Upstairs, far away from the barking dog, the packing nursemaid, and the patient husband, was a quiet, completely peaceful sanctuary.
The man of the hour, the groom, was in his master bedroom.
Rowan stood completely still in the center of the large room. The morning sun shone brightly through his windows. He was already fully dressed, but Harrison, his skilled valet, was putting the absolute finishing touches to his formal outfit.
Harrison stood in front of the Duke, carefully adjusting the folds of Rowan's crisp, snow-white cravat. He smoothed the dark blue, perfectly tailored wool of Rowan's formal coat. He used a small, soft brush to remove an invisible, tiny piece of lint from the Duke's broad shoulder.
"There you are, Your Grace," Harrison said softly, taking a step backward and bowing his head respectfully. "You are completely ready."
Rowan turned around slowly. He walked over to the tall, standing mirror in the corner of the room.
