins leaned together, silence falling over them like a comforting blanket. Reflected in the dresser, they looked more different than ever. Emily’s ice-blue dress seemed to drain the color from her face, and her dark hair was hidden under the disheveled veil. Her eyes were like chips of blue ice, whereas Daphne’s were a sharp green.
“I don’t know what I will do,” Emily murmured. “I wish I had been more sensible. Like Anna, you know? Anna was ready to marry a man for convenience, simply to save us and Mama from that awful creditor of Papa’s. She did marry him. I suppose she was lucky that she and Theodore fell in love. I’d like to hope that the Duke and I would fall in love. He’s handsome enough, I suppose, and he’s never been cruel. To me, at least.” She plucked at her voluminous skirts. “He bought me this. It must have cost a fortune.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Daphne snapped. “He blackmailed you. Why can’t he marry some brainless debutante who doesn’t know any better? Why can’t he leave you alone?”
Emily squeezed her eyes shut. “Do you think I haven’t asked myself these questions over and over again? I’d ask him if I wasn’t so afraid of him. It’s no use, Daphne. We aren’t going to get any answers. At least, not until it’s too late.” She breathed out slowly. “It’s already too late.”
Daphne clenched her fists. Abruptly, she leaped up and turned to face her twin.
“It’s not too late,” she announced. “It’s never too late. I’m not going to let you do this, Emily.”
Emily blinked up at her, baffled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you won’t be able to bear it, being married to him. I, on the other hand, can handle anything.”
Daphne placed her hands on her hips and tilted up her chin, a little impressed by her own heroism. Of course, it made perfect sense. She would take Emily’s place, and nobody would know the difference. She could manage it.
I can save her.
Daphne’s heroic self-image was neatly shattered when Emily sighed and slumped back on the bed.
“Don’t be silly, Daff.”
“I’m not being silly,” Daphne shot back, piqued. “Look!”
She snatched up Emily’s spectacles, round and wire-rimmed, and shoved them onto her face. The world blurred with the spectacles on, making her eyes sting right away, but that hardly mattered.
Emily propped herself up on her elbows. “What are you trying to prove, Daphne? It’s not that I think you can’t impersonate me. It’s more that you shouldn’t . Why should you have to marry the Duke?”
Daphne shrugged. “I’d like to be a duchess. Besides, I’m too shocking to make a good match among the ton. Remember how old Lady Silversmith fainted when she saw me riding like a man? And none of the Greens will speak to me after?—”
“Enough, Daphne,” Emily interrupted. “I can’t let you do this.”
Daphne crouched down before her sister, taking both of her hands in her own. “And I can’t let you do this . It’ll kill you, marrying a man you don’t love. Look at how you’ve wasted away over the past month. Everybody is concerned. Anna corners me every other day and demands to know what’s going on. Mama cries herself to sleep with worry. It’s not just you who will suffer from this. And how will I ever forgive myself?”
Emily bit her lip, turning away.
Even through those awful, blurry spectacles, Daphne could tell that Emily was fighting back tears.
“I’m so afraid,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do, Daff.”
“But I do,” Daphne said, firmly. “I can do this.”
“What if you can’t? It’s one thing to talk about this sort of thing here, safe in our room, but what about when it’s real? What about when it’s really happening?”
“He’ll never know the difference,” Daphne assured her. “We must hurry, though. I need to put your dress on, and you’ll have to wear mine.”
“Very well,” Emily said, at last, suddenly decided. “Unlace me, quickly.”
The girls dressed in silence. Emily’s wedding gown felt strange on Daphne, even though they’d shared clothes since they were babies. There wasn’t much to be done about Daphne’s simply dressed hair, but fortunately, the veil hid most of it. As a final touch, she pushed the spectacles onto her nose and turned to face Emily.
“How do I look?” she said.
There was no time to answer, because at that moment, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, and the girls barely had time to face the door before it flew open.
Octavia Belmont, the Dowager Viscountess St. Maur, stood there. Redoubtable, handsome, and more than a little terrifying. Privately, Daphne thought that Anna was growing more like their mother with each passing day.
Octavia glanced between the two of them, her eyes narrowed. For a moment, Daphne thought that they had succeeded and had fooled even their mother.
But then Octavia heaved a sigh and spoke. “What are you girls playing at? Daphne, why are you wearing your sister’s clothes?”
The twins deflated.
Emily glanced at Daphne, her eyes wide and unfocused without her spectacles. Drawing in a breath, Daphne took a step towards her mother.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mama. I am on my way to get married, aren’t I?”
Confusion streaked across Octavia’s features. “Daphne, what?—”
“It’s Emily. I am Emily. I am Emily, and we’re late.” Daphne held her mother’s gaze for a long moment. “It’s time to go, Mama.”
Octavia glanced at Emily, then at Daphne, then back to Emily again. She swallowed hard, lifting her chin.
“Sometimes I think I will never understand you girls,” she said, her voice quavering. “I suppose I should give up trying. Well, come along, then. We are going to be late.”
The church was packed. All sorts of fine carriages and horses were lined up outside, and some of the less illustrious guests were forced to stand outside or in the hallway of the church. The chatter and laughter drifted out across the courtyard, to where the bridal carriage was approaching.
I am not afraid, Daphne told herself. I am saving my sister. Am I not the stronger of the two of us? It is my responsibility to keep her safe, and if that means marrying some monstrous duke in her place, then so be it.
Emily had mentioned that the Duke was rather handsome, but Daphne had never found him so. He was cold and unfriendly, and would clearly resort to blackmail. He had never spoken to her , at least.
I’m going to be married. To him. For the rest of my life.
Well, that’s not so bad, is it? You said you would not marry, but really, what woman believes that when she tells it to herself?
The carriage lurched to a halt, and the door was opened. There was a straight, short path between the carriage and the church doors. Daphne could almost feel the prickle of countless eyes on her, judging and assessing.
“You do not have to do this, you know,” Octavia said abruptly, carefully not looking at either one of her children.
Emily was watching Daphne, an odd, pleading look in her eyes.
If I lose my nerve now, Emily will take my place. I will have failed her.
Daphne drew in a breath. “I’m afraid I must, Mama.”
Not giving herself an instant to indulge her cowardice, she climbed out of the carriage and strode into the church.
She remembered a moment too late that ladies, especially brides, were meant to mince around with dainty little steps. Daphne, however, had covered half of the distance between the church doors and the altar in the space of a few seconds.
Murmurs rose all around her, and as expected, she felt the gazes of the congregation like a thousand tiny pinpricks. She imagined that Anna and her husband Theodore were in the audience somewhere, both grim-faced.
Anna had been very open about her feelings regarding Emily’s wedding. Beatrice, their old family friend, would be there too, with her swollen belly and her husband, who by all accounts adored her.
Daphne did not particularly want to see them. An ordinary person would not see the difference between her and Emily, but their close friends might.
Remembering the veil, Daphne hastily pulled it down over her face. The wretched spectacles were unbearable, but Emily never appeared in public without them, so Daphne could not appear without them.
Her husband-to-be was mercifully blurry through the spectacles. She remembered very little about his form and face, except that he had sharp, unblinking green-gray eyes that were more often than not fixed on Emily.
She reached the top of the aisle. For some reason, she found that she was out of breath. Why? She hadn’t walked that fast, and the distance was not very far. Why was she struggling to breathe?
With the spectacles in front of her eyes and the veil over that, Daphne had the strangest sensation of being blindfolded, and then gently smothered. Her chest was tight. Had they laced the gown too tight?
She forced herself to breathe in, trying to concentrate on how her lungs inflated.
I am breathing. I am.
Still, the tightness persisted, and she began to feel lightheaded. Her head thumped, and there was a strange echoing in her ears as if she were submerged underwater.
She was aware of Octavia and Emily standing behind her, moving to take their seats. Daphne had a feeling that if she turned and looked at her sister or their mother—or anyone —she would scream aloud and run for her life.
I cannot do this.
Her heartbeat was audible in her ears. Was a person meant to feel their heart thrumming in their chest? No, she thought not. And had the Duke always been so tall? So imposing?
Daphne hated tall men.
She risked a glance up at him and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was staring down at her, and although his expression was blurry, she guessed that it was not a pleasant one.
“Wait a moment,” he said, interrupting the rector, who was just about to begin his speech. “Let’s throw back that veil.”
“The removal of the veil is generally done after the vows, Your Grace,” the rector said, a trifle nervously.
The Duke did not appear to have heard him, or if he had, he was ignoring him.
“Come, I insist,” he said, still staring down at Daphne.
She clenched her jaw. The feeling of lightheadedness persisted, and she still felt as though she could not breathe. Logic dictated that she was breathing, she must be breathing, but that quiet, calm voice was drowned out by a louder voice screaming in terror.
Saying nothing, Daphne deftly swept back the veil.
Go on, then. Have a good look at me. You can’t tell the difference between me and my sister, I know it.
The crushing feeling in her chest intensified the longer the Duke stared down at her. Daphne did not allow herself to look away, although the spectacles really were starting to hurt her eyes now.
She had the feeling that the entire congregation was holding their breath. Well, perhaps they were. Octavia and Emily certainly were.
I cannot do this.
The thought cut through the chaos of her mind like a hot knife through butter. The tangled ideas and half-baked plans all melted away on either side of this plain, simple truth.
I can’t marry this man.
I must. To save Emily.
But who is going to save me?
“I had thought,” the Duke said, his voice flat and emotionless, with no inflection either way, “that my bride had blue eyes, not green.”
He did not speak loudly. But even so, Daphne was sure that the guests in the first few rows heard. A murmuring broke out, or perhaps that was just the buzzing in her head, the feeling that there was not enough air in the church—and how could there be, with so many people in here?—and that if she wanted to breathe again, she had to leave immediately.
“I think you are mistaken,” Daphne heard herself say, her tone matching the Duke’s.
He tilted his head to the side, like a bird. “I am never mistaken.”
“There is a first time for everything,” she shot back.
He narrowed his eyes at her—or so she assumed, with those wretched spectacles that she wished to tear off her face—and her heart sank.
This isn’t going to work. He is going to stop the wedding.
On cue, the Duke turned to the rector. “I believe there is a mistake, good sir.”
Daphne reached out, grabbing his sleeve. Gasps rose from the congregation.
“You shall have to make do with me,” she hissed.
The Duke blinked once, slowly, like a cat.
“I do not make do, my dear,” he responded.
Well, that was that, then. She’d failed. Her humiliation was complete. This would be an even bigger story than Anna being jilted by her oldest friend.
I cannot do this. I’ve failed.
She couldn’t breathe. She truly could not breathe this time. Daphne began to gasp, turning to short, sharp breaths in an attempt to draw air into her lungs. The Duke noticed, glancing down at her with a frown. His lips parted—whether to comfort her or to publicly denounce her, Daphne was not sure—but he never got the chance to speak.
Suddenly, there was a hand on her arm, and she turned to see Emily standing beside her. Emily’s eyes—blue, as the Duke had clearly noticed—were desperate and wide.
As always, Daphne knew exactly what her twin was thinking, and exactly what she needed to do.
The Duke’s mouth closed with a snap, his eyes flicking between the twins. Daphne didn’t need to see his face to understand the emotions fluttering over his face. Anger, confusion, frustration.
Privately, Daphne thought he was an idiot not to understand. What man could not grasp that blackmailing a woman would not make for a willing bride? Whatever the man’s reasons for blackmailing Emily—and they would never be good enough, in Daphne’s eyes—he was clearly too stupid to secure a wife in an ordinary way.
Or so Daphne thought. She believed this was a fairly accurate assessment of the man standing beside her at the altar.
“No,” Emily whispered. “This is enough.”
“Emmie…”
“I can’t. You can’t.”
“I can’t breathe, Emily.”
“I know. I know, dearest. But you have to run. Run!”
Daphne dropped her bouquet and ran.