A Vixen for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 2)
A Vixen for the Duke: Prologue

“Are you ready, Rabbit?” The voice of Harriet’s father was soothing in her ear.

Even on a day that signified her entering fully into adulthood, he still couldn’t help but call her that little nickname he had given her ever since the first time she had scrunched up her nose in indignation.

“Incredibly, Father.”

Harriet could scarcely remember a time she had felt more beautiful. Maybe at her debut ball, where she had worn a mint green dress that complimented her dark hair perfectly. She remembered taking her first step into the ballroom, her shoulders stiff and her breath caught in her throat.

But on this particular day, things were different in some ways. For one, Harriet’s dress was a peach pink. Her hair was fixed up high on her head and adorned with her sister Emma’s pearl comb, with bouncy curls framing her face. After all, Emma had gotten married sooner than she’d planned just so that Harriet could be here, her arm linked with her father’s, staring down the aisle at the love of her life. Emma had insisted that this pearl comb was good luck.

Harriet’s betrothed, Jeremy, looked nervous and was bouncing on his feet. He had always been sort of jittery. He had boundless energy, which had been very obvious ever since she had first met him. They had been friends long before she had even debuted. They’d met at a ball when he’d lost control of his lanky limbs and stumbled into her, spilling a flute of champagne on the front of her dress.

Harriet had loved him then, and she loved him now, even if the nerves of a wedding had made his goofy, lemon-peel-tart smile disappear just a little. That smile of his had been ingrained in her memory ever since she had first seen him. That day he had spilt the champagne all over her and then he stumbled, turning, his hand pressed over his mouth, realising what he’d done in his clumsiness. His smile always had a tart little edge to it. He thought it was funny and, much to her chagrin, so did she. Most sixteen-year-olds didn’t endeavour to get soaked in front of the entire ton. But that had been four years ago. He’d grown up a lot, and she had, too. At least that’s what she wanted to think.

Harriet started when she felt her father’s arm tug her closer. He smiled just a little bit. He had always tried to allow his stoicism to swallow every other emotion he had, but sometimes on days like this, it was impossible for him to remain as solidly unmoved. “You are trembling.”

“I am about to marry my viscount. Of course I am nervous,” Harriet whispered, pressing her fingertips into the crook of her father’s elbow.

He tilted his head slightly. “I will miss you.” His eyes dropped slightly, his gaze pinned on the creaky wooden floor of the church. “Lucy has not been very interested in my business.”

“Well,” Harriet said, smiling, “I am sure we will have plenty to talk about when we get together. You know how much I enjoy hearing about your endeavours.”

Harriet adored her father perhaps because they were polar opposites. He was serious and realistic, while she was a starry-eyed, impulse-driven dreamer. She knew as much. After all, he had lectured her on it much throughout her life. He had wanted her to marry for comfort and stability, and not love. Luckily, with Jeremy, she had found both.

“The what?” Lucy’s voice echoed throughout the church.

Harriet looked up to see her younger sister looking a bit like it would take ten strong men to be able to lift her jaw back up off the floor. Her eyes were fixed on their older sister Emma and her new husband, The Duke of Radford.

Harriet narrowed her eyes. “What is going on?”

Her father shook his head. “I am sure we will replace out soon enough.” He sighed. “But for now, take a deep breath. The ceremony is about to start.”

Harriet collected herself, exhaling all her nerves and stress. Just as her father had said, the two received their cue. He gave her one last searching look, and Harriet responded with a reassuring nod. She was ready to start her life. She lifted her head and began her journey down the aisle.

When Harriet had imagined her wedding day, she had pictured herself beaming ear-to-ear. But now, she was not. She had also pictured Jeremy smiling, with tears dotting his lashes, maybe even blushing just a little because he didn’t want anyone to see how emotional he was. But he wasn’t doing that either.

Harriet’s parents had always lectured her about being more realistic. She was disappointed that her wedding day hadn’t looked more like the fairytale she’d imagined, but she tried not to dwell on it. It seemed as if, in most ways, Jeremy had fit comfortably into the fairytale mould of a prince. He was fun-loving, polite, romantic and dashing. But he hadn’t exactly met her expectations in every way.

Be realistic. Be realistic.

She had to repeat that to herself sometimes, especially at moments like this, when her imagination was more exciting than the things that were currently happening. She was happy, she had just pictured her fairytale wedding differently.

At the end of the aisle, her father helped her up the steps to the altar and then stepped away. Harriet hadn’t ever thought about what the vicar would say, or the words that would leave her mouth.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony, which is an honourable estate,” the vicar began.

Even now, Harriet hardly paid attention to anything except for Jeremy, and in her imagination, he was always looking back at her intently, glassy-eyed and prepared to express his love for her. And it hurt, right at the pit of her chest, when she expected, above all, for him to look at her, but instead, his smile was directed at everyone else, as if he was just proud to be on the altar, or, as he made it seem, the stage.

He had so often seemed concerned with the way others perceived him. It had caused small arguments before, but nothing that she had thought would be too much of a problem.

“First, it was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of his holy Name,” the vicar continued.

Harriet beamed. She had always dreamed of being a mother. She had always thought that her optimism would be a becoming quality in a mother and that maybe some of her hope and idealism would leave a lasting impression on her children.

“Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication.”

That could have made Harriet laugh. She had never really found herself very tempted to seek any physical gratification before her marriage. In fact, Jeremy had never even attempted to cross any line between what was proper and what might lead to unwanted sin.

“Thirdly, It was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.”

That was the reason all of this was for. Harriet wanted someone to hold her on the very worst of days and to celebrate with her the very best days. Jeremy had been a comfort to her. There was not a single thing that she didn’t know about him. They were the greatest of friends.

The vicar took a breath after a brief pause. “Therefore, if any man can shew any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.”

Harriet looked at Jeremy, bouncing lightly on her feet, looking forward to the vows. Jeremy looked back at her finally, smiling lightly. His eyes were blue, sparkling lightly with all the mischief and liveliness that she knew him to possess. Sometimes, it was hard to see behind all the brevity, but Harriet knew he loved her because he had asked her to marry him. He loved her, so, so much.

“Then I shall speak,” a voice called out.

A woman stood up in the pews. She was one of Jeremy’s friends in attendance, a young woman of twenty-three. She was a longtime friend of Jeremy’s and the daughter of his late father’s closest friend. Harriet’s eyes narrowed, unsure of why the interruption was necessary.

The vicar stepped forward, taking up the space between Harriet and Jeremy as he looked closer at the woman, who wiped a tear from her eye. “You cannot allow this union,” she said.

Harriet laughed uncomfortably, the end sounding nearly like a sob. She clamped her mouth shut. This must be a joke. Jeremy was a terrible jokester. Once the wedding breakfast was through, Harriet would have a word with him about pulling a stunt like this in front of their families.

“State your reason,” the vicar ordered.

The woman dropped her head, looking down at her stomach. Harriet hadn’t noticed until she’d drawn attention to it, but the woman’s rounded stomach slightly protruded from her dress.

“I am with the Viscount’s child.”

Harriet’s chest hallowed out like a drum, and her heart pounded hard in her chest. She scoffed, looking back at Jeremy, trying to understand why his friend would make such a ridiculous joke in the middle of their wedding ceremony. But Jeremy’s jaw hung, and he stood there frozen.

“This is a terrible joke,” Harriet hissed. “It’s not very funny at all.”

The woman shook her head, and Harriet stumbled back lightly, her breath hitching. There had to be some explanation. She looked at Jeremy. He would ease her worries and the ceremony would continue, just as planned.

Jeremy smiled widely, his eyes tearing up just the way she’d imagined they would when he looked at her, except he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the mother of his child. He stepped down the altar, approaching the woman.

“Really? Are you certain?”

The woman nodded.

He took her hand and guided her down the aisle. He looked back, offering a sympathetic look Harriet’s way before he guided the woman out of the church, hurrying as Harriet’s father and the Duke of Radford rushed after him.

Harriet stepped back, stumbling lightly on her feet. “Jer—Jeremy?”

But he was already gone. She dropped her bouquet, the cream-coloured roses hitting the floor, their petals scattering. She felt arms wrap around her, and she blinked, seeing her sister Lucy through her blurred vision. Behind her, Emma and Margaret, each sister having happily married before her, approached to console her, their faces just as bewildered as hers.

Tears burned her vision. “Jeremy!” she screamed out, but all she could hear was muffled arguing out the front doors of the church.

It had taken her a moment longer to process because this certainly had never been a part of her most romantic imaginations. Jeremy wasn’t supposed to leave her at the altar, and yet that was exactly what happened. There she stood, nothing more than a pathetic, lovestruck, jilted bride.