Read Online A Kiss Before the Wedding - A Pembroke Palace Short Story by Julianne MacLean - Free Book Online Page A

William had
been gone from Yorkshire for more than a year, and he had left
without expressing any feelings for her, other than friendship. She
had shed enough tears and waited too long for letters that never
came. Her good sense told her she must forget him once and for all
and move on with her life. Without him.
    Rising hastily from the chair, she padded across
her candlelit bedchamber to the fireplace. The flames danced wildly
in the grate and the charred log snapped and crackled in the
silence of the room.
    It was nearly midnight. She should go to sleep
and forget about the past. In three weeks she would marry one of
the greatest men in England and become Duchess of Pembroke. Her
family would rise very high in the world, and she suspected there
was some promise of a generous settlement that would end her
father’s financial hardships.
    Knowing that she must act responsibly and
dutifully, she padded back to her desk, crumpled the letter that
began with ‘Dear Mr. Thomas,’ and threw it into the fire. Then she
snuffed out the candle and climbed into bed.
     

     
    The following day, Adelaide
struggled with her decision not to write to William.
    How can I marry without a word to him? Surely
he deserves to know. What will happen when— if —he comes home
from Italy and discovers I am a duchess and had not told him a
single thing about it? He will be shocked and very hurt.
    Adelaide frowned.
    Despite the fact that William had inflicted
great pain and frustration upon her lately—for he had not written a
word since February—she could not bear the idea of hurting him. All
her life he had been her closest friend. She could not take this
step without telling him. He must hear it from her, and no one
else.
    That was it, then.
    After dinner, she sat down at her desk and
brushed the feather quill across her chin. She would write this
letter and send it to him in Italy. William probably wouldn’t even
receive it until after the wedding—so there would be no danger of
him talking her out of it—but at least he would know she had cared
enough to explain herself to him personally. And though she was
angry with him for leaving her behind, she did care, more than
words could say. More than she should.
    Carefully dipping her quill into the rich black
ink, she touched it to the page and began, at last, to write.
     
    My dear Mr. Thomas,
    There is something I must tell you...
     
     

Two
     
    William was half in his cups when
he returned home from the doctor’s dinner party at the villa. He
had not yet learned how to keep pace with the Italians and their
constant flow of fine wine, but he was no quitter, dammit. And by
God, he enjoyed their hospitality and was learning a great deal
about things that were of enormous interest to him.
    Human anatomy. Medicines. The workings of the
brain.
    They were fascinating subjects, and he was
thankful to have been given the opportunity to travel here. Though
he had not expected to remain so long...
    Two years ago his sister had married an Italian
count. Nine months later, William had come, at his father’s
request, to acquaint himself with his new nephew.
    Little did William know that he would discover a
new passion, a life’s calling, while in the presence of his hosts.
It happened on the day he arrived, when they’d introduced him to
their neighbor, Giulio Donatello, a prominent Italian physician and
medical researcher.
    Since that day, William had immersed himself in
every medical book he could lay his hands on, and was considering a
life devoted to science and discovery and medicine, despite the
fact that his father would most certainly frown on such pursuits.
His father considered any profession outside of the church or the
army to be well beneath his sons, for they were aristocrats—though
not very highborn aristocrats in the greater scheme of things.
William’s father was viscount, and as a second son, William was a
mere ‘mister.’
    Not that it mattered. William never coveted