Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Charles stood beside Miss Oakley, facing Mr. Berryman as the vicar read from the Book of Common Prayer with a languid voice.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Therefore, it is not to be taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly.”
At this, Mr. Berryman’s eyes settled directly on Charles. Charles stared right back at the vicar, daring him to voice just how deeply he disapproved of this marriage—and of Charles in general.
Instead, Mr. Berryman continued, even slower than before. “I require and charge you both that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it.”
Was having no love for one’s betrothed not reason enough? Perhaps one’s reputation was more important than Heaven’s will.
After another condemning look at Charles, Mr. Berryman continued.
Charles did his best to listen. He had heard the words before at other weddings. There, they had been filled with promise, hope, and love. Now, they were filled with dread, emptiness, and a falsehood he could not bear.
“For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s word doth allow, are not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful.”
Miss Oakley remained still and silent beside him, just as she’d done all morning—back when he’d thought a quarter-of-an-hour visit would finally placate his parents to allow him his own future.
Little did he know that fifteen minutes would lead to a lifetime of servitude.
He should’ve known something like this would have occurred.
He knew deep down this had all been a horrifying misunderstanding.
But he couldn’t help but entertain the thought that perhaps Mother had simply chosen ignorance on purpose.
“Charles Shepherd, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?” Mr. Berryman continued.
Charles was only vaguely aware the vicar still spoke, his thoughts remaining on the woman standing beside him.
Why had Miss Oakley agreed to the marriage? He’d been so overcome with shock and frustration he’d not considered this until now. Was she truly so overaged that no one wished to shackle themselves to her? Or was it due to her less-than-enthusiastic personality?
“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep only unto her, for so long as ye both shall live?”
Miss Oakley certainly hadn’t chosen to be single—otherwise she would be choosing to remain single. Had something prevented her from marrying, then? Had she some dark secret hidden behind her beauty? Some personality trait no one could look beyond? What on earth had his parents fettered him to?
“Charles,” whispered a voice from behind.
He glanced at his mother, then back at the vicar, who watched him with an unimpressed look.
“Still not listening?” Mr. Berryman whispered. “Shall I repeat myself?”
“There is no need,” Charles responded.
He knew what had been said—and how he was expected to respond. And yet, his tongue was bound. This was it, his final chance to make a run for it. If he ever wished for his own happiness and his own future, he would have to flee now before he vowed otherwise.
But he already knew he had to make the vow. Whether this was all his parents’ fault or his own, Charles would not ruin this woman, nor her reputation. For what sort of life would he lead knowing he’d destroyed another’s?
Curse his parents for raising him to have a conscience.
“I will,” he finally stated with a firm nod.
Mother breathed an audible sigh of relief behind him, but he ignored it. She should not be feeling such joy at this...this farce of a marriage.
You’ve made your decision, Charles. Stand by it.
And yet, he didn’t really feel as if he was standing at all. He felt as if he’d taken to floating about the room and was now watching someone else exchange vows with Miss Oakley.
“I will,” Miss Oakley responded.
Charles hadn’t even heard Mr. Berryman address her.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” the vicar asked next.
Mr. Oakley stood forth, and Mr. Berryman motioned for Charles to take Miss Oakley by her right hand.
Charles did so, but he could not meet her gaze, staring instead at their hands. Both were gloved, a physical barrier between them, and even still, Miss Oakley’s fingers barely rested on his.
“I, Charles,” Mr. Berryman prompted.
“I, Charles.”
“Take thee, Marie.”
“Take thee, M—” Charles hesitated. His mind refused to focus. He’d said Marie, had he not? But what sort of name was that? French? Miss Oakley wasn’t French.
Her eyes seared into him, but Charles stayed focused on her fingers still hovering above his.
“Ma-rie,” Mr. Berryman repeated, speaking the word in broken syllables, as if Charles was eighty-five years old and hard of hearing.
Charles cast him an annoyed glance. “Take thee, Marie.”
The vicar continued, and Charles didn’t hesitate this time, repeating each phrase until Miss Oakley did the same.
To no surprise of Charles, at the end of the ceremony, Mother produced a simple gold band for him to give to his new wife, and he placed it on her finger after she removed her gloves.
She didn’t so much as thank him, which was just as well. It was Mother’s doing, after all. All of it was.
After the ring, no kiss was exchanged, much to Charles’s relief, and no further word was spoken between him and his bride as the vicar prayed over those gathered.
Charles’s legs grew stiffer and stiffer as the prayer continued far longer than it needed to. Finally, Mr. Berryman finished, and just like that, Charles was married to a perfect stranger.
And, coincidentally, a hundred pounds richer. He wasn’t the last of his friends to be married now, that was for certain.
Still, the knowledge was merely a dim light in a sea of darkness he’d just committed to.
What on earth had he just done?
Marie accepted the congratulations from her parents and the Shepherds, though she didn’t feel as if she deserved it. Was it anything to congratulate when two perfect strangers made vows under pressure from external forces?
Charles—as she supposed she ought to call him now—didn’t say a word to anyone after he’d forgotten her name. She hadn’t been surprised by his hesitation. She was fairly certain he had never listened to a vicar a day in his life.
She tried to read his expression after the ceremony ended, but he continuously averted his gaze with a rigid shift of his jaw.
Was he intentionally behaving like an entitled child, speaking so harshly to his parents and selfishly thinking of only how his life and future had been affected?
He deserved grace due to the shock he’d just received, but then, did she not deserve some in return?
The next few moments passed by swiftly as Father urged Marie to return with the Shepherds to Grendale.
“No use prolonging the inevitable,” he whispered to her with an embrace. “I am so proud of the woman you have become.”
Marie was grateful to have her father’s approval. Now, at least, she would be out of his hair. After all, what father would want his almost-twenty-eight-year-old daughter in his house forever?
Doing as she was told, Marie followed the Shepherds to the carriage awaiting them on the drive of Westburn. The rain poured around them, so the families said their goodbyes in the shelter of the front awning.
No tears were shed between her and her parents, nor did she expect any. The Oakleys were not a family who showed tender emotions—leaving room for more comfortable feelings like frustration or anger.
After an embrace from Mother, Marie walked with the Shepherds out into the rain, a footman shielding her from the waterdrops as he walked alongside her with an open umbrella.
She had only made it two steps down from the front stairs when she noticed Charles heading for his horse that had been brought around the same time as the carriage.
Mrs. Shepherd must have noticed her son, as well, for she called out through the rain. “Charles? Charles!”
He hesitated, then turned around to face her. His top hat covered his head, and the collar of his great coat was propped high to prevent the rain from draining down his back. “Yes, Mother?”
He really was a fine-looking gentleman. Unassuming eyes, straight nose, quite symmetrical features all the way around. What a shame they did not match who he was on the inside.
“Do you not think it wise to travel with your new bride?” Mrs. Shepherd said in a lighthearted tone, though her eyes spoke far more firmly.
Charles stared at his horse longingly before stalking toward the carriage instead. “A fine idea, Mother.”
Marie tried to stop her thoughts from running rampant about the man’s behavior, but honestly, he was so juvenile.
Mr. Shepherd helped his wife and Marie into the carriage first, then he whispered to Charles audibly.
“This will make it easier for all of us, son. Allow us an opportunity to get to know one another, you see.”
Charles didn’t respond, entering the carriage last and taking the empty spot next to Marie.
As the carriage left Westburn House and bumped and bounced from the gravel drive to the dirt roads of the countryside, an awkward silence echoed loudly until Mrs. Shepherd spoke with a warm smile.
“Well, now we are on our way, perhaps we may relax a bit,” she said.
Marie smiled in return, grateful for the effort her new mother-in-law was putting forth. Charles remained silent. He stared harder out of the window, his leg bouncing up and down in a disquieting fashion.
Could the man never hold still?
“I do hope this lessens before the ball,” Mrs. Shepherd attempted next, motioning to the window. Rain pelted the glass, sliding down and blurring any chance of seeing much beyond the streaks. “There is nothing quite so agitating as trying to arrive presentably at a social event when one is sodden.”
Marie smiled. “Indeed.”