Chapter 6
“Cathy, stop,” Madeline complained. “You are doing it again.”
Her sister stood behind Cathy as they dressed in front of the mirror.
The corset was tight, a natural cage, which she welcomed at that moment.
The constriction was a physical manifestation of what seemed to be troubling her mind.
Her dress was lavender silk. It seemed appropriate to what felt like a funeral for her peace of mind. At least, it was pretty.
“What am I doing exactly?” she asked, unblinking.
“You were in a trance,” Madeline replied, walking closer to her sister. “What is happening? You look like you have not even slept. Were you thinking too much about the Duke of Baxter, or perhaps discovering why exactly everyone calls him a rake?”
Cathy felt the heat of indignation and shame crawl all over her chest. “The Duke matters not to me, Maddy. He is just one of many rakes I despise.”
“Then, why are you staring into space and trembling?” Madeline asked, leaning in. Then, her voice dropped to the level of secrecy. “Weren’t you at the library last night? I thought I saw you leaving it. Were you alone with him?”
“Hush!” Cathy snapped. “You should stop making things out of nothing, Maddy. People may get the wrong idea. Miss Longrove is the perfect bride for a rake like him. She is well-behaved in public and wealthy. At the rate Papa is going, we are fortunate we still have a roof over our heads. If a scandal befalls us...”
“I see your point. But a rake should not be married to a porcelain doll,” Madeline muttered. “He is going to break her, or it could even be the other way around. He might die of boredom.”
“Or find mistresses just like everyone does,” Cathy retorted.
“I suppose,” Madeline agreed, with a shrug.
At that moment, the door flew open. A surprisingly strong Lady Marlow trudged in, holding her cane as one would swing a bayonet indoors.
“Enough of the chitchat. I could hear you from the other side of the door. The wedding party is waiting, and your father is currently teaching the stable boys how to gamble with pebbles and twigs. Maddy, go fetch him to the chapel. However, if he smells like a winery, we can probably just dunk him in the fountain. I doubt the Longroves would appreciate him falling headfirst into their flower arrangements.”
“Or between the bride and groom,” Madeline muttered.
The chapel resembled a place from Cathy’s nightmares. It felt suffocating to stand amid the heavy scent of lilies, incense, and various perfumes on this particularly hot day. Everything appeared blurry. She could barely see the Duke standing near the altar, waiting for the bride.
As they walked down the aisle toward their seats, Cathy kept her chin tucked in her futile effort to hide a few inches of her height.
As usual, it was hard to disappear without looking like a hunchback.
She towered over the Dowager Viscountess of Armitage, who snapped her fan shut as Cathy passed by.
“Well, I did not expect Miss Priggish to be in attendance after everything that happened the other night,” the Dowager whispered loudly to her friend.
“It is unbecoming, indeed. I heard the girl needed extra yards of silk to cover her ankles. She and her father are draining the coffers, he with his drink and she with being so tall!”
“Quite unnatural for a woman, if you ask me.”
Cathy pretended not to notice. However, straightening her spine made her look even taller. Apparently, she had been assigned the role of a landmark in every place she entered. There was no hiding from the cruel eyes of the ton. She and her family sat in the third pew, just behind the Longroves.
To her left sat her grandfather with his ear trumpet at the ready, not that the instrument had been particularly helpful.
To her right, her grandmother sat like a rock.
She wondered what she had done to deserve this.
Why did Madeline have to sit on the other side of her grandfather? And worse, where was her father?
The groom was dressed in midnight blue rather than black.
He looked impeccable, with his cravat neatly tied and his coat well-pressed.
His very appearance seemed to mock the chaos within him, the one that Cathy had glimpsed.
He looked icy cold, far apart from the feral creature who kissed her senselessly, bruising her lips in its welcome violence.
When she sat down, his eyes snapped to hers as if he were primed to find her in the crowd.
For most of the guests, if not all of them, it was merely a passing, idle glance.
For Cathy, it was a reminder of what transpired between them in the library.
She licked her lips, subconsciously looking for the taste of him.
The memory of her undoing made her shift in her seat.
Shame on you!
Then, the ceremony began. It interrupted Cathy’s unfortunate daydreaming, which should never have taken place inside a church.
The vicar’s voice droned on, but Cathy’s heart was still galloping in her chest. She tried to focus on everything else but the man who was about to speak his vows, binding himself to the woman he claimed not to love.
She tried not to shake her thigh. There was just too much pent-up energy inside her, wanting to burst out like a coiled spring.
Her chest felt wired for release. She bit down on her already swollen lip, and it helped for a little while.
Maybe she should leave, but people would watch her.
Follow her with their curious eyes. No, she would behave and face the ceremony.
The gossips who watched her with hawk-like eyes would then turn to her as if she were a specimen—an insect under glass.
“Cathy!” Lord Norman’s voice echoed through the chapel. The candles flickered. Necks turned.
“Yes, Grandpapa?” she whispered, feeling uneasy at having to do this during a solemn ceremony. She leaned close to her grandfather’s trumpet, which he had pressed against his ear.
“Look at the bridegroom, Cathy!” Lord Marlow demanded, pointing a gnarled index finger at the altar. “I say, the man looks like he is about to be hanged instead of married! Though I cannot blame him. That Longrove girl looks like she has the personality of a piece of paper!”
Oh no.
His words sounded like thunder in the silence of what was supposed to be a holy place. Cathy felt all the blood drain from her face. It even seemed as if someone was leeching more from the rest of her body. True enough, murmurs began to spread as others hissed to quiet the growing unease.
“Grandpapa,” Cathy pleaded in a furious whisper, her face most likely purple by now. “Please lower your voice. Everyone can hear you.”
“What did you say? Yes, I believe I should be near you,” he grumbled.
“Norman! Please cease this embarrassing outburst! Do not let me call for the footmen to carry you out!” Lady Marlow warned in a furious whisper.
“Carrots? I have had enough of those, Margaret. I have not been to the restroom in days, and I do not think they are helping.”
The organ music died, and even the vicar froze to watch them. His face was indignant. He cleared his throat in that obviously judgmental tone.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, his eyes blazing and focused on Lord Marlow. “We are gathered to join this man and woman, the Duke of...”
“Stand tall, Cathy,” Lady Marlow murmured even as Cathy continued to hear the buzzing all around them.
Her voice was soothing. It reminded Cathy of all the years her grandmother had been there for them whenever their mother had been unwell.
“Do not let them see you flinch. They may know you as a Quinten, but you are a Marlow by blood. Keep your chin up, no matter what.”
Still, Cathy knew that the atmosphere had definitely changed.
It was no longer a wedding but an impending spectacle.
The vicar’s pauses created tension in the chapel, with everyone seemingly waiting for the next interruption.
The bride seemed unaware. Her eyes shone as she envisioned a future with the Duke of Baxter.
Yet it appeared that the Baron of Marlow had other plans.
The vicar stopped once more. This time, he closed his prayer book and took a long, deep breath while squeezing his eyes shut. Then, with a voice full of suppressed rage, he finally asked, “If any person here feels that there is a just legal impediment—”
“Experiment?” Lord Marlow bellowed, his ear trumpet swinging toward the vicar with great enthusiasm. “Is this a scientific experiment? Because I must say, the man looks like he is being dissected rather than married!”
“Grandpapa, please sit down!” This time, Madeline had to pull him down because Cathy could no longer move.
Again, there was laughter, but there were also some concerned gasps. After all, the old man had never been quite this troublesome. Cathy felt all the blood drain from her face. Everyone seemed to be looking at her.
Did they know about the library? Were they still thinking of the competition where she made a fool of herself? She could also see the pity of the matrons of the ton. Most of all, she could feel the Duke watching her. His eyes were wide, presumably shocked.
“Apologies, everyone,” Madeline said, slightly rising and smiling at everyone. “My grandpapa is hard of hearing and merely excited about this wedding. Let us focus back on the bride and groom.”
Lord Norman was finally seemingly paying attention to his ear trumpet. Then, he exclaimed, “Yes! The groom is so very handsome today.”
The chapel finally erupted into wild peals of laughter.
Cathy felt her face so warm with embarrassment and the heat that she was about to faint. Suddenly, it was impossible for her to breathe.
“Cathy!” Lady Marlow exclaimed, grabbing her granddaughter’s wrist. Her grip was strong for her age, yet gentle enough not to hurt.
Concern was etched on her face. “Are you feeling all right? You look like you may faint. Why do you not take some air before your grandfather ruins our family completely?”
“But I... I cannot, Grandmama! We are in the middle of the ceremony,” Cathy barely managed to utter the words.
“I can see that you are flushed red, my dear. Please go take some air,” the Baroness Marlow urged.
There was something in her voice that told Cathy that there was no way she could say no to her.
The older woman always knew what to do in these situations.
Then, with a gentler, more polished voice, she said, “Do forgive this last interruption. My granddaughter is not feeling well, and all the excitement has made it worse. She must retire.”
With that announcement, there was no choice but for Cathy to rise.
She gathered her skirts and hurried down the aisle to the exit.
She could swear the Duke’s eyes were fixed on her back, but it might just be her imagination.
The Duke was about to marry a woman who had no family members to embarrass her.
A woman who would have never exited a ceremony in such a manner.
She almost stumbled at the threshold.
Why has seeing him get married affected me so?