Chapter 26 #2
They made their way through the side entrance, nodding to guests who called out congratulations. In the small chamber set aside for the bride's final preparations, Anthea found Sybil and Cassandra waiting—but no Poppy.
"Have either of you seen my youngest sister?" Anthea asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
"Not since yesterday," Sybil said. "Is something wrong?"
"I am certain it is nothing," Anthea said, though the anxiety was building into something closer to genuine worry now. "She probably went directly to her seat."
But when Anthea checked the church itself, walking down the side aisle to scan the pews, she found no sign of Poppy among the assembled guests.
Gregory caught her eye from where he stood with Mr. Hartley near the altar. Raised an eyebrow in silent question.
Anthea shook her head slightly. Not now. She would deal with Poppy's mysterious absence after the ceremony.
Assuming there was a reasonable explanation.
Assuming nothing was actually wrong.
She returned to the bride's room and found Veronica looking anxious.
"Did you find her?"
"Not yet," Anthea admitted. "But the ceremony is about to begin. We cannot delay."
"What if something happened?" Veronica asked. "What if she is hurt, or—"
"I am certain she is fine," Anthea said, with more confidence than she felt. "She is probably just... running late. You know how she loses track of time."
It was a weak excuse, and they both knew it. But what else could they do?
The music began—the signal that the ceremony was starting.
"Ready?" Anthea asked, offering her arm.
Veronica took a deep breath. Nodded. "Ready."
They processed down the aisle together. Anthea was hyperaware of the guests watching, of the whispered speculation about Poppy's absence, of Gregory's concerned expression as they passed.
But she kept her chin high, her steps measured, her focus on getting Veronica to the altar where Mr. Hartley waited with an expression of such open adoration it made Anthea's chest ache.
This was what mattered. Veronica's happiness. Her future. Whatever was happening with Poppy could be addressed after.
Anthea placed Veronica's hand in Mr. Hartley's, stepped back to her designated position, and tried to focus on the ceremony.
The priest began the traditional words. Anthea let them wash over her, familiar and comforting. Beside the altar, Gregory caught her eye and smiled slightly—reassurance that he was there, that they would handle whatever came next together.
The ceremony progressed smoothly. Vows were exchanged. Rings presented. Mr. Hartley looked at Veronica like she had hung the moon, and Veronica looked back with equal devotion.
It was perfect.
It was beautiful.
And then—
"I object!"
The voice rang out from the back of the church, sharp and imperious.
Every head turned.
Beatrice stood in the doorway, resplendent in deep purple silk, her expression triumphant.
"I object to this union," she declared, her voice carrying through the sudden silence. "And I demand it be stopped immediately."
The priest looked startled. "Madam, do you have legal grounds for this objection?"
"I do," Beatrice said, moving down the aisle with the confidence of someone who believed she held all the power. "This man—this Mr. Hartley—has been deceiving my daughter about his true circumstances. He is not the respectable gentleman he has claimed to be."
"That is absurd," Mr. Hartley said, his voice tight with anger. "I have been nothing but honest—"
"Have you?" Beatrice interrupted, stopping several pews away from the altar. "Have you told my daughter about your father's debts? About the scandal that forced your family from Society three years ago? About the whispers that still follow your name?"
Gasps rippled through the assembled guests. Anthea felt her stomach drop.
"My father's actions are not mine," Mr. Hartley said, his jaw clenched. "I have spent years repairing the damage he caused. Making amends. Living honorably."
"And yet you kept this information from your bride," Beatrice said, her smile sharp. "Did you not think she deserved to know what family she was marrying into?"
"I told her everything," Mr. Hartley said firmly. He turned to Veronica. "You know about my father. About what happened. I have been honest with you from the beginning."
"He has," Veronica said, her voice steady despite the tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I know everything about his family. And I love him anyway."
"Then you are a fool," Beatrice said coldly. "Throwing away your prospects for a man whose name is tainted by scandal."
"That is enough," the priest said, his voice stern. "Madam, scandal and gossip are not legal grounds for objection. If the bride is aware of the gentleman's circumstances and chooses to proceed, then—"
"But surely the church should not sanctify a union built on—"
"The church sanctifies unions between people who love each other and commit themselves to building a life together," the priest interrupted.
"Everything you have described—financial difficulties, family scandal—these are worldly concerns, not spiritual ones.
And as the bride has stated she was fully informed and proceeds willingly, I see no grounds to halt this ceremony. "
Beatrice's face went red. "You cannot simply dismiss—"
"I can, and I will," the priest said firmly. "Now, madam, I must ask you to either take your seat or leave the church. This ceremony will continue."
For a moment, Beatrice simply stood there, fury radiating from every line of her body. Then she turned on her heel and stormed down the aisle, her exit lacking the dignity she had clearly intended.
The church remained silent for a long moment after she left.
Then Gregory stepped forward.
His voice, when he spoke, carried through the church with the same command he had once used on battlefields.
"Father, if I may?"
The priest nodded, looking somewhat relieved to cede control.
Gregory turned to face the assembled guests, his expression serious but warm.
"Some of you may be wondering," he said, "whether you should be concerned about what was just said. Whether the rumors about Mr. Hartley's family should give you pause about this union."
He paused, letting the question hang in the air.
"I will tell you what I know about Oliver Hartley," Gregory continued.
"I know that when his father left debts and scandal in his wake, Oliver took responsibility for cleaning up the mess.
I know that he has worked tirelessly to repair his family's reputation through honorable actions rather than empty words.
I know that he has been nothing but honest with my sister-in-law about his circumstances and his past."
He turned to look at Mr. Hartley and Veronica.
"But most importantly," Gregory said, his voice softening, "I know that he loves her. Truly, deeply, with the kind of devotion that is rare and precious and should be protected rather than questioned."
His gaze swept the crowd again.
"Love is not about perfect circumstances or unblemished reputations," he said.
"It is about choosing someone despite their flaws and their past. About committing to building something together even when the path is not easy.
And I have watched these two choose each other again and again.
That is what matters. That is what we are here to celebrate. "
He looked at the priest. "With your permission, Father, I believe this ceremony should continue."
The priest smiled. "Well said, Your Grace. Let us proceed."
The ceremony resumed. Vows were completed. Rings exchanged. And when the priest finally pronounced them husband and wife, the church erupted in applause that felt like defiance—a collective rejection of Beatrice's attempt to ruin her daughter's happiness.
Anthea watched through tears she did not bother to hide. Watched Veronica and Mr. Hartley kiss with such obvious joy it made her heart ache. Watched Gregory return to stand beside her, his presence solid and reassuring.
It was perfect after all.
Despite Beatrice's interference. Despite the scandal. Despite everything.
Love had won.
As they processed back down the aisle behind the newly married couple, Gregory leaned close and murmured, "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Anthea said. And meant it.
But even in her happiness, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered: Where is Poppy?
And why had she missed her sister's wedding?