Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,82

“So, I’ll add that to my list of what I must do while in London: ask Mother for the guest lists for both house parties—and hope her memory isn’t too faulty to reconstruct them.”

Gwyn snorted. “I’m sure she has them all written down somewhere in a box labeled ‘Wedding to Duke of Thornstock’ and a corresponding box labeled ‘Wedding to Duke of Greycourt.’ You know Mama—sentimental to the core. I think she still has her debut gown somewhere in the boxes in Rosethorn’s attic.”

“Does she?” Olivia frowned. “How odd. It’s not as if she could wear the gown again, what with the changes in fashion over the years.”

“Olivia is not sentimental, is she?” Gwyn asked her brother.

Thorn chuckled. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

Olivia had an odd feeling the twins were poking fun at her. But she didn’t mind. She was finally about to gain siblings who teased her. And stood up for her. And included her in all their schemes.

Although it didn’t make up for Thorn not being able to tell her he loved her, it still made up for a lot.

Chapter Sixteen

Thorn’s pleasure at having gained Olivia’s hand began to dim the longer his fiancée, his sister, and his future mother-in-law spent at dinner discussing his upcoming nuptials. Actually, his pleasure was becoming more of a panic.

Part of it had to do with the transformation Olivia had made while planning their wedding. She’d become as excited about it as the other two women. He’d expected that of his sister and Lady Norley, but not of Olivia, who didn’t seem to have a girlish bone in her body. Why should she care, when their marriage would be more a way to satisfy their mutual desires than any sort of . . . romantic union? It was incomprehensible.

Yet here she was with the other two, discussing who would be her bridesmaids, which foods they should serve at the wedding breakfast, and what she should wear. Personally, he’d prefer she wore nothing, but he suspected her mother wouldn’t approve of such depravity. Though Olivia might.

He smiled a little at the thought.

Gwyn pounced on him. “So you agree with me and Olivia.”

Damn. They wanted his opinion. He didn’t have one. He just wanted to get the wedding over with so he could get right to the wedding night. Because every time he thought about the solemnity of wedding vows, a strange tightness gripped his chest. He wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t worthy.

Nonsense. Worthiness wasn’t an issue.

“Agree with you about what?” Thorn asked.

Olivia took up the fight. “Gwyn and I think it’s always better to have a head covering for a wedding in church, and a silk bonnet with ribbons and lace would be best.” She cast her stepmother a pitying glance. “Mama thinks I should just wear orange blossoms in my hair.”

That his fiancée and his twin already got along well pleased Thorn enormously, but there was such a thing as getting along too well. He disliked being left out of the plans entirely.

“Since we’re not marrying in a church,” he said, “I don’t see that it matters. We’re marrying at Rosethorn by special license, which I will—”

“Special license!” Lady Norley exclaimed. “That would be wonderful, Your Grace. And very kind of you.”

Ah, he had an unexpected ally in Lady Norley. “Yes, by special license, so we can marry as soon as we please wherever we please. And we’re only inviting family. God knows my family alone is large enough to fill the dining room, but we can squeeze a number of others in there from your own family.”

“It sounds as if you’ve made many of the decisions on your own already, without consulting your fiancée,” Olivia said archly.

Bloody hell. “You did say that if the dukes of Thorn-stock had all been married here, you wouldn’t want to break with tradition. Why, did you really want to marry in a church—have the banns read for three weeks and all that?”

“I don’t know,” Olivia said. “But I’d like to keep the possibility open, if you don’t mind. And it might take me three weeks to get a gown made up that’s suitable.”

“I’m sure my husband would prefer that she marry in our parish church, Your Grace,” Lady Norley added. “He’s friendly with the local vicar, you see, who comes to hunt on our land sometimes. But all you need to say is ‘special license,’ and I imagine he will come around to your way of thinking.”

Thorn frowned. “I’ll have to take your word for it. I’ve yet