Chapter 17 #2
Anne shielded her eyes to prepare for the blinding onslaught of sun streaming in from the window only to find the room gray and gloomy. She rubbed her eyes and turned to Joan. “What time is it? The sun’s not even up.”
“It’s after seven, miss.”
As Anne gained consciousness, she turned toward the pelting of rain against the window. A flash of light lit the room for a moment, and the crack of thunder followed.
A storm on her wedding day. Perfect. She huffed and threw her legs over the side of the bed. The brief, discouraging thought fled as quickly as it had popped into her mind. At least they wouldn’t have to travel outside to a church for the ceremony.
Joan had brought her a tray with tea and some toast. “Her Grace thought you might like to remain in your room so Lord Manning doesn’t see you before the wedding.”
After throwing on a dressing gown, Anne took a seat at the small table in her room. “That’s a silly superstition.” Still, one couldn’t be too careful, she supposed.
She had little appetite, but she sipped her tea and nibbled her toast in silence as footmen brought up buckets of hot water and filled a tub for her bath. Another flash of lightning and boom of thunder caused one footman to slosh water onto the floor.
Was the weather a harbinger of things to come? She never liked dwelling on negative possibilities, but with each tick of the clock it became increasingly difficult not to imagine she was making a horrible mistake.
Finally bathed and dressed, she sat before the dressing table as Joan brushed and fashioned her hair in an elaborate design. Done tucking tiny seed pearls into Anne’s curls, Joan stood back, hands on hips, and assessed her. “You look beautiful, miss. Lord Manning is a lucky man.”
She met her maid’s gaze in the mirror and grinned. “He is, isn’t he?”
And just like that, her mood shifted back to normal. Even the driving rain no longer dimmed her sunny optimism. Not only would her marriage succeed, but Lord Grumpy-Trousers would come to appreciate her, even love her.
The clock had barely finished striking ten when her mother tapped lightly and entered the room. “Oh, my dear. I wish your father were here to see you.” Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, and she wiped them away.
“He would probably say, ‘At last.’”
They both laughed, and her mother wiped the remaining tears away. “Everyone is waiting, and Andrew is right outside the ballroom. Shall we go down?”
Anne linked her arm with her mother’s, and a bittersweet sadness seeped in that she would no longer rely on her mother to take care of all the daily tasks of running a household. The responsibility would lie directly on her own shoulders.
The prospect was both exciting and a bit daunting. Although her family’s home was ample and the estate prosperous, it was nowhere near the magnitude of estates such as Hartridge House, and presumably Blackthorne Manor. “Can I really do it, Mother? Be a viscountess and someday a marchioness?”
Her mother’s steps halted, and she gently took Anne by the shoulders.
“You can do anything you put your mind to. And Lord Manning will have a butler and housekeeper to assist. And although Kent is some distance, you can always write. I have every faith in you.” After placing a quick kiss on Anne’s cheek, her mother handed her over to Andrew.
Colin’s daughters held bouquets of pink roses accented with tiny, late-blooming sweet peas. Pale-green ribbons held back the girls’ chestnut hair, which was pulled back at the crown.
“Oh, Anne,” Cassie said. “Your gown matches ours.”
Indeed they did. Fashioned from the same shimmering pale-green fabric, the girl’s dresses complemented Anne’s perfectly, although not as elaborately styled.
The band around the waist of Anne’s gown had been embroidered with pink roses.
Mrs. Merrick had suggested the fabric, stating it was similar to the one she used for Juliana’s gown. The roses had been her signature touch.
Ellie stepped closer, a finger touching the embroidery. “And Father’s.”
Anne frowned. He’s wearing a gown?
Cassie laughed. “No, silly. His waistcoat.”
Oh, had she said that aloud? She would have to be mindful during the ceremony. Goodness knows she didn’t need Lord Stratford to find another reason to dislike her.
Miranda handed her a bouquet of the same roses and sweet peas the girls held, only larger, then drew her into an embrace. “Be happy, Anne. Lord Manning is a good man.”
Why did everyone keep saying that? Were they trying to convince Anne because perhaps he wasn’t?
The girls and Miranda filed into the ballroom, and Andrew held out his arm.
“Remember what I told you about the stipulation in the marriage contract. You always have a home with us if you are horribly unhappy. Manning won’t stop you.
However, I suspect all will turn out well.
I know it’s not what you’d hoped for, but at least he’s not Lord Fairchild or, God forbid, Lord Middlebury. ”
She couldn’t contain her laughter that, indeed, she had escaped that horrible fate, but the moment she entered the ballroom and caught sight of Colin standing next to Burwood on one side and a rather disgruntled, rain-soaked vicar on the other, her breath hitched.
Not only was he not Oscar Fairchild or Lord Middlebury, but he was possibly the most handsome man she’d ever lain eyes on.
Her hand shook as Andrew placed it into Colin’s, and her gaze drifted toward his waistcoat. Tiny pink roses decorated the points. Had he suggested it to Mrs. Merrick?
Rather than scowl at her, as he had when they first met, he smiled. But somehow it seemed . . . off. “Breathe, Anne. It will be over soon.”
What would be over? Dark images flitted in and out like specters as she considered his meaning. Then she turned to face the vicar, prepared to face her uncertain future.