Chapter 17
Sam took her place in the second row as instructed by Marce.
The garden had been transformed into a magical area with carefully manicured shrubbery and paths lined with gold ribbons, flowers of the perfect shade of burgundy to accentuate Jude’s fiery hair, and tiny candle holders hung in the branches above her head.
It was morning, but the sparkling light from above cast an enchanted glow on all the guests.
It was breathtaking—all of it.
Even the table set for their feast was utter perfection with tall-backed chairs with alternating gold and burgundy bows tied for decoration.
The tabletop was arranged with exquisite place settings for all the guests—children included.
The aroma of roasting meats, fresh bread, cheese, and delicious sweet desserts drifted across the expansive garden and lawn.
Sam’s mouth watered, though she’d eaten only an hour before.
Everything was flawless, as Jude deserved—and Simon, as well.
The pair had met under improbable circumstances but beat the odds—as Payton called it—to find love, happiness, and hope for a bright future.
All things Sam had come to realize might be out of her reach.
Thankfully, Jude had come to her the night before.
She hadn’t relished her twin barging in on her and Eli’s private moment, but the discussion they’d had after he departed was one of true enlightenment.
Jude hadn’t planned to marry and leave Sam, forgetting about her.
No, they would continue to be close. They were sisters.
More than sisters…twins. They shared a unique bond, something even Marce and Garrett did not possess.
Jude would not give that up, even though she was to wed Simon.
Possibly the most startling revelation had come when Sam had expressed her unwillingness to forgive Beauchamp and her desire to see the man gone—and not returned.
Jude felt the same, but she was willing to hear their father’s side of the story.
When she had children, she did not want the stigma of her own fatherless upbringing to affect them.
Jude did not have to trust the man, but at least her children would know their grandfather—their lineage.
“May I take this seat, Miss Samantha?”
Sam looked up to find Lord Gunther, staring at the vacant seat beside her.
“Ummm, this seat is spoken for. I do apologize, my lord.” She smiled to soothe any insult. “But I believe we are to sit across from one another at the meal to follow.”
“Very well.” He gave a curt nod and moved to sit several rows behind Sam.
She turned slightly to search the gathering crowd. Elijah hadn’t yet arrived. What was keeping him? He hadn’t broken his fast in the dining room either, though she’d heard he was meeting with Lord Cartwright in Cummings’ study.
She’d taken her time eating, refilling her plate twice and imbibing nearly a full pot of tea, which had eventually sent her fleeing to her room in discomfort before Eli had shown his face.
They hadn’t seen one another since Jude had walked in on them embracing.
Sam longed to see him, let him know all was as it should be, and Jude would keep everything to herself.
There had been much shared by them, yet Sam suspected they could have talked late into the night; their conversation before the fire moving to the lounge and their voices quieting to whispers.
She’d experienced serenity for the first time. Moments of utter relinquishment: of everything she need confess, of all that worried her, of all that weighed her down.
And he’d reciprocated in kind; sharing parts of him that not another soul was privy to. He hadn’t said that much, but Sam knew it to be true. He was not a man who clung tightly to others, open to sharing his past. Unlike Sam, who could not seem to let go of those closest to her.
Mr. Stanford walked down the path, his covetous eyes settling on the empty chair beside her.
She quickly set her fan and reticle on the seat to show it to be spoken for, but did not grace the man with her regretful smile.
Instead, she looked to the terrace, expecting to see Elijah hurrying her way, but the only thing she saw was Jude standing just inside the double doors, awaiting her time to walk into the garden and join Simon, who stood chatting with Vicar William Jakeston, Mr. Jakeston’s elder brother, who’d traveled from London to act as their officiate.
Lord Beauchamp was also missing. Sam hoped it remained that way, at least until she could escape back to London and the sanctuary of Craven House.
Her father had had the common sense to not show his face in the breakfast room either, leaving Sam blissfully to her thoughts of Lord Ridgefeld without the need to ignore her father’s presence.
She’d promised Jude she would not outwardly speak ill of Beauchamp or draw attention to their family strife.
Her assurance had been fulfilled far easier than Sam expected.
If only Eli would join her and fulfill his promise to distract her, then all would continue to be well. She was seated across from Lord Gunther at the feast, but Eli would be at her side. Another welcomed occurrence, and Sam suspected it was Jude’s doing.
Her maid had reassured her that Beauchamp was seated close to the head of the table—as was proper for the father of the bride—with all of Jude and Cartwright’s family scattered through the guests.
The strings of a single violin started signaling for everyone to be seated before silence fell once more.
A flurry of nervousness fluttered within Sam as she glanced around. Guests hurriedly took their seats. She scanned each row but did not spot Eli anywhere. It would be the height of embarrassment for him to slip in during the nuptials.
Once everyone was seated, the violinist commenced a lovely song unfamiliar to Sam. The notes carried on the slight breeze, reaching far and wide across Hollybrooke.
The vicar cleared his throat, motioning for everyone to stand.
As Sam did, she turned to watch her sister’s approach, catching sight of servants standing watch in the many windows of the manor.
Sam glanced longingly at the empty seat meant for Elijah.
Perchance he had been held up by some unforeseeable business and would join them for the meal to be served immediately following the ceremony.
Contemplation of the previous evening and the two missing guests fled Sam’s mind as Jude, on the arm of Garrett, came into view.
Her sister was stunningly elegant in her cream gown with gold threaded through her long, curling locks and a sprig of burgundy blossoms clutched in her hand.
Tall and graceful, everything a woman of the ton aimed to be.
A sash of entwined gold and burgundy was tied loosely around her waist and trailed down the back of her dress, creating a fanning train, floating behind her as she made her way down the terrace steps and into the garden.
Ooohs and Ahhhs could be heard, as well as mumbled praise for Marce’s excellent planning for a garden wedding.
Sam glanced toward Lord Cartwright where he stood next to the vicar, a shining smile upon his face. A few feet away in the front row, the soon-to-be Dowager Countess Cartwright held a smile much like her son’s as she took in the woman who would birth the next Cartwright earl—the good Lord willing.
Sam glanced skyward to keep the tears of joy from spilling down her cheeks and ruining her gown.
Not a cloud hung in the sky, and the breeze was barely more than a whisper in the trees as Jude walked slowly between the rows of guests.
Her twin paused briefly, giving Sam an encouraging smile before Garrett pulled her farther toward her betrothed.
A single tear escaped when Sam witnessed the light that filled Simon as Jude took her place at his side. They were fated to be together—always and forever.
Could that lay in Sam’s future, too? Did a man exist who would love and cherish her enough to keep her by his side for all eternity?
Or was she meant to live her life one soirée, one opera, and one garden party at a time?
Drifting from one social gathering to the next in an endless cycle of societal necessity.
A part of her wondered if a mundane marriage was for her.
Certainly, after a spell, the usual ton gatherings would lose appeal, and Sam would seek something else to keep her occupied—and distracted.
Just a short couple of days before, she’d desired nothing more than to return to the fancy ballrooms, lavish dinner parties, and scandalous outdoor playhouses of London.
At the moment, she wanted nothing more than a warm, male body taking a seat in the chair beside her.
Sam hadn’t expected her wayward fantasy to be realized, but no sooner had she thought it then a man did indeed take the seat beside her.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the lord she’d hoped for.
Or any lord at all. It was her brother, Garrett.
“This seat is spoken for. Move,” she hissed.
He glanced around as the guests resumed their seats with Jude and Simon standing before the vicar, their backs to the crowd.
“By whom?” he whispered back, gaining an evil stare from Marce.
“If you must know, I am saving this seat for Lord Ridgefeld.” There was little chance Garrett had been told of what transpired—or nearly transpired—the night before. If Jude said she would hold a confidence, she did not betray that, even to her own kin. “Now, kindly move. Please.”
The please was clearly an afterthought and only said to gain what she wanted—or more accurately, demanded.
Garrett only settled further, stretching out his legs and turning his attention toward the vicar as he spoke. “He left.”
“No,” she stuttered. “You need to leave. Now.”
“I meant, Ridgefeld departed this morning. Before breakfast.” He didn’t even bother glancing in her direction, further confirming her brother was unaware of Sam’s relationship with Elijah.
But gone?