Chapter 23
The following morning dawned overcast with the threat of rain heavy in the air. Verbena could see the storm clouds gathering on the horizon through the filthy windowpane. Even the sheep seemed to be holding their breath.
Quill-callused fingers alighted on Verbena’s bare shoulders.
She gave a sigh as Willa moved her hair aside so that she could press a kiss to the nape of her neck.
(Even in the confines of her own thoughts, Verbena had resolved to honor her beloved’s request, never regarding her as solely man or woman, but both by turns.)
“Would you like me to help you?” Willa asked. Her voice was as quiet as the rest of the manor.
Verbena caught her eye in the small mirror affixed to the inner lid of her rosewood vanity case. “It would be cruel to have you act as bridesmaid to me today.”
Willa merely selected a silver comb from the case. “I don’t want to leave you just yet.”
A tremor ran through Verbena at the words.
Willa would have to leave eventually, she knew.
And when she did, they would likely never see each other again.
It would be too painful, passing each other in the street, attending the same parties, all the while unable to embrace each other as they wished.
At least they’d had one night—one passionate night.
Verbena’s eyes drifted shut at the first touch of Willa’s hands in her mussed hair.
One night was not enough. How could she be without this touch forever after?
Verbena cleared her throat, determined not to weep; she didn’t need a puffy face on top of everything else today. “My mother was adamant that I take care with my coiffure,” she said. “It is her view that I do not arrange my hair at all pleasingly most days.”
“Your mother has no taste,” Willa said mildly. She drew the comb through Verbena’s red tresses, gently working out a snarl. “Your hair is unmatched. I envy your hair. If I could shrink to the size of a mouse and make a nest in a handful of discarded strands, I should be very happy.”
The picture was so absurd that Verbena could do naught but laugh. “A mouse?”
“The size of a mouse.” Willa left off combing long enough to demonstrate an inch or two between thumb and forefinger, still communicating via the vanity case mirror. “You would hardly notice me. I would be very quiet.”
Verbena’s helpless smile gave way to sorrow. Forevermore, Willa would be more than quiet; she would be silent, and Verbena would never again hear her beloved voice. She watched in the mirror as her face fell and her eyes became wet. Willa tsked and held her by the shoulders.
“No, please don’t cry,” she said. Her soft, warm breath ghosted along the back of Verbena’s neck.
Verbena cleared her throat and sat taller on the plush stool. “Perhaps,” she said, striving for a normal tone, “you should take a lock of my hair as a memento.”
Delicate fingers, the makers of poems, combed through Verbena’s tresses. “I do not need a memento,” Willa said. “What would it signify, to keep a piece of you locked away in some jewel box? That is not my Verbena. She could never be contained by something as common as that.”
The wave of sadness returned. Verbena was so brittle, she felt she could break in two. She gave a little sob, covering her lips with her balled-up lace handkerchief before more could be heard.
“Please don’t speak,” she whispered into the lace. “Please, one more word and I might—”
Willa moved from behind the small stool to kneel on the floor beside it, pillowing her head in Verbena’s lap. Her arms wound about Verbena’s middle and held her tight. “No more words,” she promised.
Verbena curled over Willa, pressing her hot face into the fine brocade of her gown, and allowed them both a moment of grief.
There was a knock at the door. “Mrs. Montrose says I am to fetch you for the procession, miss,” called one of the serving girls. “Are you ready?”
Verbena lifted her head and took stock of her reflection. Despite her efforts, her face was pink and puffy, her eyes shot through with red. She had never looked worse. Her mother would not be pleased.
Well, in a mere hour or two, she wouldn’t need to give a fig about what pleased her mother.
“I’ll be downstairs directly,” she called back. “Only a moment.”
Willa released her, but stayed on her knees, gazing up at Verbena with the most lovely, sad eyes. “Shall I leave?”
Verbena considered this. Selfishly, she did not want to send Willa away just yet. It was foolish to prolong the agony, yet if she could steal a few more moments with the one she loved…
“Could you stay? Would you?” She cupped Willa’s cheek in her palm and watched her lean into the touch.
“As long as I am able,” Willa murmured against her wrist.
The wedding party made the short journey from the Abbey to the local church on foot.
étienne’s fine carriage, loaded with the bride and groom’s luggage, was to meet them immediately after the ceremony to spirit the newlyweds south, where they would board a boat bound for Calais the following morning.
The honeymoon had been a gift of the brothers Charbonneau; étienne and Verbena had been forced to accept it.
The procession to the village church was a small affair, composed only of Verbena and her parents; Willa (perceived by the assembled as Verbena’s good friend Flora, who had unexpectedly been in the area and had decided to attend the wedding on a whim); étienne and his brothers; and Miles, who was acting in the capacity of étienne’s witness.
The weather was bleak as they made the short trek on foot from Eden Abbey across the rolling hills and country lanes.
More than once raindrops pattered against the brim of Verbena’s pearl-trimmed hat, but it abated before her father and Miles could deploy the umbrellas they had brought.
Silence reigned as the procession crested the final hill and the modest church came into view.
Verbena glanced over to Willa, who was walking at her side.
Willa was looking at her as well, and only looked away when their gazes met, a guilty flush climbing her neck.
Verbena peeked over her shoulder at étienne, but that sight was no better.
Her groom was giving a longing look to Miles, whose single visible eye was filled with concern.
At least the misery of the occasion was evenly distributed, she reasoned. Verbena squared her shoulders and clutched her small posey of local wildflowers closer to her belly.
The vicar was waiting for them in the churchyard. Mr. Montrose shook his hand and mumbled a few words of thanks. The others began to file past the headstones and into the vestibule. Verbena moved to follow them, but étienne bade her wait with a light touch to her arm.
“I need to speak to you,” he whispered.
Miles and Willa both turned in the doorway to give them a questioning look, but Verbena waved them on. “We will only be a moment,” she said.
Their two companions did as she asked. The family members and the vicar had already gone inside, not bothering to wait for the betrothed couple.
The two of them were incidental to the proceedings.
Weddings, as a rule, were not lavish affairs at the best of times, but Verbena could not help but feel hers would be even more perfunctory than most. It would take all of twenty minutes, perhaps less, to be concluded.
Her heart sank at the thought. So little time left to be in Willa’s presence.
The heavy wooden door of the church shut, leaving étienne and Verbena alone in the churchyard.
The wind whipped about them, threatening to take Verbena’s hat.
Several yards distant, a flock of sparrows leapt into the air, then returned to their perches atop the headstones almost en masse, like a dance where half the participants were a step behind.
étienne uncharacteristically removed his tophat, baring his head under the roiling sky.
“What is it?” Verbena asked. “étienne, what’s wrong?”
He shook his naked head. “I cannot do this.”
“What? Don’t be silly.” Verbena gestured to the church. “We’re here. We’re already—this is already being done.”
“Marrying you is the most reasonable course.” étienne lifted his head. His eyes were wild. “Yet I do not think I am a reasonable man. I am in love, and that has sapped me of all reason.”
Verbena frowned, squinting at him. “In love?”
étienne’s cheeks took on a pinkish hue. “Miles,” he said simply.
A flailing confusion overtook Verbena. “Is that what you call taking a roll on the forest floor?”
“What forest?” étienne frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The woods! In Wales. You two had—” She gestured to her own head and knees, indicating the evidence they had displayed on their persons after their romp.
“When we chased the cat?”
“As if there ever was a cat!”
étienne shook his head. “We never…Miles and I have not dared. We have been chaste as nuns, as you and Miss Witcombe have been.”
Verbena puffed out her cheeks and looked away.
étienne gasped. “You didn’t!”
“Oh, leave me be,” Verbena said. She could not take yet another insult heaped upon her this morning. “It was one night.” Her face felt in turns both fiery and numb.
“One night! If only I could have one night with Miles.” His yearning was palpable.
She threw her hands in the air. “Fine! So you’re in love with him! You still need a wife and I still need a husband.” She bit her tongue when it came to the latter; there had been a husband-and-wife on offer for her, if only she had abandoned étienne. “What does it change?” she said in a low voice.
étienne merely stared at her. “Everything, my dear. My heart belongs to that man”—he pointed at the church doors—“and I cannot pretend otherwise.”
It took all of Verbena’s iron will not to beat him about the head with her posey of flowers. As it was, she clutched the beribboned stems so tightly, and shook so violently, that several white petals fluttered to the ground.
“You are being absurd,” she said in a low hiss, cognizant of the people waiting for them right inside.
“Think of why we agreed to do this in the first place. What of your reputation! What of my security! What of our futures! All of London is expecting us to return as man and wife. What do you plan to do, walk away from society entirely?”
“Perhaps,” étienne said, challenging.
“Perhaps!” Verbena gave a single, mocking ha! “Would that I could be as bold as you, monsieur.”
“You could be,” he said. “You always have been. Why not now, Verbena? Where is your boldness when it truly matters?”
Her face went hot. “I am not bold,” she said.
Now it was étienne’s turn to bark a ha! into the air. “There is not another woman in all of England as bold as you.”
That brought Verbena up short. What étienne was saying rang true; she had been bold enough to stage this false marriage and all its other myriad plots. She had stood firm against her parents when questioned about her decisions.
Why, then, could she not be bold now? Why, with all her cleverness and wit, had she thought herself unequal to the task of forging a different kind of life?
Lord Eden had done it; the women at Plas Tan had done it; the dippers of the coast had done it; hell, even Lord Byron himself had done it.
He’d embroiled himself in every conceivable type of scandal on the way, but the fact remained, he had done it.
Her entire life, Verbena had sidestepped scandal at any cost. It was the game forced upon everyone, so it had never occurred to her to do otherwise. Playing the game had gotten her to this point—standing in a graveyard with a groom who was ready to bolt.
Perhaps it was necessary to play by a new set of rules.
All this passed through Verbena’s mind in the course of an eyeblink. It was only afterward that she realized étienne was attempting to earnestly talk through their available options.
“I—I do not know what would happen if we were to call off the wedding,” he said. “The consequences may be awful, but if we tell your parents and the vicar the truth of this sham—”
“No,” Verbena said. “Truth is a luxury we cannot afford right now. We must do something else. Something unexpected.” She felt, for the first time in days, her old strength return to her body. Her spine felt straighter, her shoulders prouder. “Go into the church. Fetch Miles and Willa.”
étienne frowned. “Willa?”
“I mean Flora,” Verbena amended. She could explain her beloved’s new appellation later, if Willa wished it. “Quickly! We have little time.” She pushed at his arm, urging him toward the door.
“My dear,” he said, “I do hope you know what you are doing.”
Verbena gave him a smile and tossed her posey off into the graveyard. “When have I not?”