Chapter Ten
As Elsie—who was not a proper lady’s maid, but more a maid of all work—dressed her on the morning of her wedding, Anastasia had never felt so alone.
She had barely spoken to her brother in the three days since the events at Vauxhall Gardens.
She still couldn’t believe he had intended to marry her off to Baron Brett.
And she had no one else: no father to give her away, no mother to give her advice about the wedding, the wedding night, or marriage in general.
She was alone in the world and about to tie herself to a man she hardly knew at all. She didn’t even know much about him. She knew he was handsome, that he was a good dancer, and that he had a reputation as a rake. Hardly much to build a marriage on.
“You look lovely, miss,” Elsie said, a shy smile on her face. “And don’t worry about your nerves, it’s common to feel that way on your wedding day, or so I’m told.”
Anastasia tried to smile back at her, but she wasn’t sure if she was successful. The muscles in her mouth did not seem to want to do what she was willing them to. She certainly had not told the maid that she was nervous, but she had also barely spoken, so she supposed it was obvious.
And who wouldn’t be nervous on their wedding day—let alone when one was marrying a man with whom one had only shared a handful of sentences?
She felt like she was watching herself from above as she put on the gloves that Elsie handed her and checked her appearance in the looking glass.
It didn’t feel like it was really her, but rather some girl in a play to which this was all happening.
She knew her life was about to change immeasurably, and she could not quite fathom it.
Oliver was waiting in the carriage, dressed in his finest velvet waistcoat.
His mood about the marriage seemed to have improved, in spite of the fact that Anastasia had barely spoken to him.
More than once he had mentioned—without comment from Anastasia—how useful it would be to have a viscount for a brother-in-law.
Anastasia was finding it hard enough to accept that she would soon have a viscount for a husband. She could not also think about her brother’s problems, or what he hoped to gain from this surprising marriage.
The church was small and rather nondescript.
Anastasia had attended services there on Sundays when they were in town, occasionally accompanied by her brother, although far less often of late.
She had never imagined marrying there, though.
She had always thought that when she did wed, the marriage would take place in the beautiful church at the top of the hill in Cheltenham, where her family owned an estate.
She had thought it would be an event planned over weeks or months, not days.
There hadn’t even been time for her to order a new gown; Elsie had merely made the best of one of her newest blue day dresses.
Not that Anastasia could find it in herself to care all that much.
She didn’t even know who would be there to see it.
Her new husband, of course, although it felt very odd to think of him in such terms, and Oliver—but she had no wish to impress him right now.
She supposed there would have to be another witness, but she had no idea who it would be.
Everything had been left to Lord Walsham—or Laurence, as she had discovered his Christian name to be.
He had simply sent a note with the time and date of the ceremony, and his hopes that Miss Carrington was well.
There had been no words of warmth towards Oliver, and Anastasia had seen the irritation cross her brother’s face as he read the note.
She rather thought that her brother would not find a friend in Lord Walsham, his soon-to-be brother-in-law. He had not looked very impressed at the way things had been dealt with in Vauxhall Gardens—and although Oliver was her family, she was rather inclined to agree with him.
*
There were a handful of people in the church, but Laurence did not recognize any of them, save for Lord Stanley, whom he had asked to come along as a second witness, along with Miss Carrington’s brother.
He supposed the others were just interested Londoners.
He wasn’t sure how they knew about the wedding, but he supposed when a viscount—and a notorious rake at that—suddenly ended up getting married, rumors spread.
And while it was possible that no one respectable would particularly wish to attend this wedding, there were many who would be interested to see it, and say they had been in attendance.
He stood before the altar with Lord Stanley, feeling as though it were not really him standing at the front of the church, but instead someone who looked like him, sounded like him, felt like him—but an impostor.
A flash of red hair caught Laurence’s eye, but it was not the vibrant red of his bride-to-be’s, rather a paler, weaker shade. His eyes locked with the redhead’s, and his pulse quickened, although he tried not to let it show.
Lady Frindley. What on earth was she doing there?
The widow had, in rather a roundabout way, been responsible for him ending up in this very situation.
Why, if he had not been trying to avoid her that night at Vauxhall Gardens, he surely would never have ended up on the dark walk—and never been seen comforting Miss Carrington by the duchess.
It wasn’t excitement that quickened his pulse, but irritation and concern. Was she here to make a scene? He had no idea what she hoped to gain, for he was sure that they had both always been clear on the fact that there was never any chance of them getting married.
But then, she had not accepted that things were over, so perhaps she wanted to stop him marrying…
And that would not be fair to Miss Carrington.
Anastasia. This might not be a love match, but she deserved more respect than that.
Her brother had wanted to marry her off to an elderly, money-grabbing baron, and now she had been trapped in a marriage with him to save her reputation.
He wanted to make her happy—and not destroy her reputation further.
She was already marrying a well-known rake; she did not need the ignominy of having her husband’s ex-lover making a scene at her wedding.
“Stanley,” he muttered under his breath, aware that while the guests waited for Miss Carrington, their attention was on him.
His friend turned and raised an eyebrow. “Not wanting to make a run for it, are you?”
“No,” Laurence said, and even he was surprised at the amount of conviction he felt.
This marriage might not have happened in the way he had planned, but he had no intention of running away.
He wouldn’t ruin Miss Carrington like that, nor turn away from this marriage now.
“But I need you to speak to someone for me. Quickly.”
“I am at your service,” Stanley said, with a mock bow. They had been friends for a long time, and usually Laurence found his joviality amusing. But today, he rather wished for some more gravitas.
“The redheaded lady, at the back of the church. Lady Frindley. I need to know that she will not make a scene.”
Stanley raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you think I can achieve that, with your betrothed due at any moment?”
Laurence gritted his teeth. “Just find out why she is here. And if she has any intention to cause a scene, make it clear that nothing will change the outcome of today. Miss Carrington will be Lady Walsham by the end of the morning.”
He shifted his weight uneasily as he watched his friend approach the widow. There was already an air of scandal about this wedding. That seemed to have kept the matchmaking Duchess of Tewkesbury away, at any rate. They didn’t need Lady Frindley adding to the drama.
He watched as an irritated pout graced his former lover’s face, and her back clearly stiffened. Stanley remained smiling, but Laurence thought his expression tightened, although it was hard to be sure from this distance.
For a moment, it looked as though they might have some sort of standoff, but then the church doors opened, and the vicar made it clear it was time for everyone to take their seats.
And thankfully, Lady Frindley complied.
As the organ music started up, Stanley returned to his side, and it was then that the nerves began to flutter in his stomach, as the full gravity of what he was about to do sank in.
He was going to marry this woman he barely knew. This was forever—a bond that could not be broken.
And in doing so, he would be fulfilling his final promise to his father. Well, fulfilling part of it, anyway. Then they needed to produce an heir to make sure that his father’s brother never ended up as Viscount Walsham.