Chapter 15
“Are you sure it’s tied correctly?” Philip asked. “I really can’t tell from this angle, and the knot worries me exceedingly.”
Frederic stood outside the church. He had been awake since dawn that morning as was his custom. Determined that nothing should be amiss, he spent his usual time at study in the library before retiring to dress for the morning’s events. A rapid knocking sounded at his door.
“Enter,” he said, finishing the knot on his neckpiece. Philip rushed into the room, waistcoat unbuttoned and arms dripping with cravats.
“Only just tell me, Frederic, as a brother and as a friend—which cravat would go the best as the brother of the groom? I can’t for the life of me decide upon a suitable hue.”
Frederic eyed the neckties draping like moss from old trees.
“You’ve brought quite the selection. Any one of them seems appropriate enough to—” Philip stared at him in agony. “Very well. Choose the blue on your left arm. Second one from the right.”
Philip dropped all but the chosen cravat in a heap and wrapped the fortunate article around his neck. Frederic finished his own preparations and shrugged on his jacket, standing still while Carlyle finished his cuff sleeves.
Philip, due to the rapid movement of his hands and the tightness of the fabric, had worked himself into a knot that would outrival the Gordian.
“Why is it—” he huffed, “that whenever—I have to—now I’ve done it.”
His hands fell helplessly to his sides. The cravat pinched around his neck like a bird with a broken wing. Frederic smiled.
“Come. I’ll fix it for you.”
Philip trudged despairingly forward, tripping on the cravat graveyard.
“Why won’t it come right?”
With a few deft strokes, Frederic loosened the cravat and tucked it again into place.
“It helps if you button your waistcoat first.”
Philip’s fingers moved to his buttons.
Duchess Esther Blackmore was not to be rushed in her morning preparations on any occasion but especially not on this, the day of her son and heir’s wedding. Accordingly, the gentlemen took a light breakfast by themselves.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to eat much of anything,” Philip groaned, helping himself to sausage and buttered toast. “I’m far too excited.”
“Nonsense.” Frederic choked down a single bite of fried egg. “You’ll wish you had eaten, even if the wedding breakfast follows the ceremony.”
He laid down his fork and took a cooling sip of fresh water. Everything was in order. All of Lady Caroline’s packages—a surprisingly reasonable amount—had arrived yesterday in the care of a tearful lady’s maid. He had directed them up to her room and tried assiduously to forget about them.
The wedding was set for nine-o-clock, and it had only just struck past eight. Frederic and Philip walked to the church and waited now to receive the dowager duchess, who planned to arrive in the carriage in state. Philip fidgeted with his cravat.
“Why aren’t you more disheveled?” He complained. “You’re the one who’s taking his vows today.”
Wedding guests began to arrive, filtering into the church like drops in a bucket. Frederic bowed, encouraging Philip to do the same.
“You need a formidable distraction. It’ll help to settle your nerves. Greet everyone at the door as they enter. You won’t have time to fret.”
One of the first guests was the Marquess of Wheybridge.
Philip looked nervously to Frederic, who bowed coolly and without comment.
The marquess returned the bow before leading a downcast Felicity into the church.
She glared at Frederic as she passed. He sighed with relief once they were both safely inside.
Frederic and Philip greeted lords and ladies, earls and countesses, two dukes, and seven marquesses before his mother arrived. He opened the door to the carriage.
“Is she here yet?” she asked. “Has Lady Caroline arrived?”
“Good morning to you, too, Mother,” he said, helping her down. “Lady Caroline has not yet made an appearance.”
Philip tapped him on the shoulder. Frederic turned. Lady Caroline had just alighted and was walking toward him. Her hands were bare, and her hair pulled back, revealing the stunning, happy beauty of her open face. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
Philip whispered in his ear, “is that a formidable distraction?”
Frederic closed his mouth and stepped forward, offering Lady Caroline his arm. She smiled, and it seemed like the dawn had risen fresh again. He cleared his throat.
“You—you look radiant,” he said. The words stuck like treacle in his mouth. “Shall we go in?”
The whispers in the church silenced at their approach as Frederic led Caroline up the aisle. Esther frowned but made no comment. Frederic tried not to stare at Caroline during the ceremony. If Mr. Kirkham, the clergyman, was to be any judge, then he failed miserably.
“Dearly beloved, we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”
Caroline smiled happily and squeezed his hand. A smile crept to the corner of his mouth before he remembered to stamp it out. This was a transaction—an act of business, not of passion. Philip beamed as Mr. Kirkham continued.
“The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity.”
Frederic took a step closer to her. It wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps, being married. Mr. Kirkham turned to Caroline.
“Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?
Caroline looked into Frederic’s eyes. They were so blue, like a crystal clear morning. Frederic indignantly realized he was holding his breath. She took his other hand in hers.
“I will.”
Relief flooded through him. He fought the tides like a man with one oar. Of course, she would say yes. Both of them came to this church and this altar to be wed, without any doubts—or at least, none that they had expressed.
He couldn’t go back—-could he, in fact, go forward? He looked deeper into Caroline’s eyes. Mr. Kirkham was asking him the same question to which he replied with the same answer, pleased to hear his voice steady and unwavering.
“I will.”
To his shock, when he thought the world ought to have stood still, it continued. Mr. Kirkham turned to the congregation.
“Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?”
Felicity clenched her jaw. His mother, Philip, and the rest of the congregation answered in chorus.
“We will.”
Once the ceremony had concluded, Frederic and Caroline proceeded Mr. Kirkham to the vestry.
Writing the wedding lines took but a moment.
Philip and Lady Olivia served as the two witnesses.
Lady Caroline signed her name with due flourish which the phlegmatic clerk noticed with pleasure.
He presented Caroline with her copy of the marriage documents with a benevolent smile.
The wedding breakfast was a whirlwind. Carlyle bustled with all the importance of the day carried in his bearing, serving petit fours as if he had been called to do that very task by an angel himself.
Esther’s ostrich feather flitted to and fro among the guests, greeting all in turn.
Lady Caroline smiled and spoke to everyone in a low, but measured, voice—even the less-enthused with equal harmony and welcome.
It was done. Frederic felt as if a weight had been taken from his shoulders. The damage he had caused was finally—and, he might flatter himself, happily—mended. He met his peers and acquaintances with a composed face and, if not settled, contented heart.
Finally, Esther clapped her hands.
“A dance, my friends! Let’s have a dance to honor the married couple! Your Grace,” she turned to Caroline, “what would your preference be?”
Caroline looked at him, searching his expression. He smiled down at her, enjoying the delicate lines of her face.
“A quadrille,” she said, finally. Frederic nodded his approbation. There were few things, in this moment, of which he did not approve.
Caroline was grateful they had practiced. The steps of the quadrille weren’t complicated, but she could pace them with her head held high. It felt surreal, dancing at her own wedding, like the secret song of her heart heard in concert.
She curtsied as the first few notes of the refrain began. Everyone’s eyes were on them. She stepped towards Frederic. As their hands met, her hand trembled. He took it tenderly in his.
“Are you nervous?” he whispered as she passed him. She blushed and shook her head. She was, of course, but nothing that would be out of the ordinary for a woman in her situation.
He waited until the dance brought them together again.
“Are you certain?” he coaxed. “I can pretend I’m holding a blanket for you, ready to jump.”
He pretended to hold the edge with his hands. She smiled.
“I’m only a little nervous,” she admitted. “This is the most—seen I’ve ever been, duchess or not.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. He put his hand around her waist as they passed each other. “You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”
She looked at him in surprise. He was being—kind. Not just polite or civilly asking after her interests—he honestly cared about her well-being and was reaching out to comfort her. She smiled at him shyly.
The rest of the set passed by in a blur, linking arms first with Frederic then with Philip.
Then, everyone was clapping pleasantly. Before moving on to greet other guests, he stepped forward and pressed her hand.
The warmth of his smile bathed her in sunshine.
The words tangled somewhere with the butterflies skipping around her stomach; before she knew it, he had passed into the crowd.
Several bright-faced ladies demanded her attention, and she turned to them with a smile.
Not once, during the wedding ceremony or activities, had he shown disdain for her or for the mutually helpful promise into which they both were entering. On the contrary, he seemed—almost glad, happy even. The thought cheered her heart.
Aunt Olivia met her somewhere near the piano in the drawing room.
“Ah, my dear.” She kissed her cheek. “We are so happy for you, darling. What a beautiful day!”
She sailed blissfully into the crowd where several of her former acquaintances, some of whom Caroline remembered from the ball, greeted her with welcoming faces. A blonde lady, glowering, approached her. Caroline’s smile faltered a little but held.
“Thank you for coming, Lady—?”
“Lady Felicity Flaunters,” she said. Her honey-blonde curls bounced as she curtsied. She smiled in the same oily way that Caroline had seen in frogs. “I dearly hope that we may be friends, now that you have married such a dear friend of mine.”
Caroline curtsied.
“I am grateful to meet any friend of my husband’s. How was it that you met? I am still learning so much of his connections and habits.”
“Our fathers did business together years ago. When his own father passed away suddenly, Frederic—I mean, Lord Blackmore—stepped in to manage the affairs of the estate.” Lady Felicity smiled until her eyes disappeared in folds. “We were thrown very much together as sometimes happens.”
“As it does.” Caroline caught Frederic’s eye across the room. He smiled at her then turned back to his conversation. “Thank you for your good wishes, Lady Felicity, but—”
“Oh, but my dear, I haven’t given any yet.”
Caroline stared at her. An uneasiness crept over her, the shadow of a cloud on an otherwise sunny day.
“Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness,” she curtsied, “for as long as they may last.”
Caroline looked after Felicity as she disappeared among the other wedding guests. Whatever could she have meant? Lady Felicity’s last words sat heavy on her heart, like a bird near the gallows. For as long as they may last. Esther stepped forward and kissed her cheek.
“Don’t let her affect you, dear,” she whispered in Caroline’s ear. “It’s not her day yet, but hopefully—” She looked meaningfully after the path Felicity had taken. “—it will be soon.”
Caroline’s smile eased a little more naturally. She squeezed her mother-in-law’s hand gratefully and moved to rejoin the party.
It was, it must be owned, an insufferably long time before Caroline could be alone with her thoughts, much less with her own person. Carlyle served so many trays of petit fours that Caroline’s own ankles ached in sympathy. Well-wishers and friends lingered well past noon.
As she waved off the last of the wedding party—Aunt Olivia and Winifred, who had at the last moment, decided to keep a woeful Aunt Olivia company in her absence—she thought back to the night of the disastrous, scandalous ball and shuddered.
It was done, then, the repair necessitated by the damage of that night. She turned to face the house. It glowered over the drive like a dog over a bone. She swallowed. This was her home now.