Chapter Five
Edward stood at the altar in the small chapel on the Longwood estate, waiting for his bride to arrive. The priest was readying himself to perform the service and George, his long-standing footman and friend, had agreed to stand at Edward’s side as a witness, but the rest of the pews remained empty.
His father hadn’t come.
The sickening blow of rejection hit his stomach. But was he really that surprised? So his father did not approve of his actions—that had been expected. His absence was just another statement of his disapproval of his son’s choices. Thinking back, when had the Duke ever supported anything he’d done?
The air in the small chapel was close. It took him back to his childhood, when he’d had to wear his Sunday best, feeling stifled, shackled, as he’d been forced to sit through the priest’s solemn sermons.
There had been too many silent and unmoving bodies confined in the pews as he’d watched the dust settle on the books of prayer.
Afterwards, he’d stood awkwardly behind his mother’s legs as his father had presented William to his acquaintances, revelling in his eldest son’s latest accomplishments.
His father had been adamant that Edward buying the mill was a mistake.
But even when Edward had proved him wrong and his business had started to thrive, still his father had refused to commend him.
There had been no apology. No praise. It was another thing that was never discussed, just pushed to the side and ignored.
Edward was regretting going to White’s and drinking so much brandy last night.
He’d needed a strong drink after their angry words.
It had stirred Edward’s apprehension, bringing back memories of his childhood when he felt he was being caught up in a storm he couldn’t escape.
The thunder was always there, brewing in the background.
He was determined he and Bea would never argue like that, not in front of Thomas.
But no amount of brandy had been able to blur the words the Duke had uttered.
He had thought he had seen a softening in the man when his father had leaned over and looked down at Thomas.
That the boy might be the tie that was needed to bring them back together.
Then the words his father had spoken had devastated him.
He wished that he had died instead of William.
The ache grew in his chest even now—and to say such a thing in front of their staff, in front of Bea…it was unforgiveable.
He knew the man was suffering—that he was in pain after losing William, frustrated with his illness and perhaps even afraid about what was to come.
It had him lashing out, often. But yesterday, Edward had felt like that little boy again, terrified about where the extreme fury would lead.
What his father might do. But he had to remember, the worst had already happened the day his father had sent his mother away.
When his father had put his title above everything else.
Edward would never do such a thing. Despite the weight of the commitment on his shoulders, marrying Bea proved that, didn’t it?
Of course he wondered if he would come to regret this later on, worried what would happen if they ended up hating each other.
He feared what that would do to Thomas most of all.
But there was no time to think about that now.
A swell of rousing music sounded out as the organ began to play and Edward straightened. This was happening.
Mrs Potter and Martha, carrying his son, took their seats, and then Bea was there, standing in the doorway, and all he could focus on was his bride and how radiant she looked.
Her gown was simple, elegant, and made of white silk.
The delicate lace sleeves were short, offering a glimpse of her pale skin before the start of her long gloves.
Just like the first time he had seen her, she drew him in, and he found himself wanting to know her, better than he did.
He wanted to get closer. He felt a flutter of excitement that this time he would have the chance to do so.
She began to walk up the aisle towards him, the soft sunlight streaming through the windows lighting up her path, and a strange calm settled over him. All his doubts fled from his mind, but when he studied her face, he saw it was pensive, her big owl-like eyes wary.
He knew he hadn’t given her a choice about marrying him—it was a necessity, given their situation.
But now he was more certain he was doing the right thing, and he wanted to reassure her, too, just as she had bolstered him yesterday.
It had stunned him, when she had shot to her feet in protest at his father’s despicable words, offering him her quiet support.
She hadn’t needed to speak, her presence at his side had said everything—that they were in this together.
He appreciated it more than she could know.
He admired her defiance in the face of his father’s judgement; it had given him courage.
Finally, she reached him, and he smiled. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said, taking her hand in his, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. He would stand by her too.
The priest began, and Edward listened to every word as Bea said her vows. ‘I take thee to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward…to cherish, and to obey, till death us do part…’
Staring down at her, he wondered if she would obey him. He rather liked her spirit, the way she stood up to him.
He pushed the ring onto her fourth finger of her left hand, binding himself to her, feeling the magnitude of the promise he was making. ‘With my body I thee worship…’
Would she let him? He saw her throat work. The colour rise in her cheeks.
‘And with all my worldly goods I thee endow…’
What was his would now be hers and he was glad she would never go without food, or a roof over her head, again.
‘Then I now pronounce you man and wife,’ the priest said.
It was done.
Yet there was no celebration in the church—no rush from the congregation to offer their best wishes, as Edward had experienced at other weddings, the couple joyfully leaving the chapel arm in arm, in love.
There was no throwing of the rice and no ringing of the church bells.
Instead, there were just a few quiet, awkward, congratulations.
As they stepped outside into the sunshine, George waited with the carriage to take them back across the estate to Longwood, but Edward wasn’t ready to set foot inside the hall just yet.
He wished they were returning to the cottage, where they would both feel more comfortable, yet their belongings had already been moved to Longwood—at his father’s stipulation.
While the man had refused to witness their union, he was willing to tolerate their presence in the house—anything to maintain precious appearances.
It was why Edward found himself taking Bea’s arm, tugging her back, as the others went off ahead of them.
‘Would you care to walk and take in some air?’ He thought it might be easier to navigate the first uneasy moments of married life strolling alongside each other, amicably, rather than sitting in that stuffy coach again.
Bea looked up at him, surprised. She hesitated, and he doubted himself.
‘If you would rather not—if you think it will ruin your gown—’
‘No.’ And then to his relief her face cleared and she smiled. ‘It is a lovely day for a walk.’
He nodded, the decision made. He instructed George to go on and they watched the carriage depart. Edward could almost taste the tension. They were alone. Their first few moments together as husband and wife.
‘How did you find the service?’ he asked.
‘I’m glad I didn’t muddle my words,’ she said, as they set off down the path. ‘The death us do part bit—I felt sure I would get it wrong.’
He laughed at her admittance. ‘Me too.’
‘I was willing Thomas to sleep through it.’
‘It seemed Martha had it all under control.’
‘She’s very good with him.’
It felt surreal walking through the lush green fields where he’d been brought up with Bea at his side, as his wife. When he was a boy, as soon as he’d finished his studies each day, he had made a run for it, desperate to roam free and explore, to make new discoveries.
He wondered when this place had lost some of its appeal—perhaps when his mother’s bouts of melancholy grew worse and life had turned more serious.
When the air had become thick, as if the smoke from the fire had nowhere to go but linger, choking all the inhabitants inside.
But now, as he watched Bea take in the scenery in the heat of the late spring afternoon—the lake shimmering in the sunlight, the delight in her eyes as she saw the dragonflies dancing on the surface of the water and the wild horses grazing in the fields, he could breathe again, and he was reminded a little of that feeling of wonder and adventure.
He was eager to know what she thought of it: her new home.
‘Do you like it here?’
‘It is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,’ she said. ‘I keep wondering if any moment now, I will be woken from a dream.’
‘I am glad it is not a nightmare,’ he said. ‘The sun shining on your wedding day is a good omen, you know.’
‘Is it?’
A flutter of anticipation took flight in his chest—that this was the first day of many. A new beginning. That they would be building a life together.
They walked on in silence, past the wildflower meadows, alive with the hum of insects. ‘Did you have a happy upbringing here?’ Bea asked him.
‘Yes, for the most part. But as you have no doubt gathered, my father was strict. Extremely difficult to please.’
‘I noticed he did not come today.’ She turned her head to look at him.
‘It was probably for the best.’
‘Are you not concerned he will disinherit you, because of me?’ she asked carefully.