Chapter 12
Happy Wedding
London had been having splendid weather in the days before, but that particular day the sky was overcast with grey clouds.
That alone should have told Arabella everything she needed to know about her marriage.
That symbolism alone painted her future under a very particular light. Grey, dull, boring, and sad.
“Are you ready, my dear?” her father asked from her side.
Arabella nodded as they stepped through the wooden door of the church. It was one of the many lies that she had told her family. She was not ready for this, but since she would never be, now was as good a time as any.
When they stepped inside, Arabella took in everything in one glance, every feeling, every sensation.
The little church on the Albury estate was chilly that morning, with a cold draft wafting under the pews and her bridal slippers making her feet cold in the most literal of ways.
The weak sun filtering through the colored glass, allowing blue and red flickers of light on the cold stone of the church, did nothing to cheer her up.
There was a faint smell of beeswax in the air and some lingering floral scent from a few guests at the wedding.
She tensed her hands into her perfect white gloves. They felt tight, new as they were. She walked in her beautiful gown that she knew she would hate from this day on. Every head of the few guests was turned to her. Her focus, however, was at the altar.
Gerald was waiting there. He stood tall and broad as he always did, posture perfect and composed as ever. She was really going to marry this man, the one who felt nothing for her, who saw her just as a tool to his devices.
Arabella decided to focus on anything else.
It was sometimes common for a bride to cry on her wedding day, but it was usually for a good reason, not sadness.
So, she looked at the flowers adorning the place, trying to liven up something that was cold as stone.
She noticed that Gerald had chosen peonies.
It was probably a coincidence. They were very expensive, prestigious flowers, rare and fit for a ducal wedding.
The fact that they were her favorite had nothing to do with it.
Gerald would not know or care about that.
Then she looked at the pews, at the people watching her walk down the aisle to the most feared, powerful Duke in the Kingdom.
On her side of the pews was Bridget. The moment Arabella saw her sister, her heart warmed a little.
Next to her were some distant relatives with whom she had barely any relationship, but they would not miss the chance for good gossip.
Like her father said, no one in her family had ever made such a prestigious wedding arrangement.
Then she turned to Gerald’s side. Sure, there were some Lords of Parliament and business associates, but in the first row, the one preserved for family, there was only one person.
Gerald had once introduced him in passing as his friend Morgan.
Arabella remembered that the Duke had mentioned him as one person who had the same delightful things to say about the Duke and shared some of her views with Duke.
There was no family, no other close friends, and Arabella could not help but wonder if her addition to the family and her placement as the matron of the Albury estate had been something that his family did not approve of, and that was why they were making their dislike loud in their absence.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…”
The words of the Book of Common Prayer almost startled her, as if she had forgotten why she was there.
She looked at her side to see Gerald’s face.
She searched his expression for something: anticipation, irritation, pride.
She found nothing. If he was affected by the absence of his family, he hid it very well.
The ceremony continued, the words familiar and then again quite alien to her.
She always imagined that her wedding would be something modest. She did not have delusions that she would marry someone of a higher station than her.
But even in her most conservative dreams, she never thought that her wedding would be this sad.
The ceremony continued, the cadence steady, almost hypnotic. She had been to weddings before, her friends marrying, and she was sitting politely, looking at the ceremony and the happy couple. And now here she was, finally at the altar herself when she would rather be anywhere else.
The vicar turned toward Gerald first.
“Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?”
“I will,” Gerald said in a clear, firm voice that held no warmth.
Then it was her turn. The question felt heavier when directed at her.
It was a pretense of choice in that moment.
She could always say no, but what good would that do?
She felt suddenly alone standing at the altar in front of all these people, her family, and the man who was supposed to be her husband, and yet she was alone.
The draft beneath the pews seemed to crawl up her spine.
“Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded husband…”
“I will,” she said, mimicking his firm voice.
The vicar motioned for them to join hands.
She looked down as his hands took hers, and it was as if she was watching from the outside.
Of all the things happening in this ceremony, this one felt to her like the biggest farce.
Vows for eternal devotion, but just in their case, for three social occasions.
That was as far as the Duke’s devotion went.
“I, Gerald, take thee, Arabella, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward…”
She forced herself to look up at him, to see him, to at least pretend that they were in this wholeheartedly together.
He was handsome as ever, and that was one of the many problems in this.
Even in this weak light, his eyes were shining, reminding her of a forest she could get lost in.
His lips, as he spoke, were firm, but now she knew what they felt and tasted like.
“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer…”
Somehow, Arabella knew even if he felt nothing for her, he would protect her, and that was a comfort.
“In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part…”
Love. The word rang strangely in the cold air. Arabella felt inclined to laugh at this word. The Duke did not know the meaning of it, and he was not keen on finding out. He was merely saying the words out of sheer formality demanded by God and Crown.
But who was she to judge the dishonesty of his words when she was about to do the same? Because then it was her turn. Her chest constricted, and the gloves felt like a vice around her fingers. But if she wanted this to end, she had to move on and go through this.
“I, Arabella, take thee, Gerald, to my wedded husband…”
She heard her voice was smaller than she anticipated.
“To have and to hold from this day forward…”
The weight of that sentence fell on her like a stone. From this day forward. She was now bound to this man. She was entering a new phase of her life, not a girl anymore, but a woman. She was leaving her father’s house for good to enter this estate and live with a stranger.
“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer…”
She almost chuckled at the irony of this sentence. She was sure that her life would be rich in a material sense from now on, but she was not sure it would not be poorer.
“In sickness and in health…”
She stopped for a brief second because she was about to say the word that upset her more than anything.
“To love, to cherish…”
Love. That stupid word again. As she uttered those words, just one fraction of a second, she could swear she saw his face flinch. But it must have been her imagination.
“…and to obey.”
She looked away uttering those words. They felt like a brand, and though she knew that the Duke would not want to have anything to do with her after the three nights he requested were done, she would never be free of him, not really.
The vicar nodded, satisfied, and Gerald reached into his coat for the ring. The gold band gleamed faintly in the muted light as he placed it upon her finger.
“With this ring I thee wed…”
The metal slid into place with ease. It was a perfect fit. Of course it was. The Duke was precise like that. She looked down at that ring in disbelief. It would be the one piece of jewelry that she would never take off, a constant reminder.
The vicar raised his hands.
“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
And it was done. It was over. The weight of realization fell upon her. She was no longer Arabella Marriott. She was now the Duchess of Albury.
She was so stunned by the simple transition that happens so easily, so quickly, and so painfully that she forgot.
The kiss. Her eyes snapped up to his. The forest was quiet and unmoving.
Gerald simply leaned towards her and left a brief, proper kiss on her lips.
No, it would be unfair to call that a kiss, since it was merely the press of lips together, ceremonial and cold. Like their marriage.
Arabella wanted to scream in frustration. The contrast was so deep that it made her skin crawl. Was this the same man that devoured her against the bookcase? Managed to turn her world upside down by merely touching his lips on her neck? By almost undoing her in a carriage?
When he stepped back, his expression was the same, unwavering and appropriate. And this sealed her fate. The congregation stirred. A rustle of fabric. A murmur of approval. She removed her hands from his and turned to face them as they made their way outside the church.