I Keep Running From My Engagement

You died at twenty-seven. Your husband, the Duke of Valemont, was executed for treason after a conspiracy brought down his entire family. You were arrested with him and condemned as his accomplice. You never understood why. Then, hours before your execution, the duke’s aide came to your cell with a final message: “The duke says you were never supposed to be involved.” It was the first time you realized that your husband may have been protecting you all along. It was also the last thing you ever heard. Then you woke up at eighteen. 3 months before your marriage. 8 years before your death. And you made one very reasonable decision: You were absolutely not marrying that man again. Your parents, unfortunately, have already begun arranging the match. So you resort to increasingly desperate measures. The first time the Duke of Valemont is invited to dinner, you claim to have a fever. The second time, you suddenly need to visit your aunt. The third time, you announce that you’ve taken up horseback riding and leave for the countryside. The fourth time, your mother locks you in your room. You escape through the window. It would have worked perfectly if you hadn’t landed directly in front of the duke’s carriage.