Chapter 1 #2
“Then expand the search,” Rowan cut in, his voice too even, containing himself in a cold, tight grip. “Every road. Every path. Every godforsaken stretch of land within riding distance. I do not care how far you must go. Find her.”
The footman nodded at once, his face draining of color. “Yes, Your Grace. At once.”
“And do not return without something of use,” Rowan added, his gaze still fixed on him.
The man dipped into a hurried bow and fled.
Rowan exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening as he turned away again, resuming his pacing to give his body something to do that wasn’t punching the walls.
This was not like Juliet. She was impulsive, yes, softer than she ought to be, far too willing to indulge her own feelings, but she was not foolish. She knew what this marriage meant.
“Perhaps she has simply lost her way,” a man’s voice came from the side.
Rowan turned and saw his friend Frederick leaning against one of the stone pillars, his posture far too relaxed for Rowan’s liking.
“You know how brides are. A touch of drama never harmed anyone,” Frederick added.
Rowan did not slow to look at him. “She is not lost.”
Frederick pushed off the pillar, stepping into his path with a faint smile. “Then she is hiding. Which, I admit, is marginally worse.”
“If she were hiding,” Rowan stopped in front of him, his voice dropping, “we would have found her.”
Frederick held his gaze for a moment, the humor in his expression dimming slightly as he took in the truth of that.
“Very well,” he said after a beat, straightening. “Then I shall go and see if I can find her before you frighten the rest of your staff.”
Rowan nodded once. “Take two men with you.”
Frederick smirked faintly. “I should like to think I can handle your sister without assistance.”
“You will take two men,” Rowan repeated.
Frederick lifted his hands in mock surrender. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
He turned and headed for the doors without further argument, his easy stride carrying him out into the morning light. Rowan watched him go for a moment before turning back toward the chapel.
He had just stepped forward when the door to the main hall opened again.
“Your Grace.”
It was Lord Wellfield, his sister’s groom. Rowan noted at once the tension in the groom’s shoulders, the way his gaze flicked briefly toward the chapel.
“Wellfield,” Rowan said.
The man inclined his head slightly, his voice carefully measured. “I do not mean to rush matters, of course. I understand that it is customary for the bride to… delay. A little.” He hesitated, his fingers tightening at his sides. “But the guests are growing… restless.”
Rowan held his gaze. “She will arrive,” he said evenly. “Shortly.”
Wellfield nodded, though the motion was not entirely convincing. “Of course.”
Before Rowan could say more, a smaller voice cut through the space. “F-Father!”
Rowan stiffened at the sudden sound, his shoulders tightening, before he turned and saw the small figure rushing toward him. Aaron’s dark hair was slightly disheveled, his breathing a little too fast as he came to a halt.
“Have—have y-you f-found Aunt J-Juliet?” he asked, his words catching over themselves.
Rowan exhaled slowly, forcing the irritation down before it could take hold. “We are still looking.”
Aaron’s face shifted, his brows drawing together.
“I c-can help,” he said suddenly, looking up at Rowan with a spark of determination that did not belong on a child’s face. “I am v-very g-good at f-finding things. I f-found Mrs. C-Carter’s c-cat l-last m-month!”
Rowan closed his eyes for the briefest moment. This was not the time for Aaron, not when everything was already slipping beyond his control. Yet the boy’s earnestness pressed at something in his chest, a quiet sense that he was failing him even now. He pushed it aside.
There are more urgent matters at hand.
“Your assistance will not be necessary,” he said.
“Well—well, I c-could at l-least—” Aaron began, then paused, his expression brightening as though he had found a better solution. “I c-could k-keep the c-cake s-safe.”
Rowan looked at him, brow furrowing. “There is no cake here.”
Aaron frowned. “B-but th-there w-will be c-cake, r-right?”
“After the ceremony,” Rowan said. “At the house.”
The boy’s disappointment was immediate, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Oh.”
He shifted his weight, then looked up again. “H-how l-long w-will sh-she t-take?”
Rowan’s patience thinned. He turned his head slightly to the boy’s governess, standing a short distance away.
“Miss Harrow,” he said to her, “take him inside.”
Aaron hesitated, his gaze flicking between Rowan and the chapel, as though reluctant to leave.
“Go on,” Rowan said, more firmly this time.
The boy nodded, though he looked back once as Miss Harrow guided him toward the doors, his small hand curling into hers.
Rowan watched them disappear inside, and the unwelcome sense of having done wrong settled beneath his ribs. The boy had looked back at him, and he had still sent him away. He forced it down again, before it could take hold.
“Well,” he said, turning back to Wellfield, “as I mentioned—brides.”
Wellfield gave a strained smile.
Rowan gestured toward the chapel. “Shall we?”
The man nodded, though his lips remained tight as he stepped inside.
Rowan did not follow. Instead, he turned back toward the entrance, his gaze sweeping the road beyond the chapel doors.
Still empty.
Something was wrong. Juliet would not simply… fail to appear without reason. His jaw tightened.
And then—
The sound of wheels.
“Thank you for taking the quieter road,” Emmeline said, her voice soft as she leaned slightly toward the open window, the breeze brushing cool against her cheek beneath the veil.
The fine lace fell low over her face, softening the world beyond the carriage into pale shapes and shifting shadows.
She had lowered it before leaving the house, partly because a bride was expected to do so, and partly because she had wanted one last thin barrier between herself and the life waiting at the chapel.
The driver glanced back just enough for her to catch the edge of his smile. “Aye, my lady. Thought you might prefer a moment’s peace before… well.” He gestured vaguely ahead. “A lady’s wedding day is no small thing.”
No, it was not.
Emmeline settled back against the seat, her fingers smoothing over the fabric of her gown without thought, feeling the smooth silk beneath her touch. The quiet of the road wrapped around her, the steady rhythm of the carriage wheels almost soothing.
For a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist within it.
This was the last moment that would belong entirely to her.
“Stop!”
The command came sharply from ahead. The carriage jolted to a halt, the sudden stillness pulling Emmeline forward slightly before she caught herself.
Three well-dressed men stood in the road.
Her driver shifted uneasily. “My lady, I do not—”
One of the men stepped forward, already reaching for the carriage door, his movements brisk, leaving no room for question.
The door opened. He looked inside and then, visibly, he exhaled in relief.
“Thank God,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the others. “We’ve found her.”
Emmeline straightened, her confusion tightening into something sharper. “I beg your pardon—”
“The Duke is waiting, my lady,” the man said quickly, cutting her off. “We must go at once.”
Of course.
A flicker of understanding settled, and with it, a faint, unwelcome awareness that her delay—however small—had been noticed.
“I see,” she said, her voice steady despite the scrutiny curling at the edges of her thoughts. “Very well.”
Her driver hesitated. “My lady, I do not recognize these men—”
“They are from the Duke,” Emmeline said gently, though she did not look at him, her gaze still fixed on the man before her. “It is quite all right.”
“It is,” the man added quickly. “His Grace was most particular that you arrive safely.”
The word should have reassured her, but it only made her feel too exposed.
Emmeline inclined her head slightly. “We shall follow.”
The man stepped back at once, signaling to the others, and within moments, the carriage was moving again, guided by their direction.
She sat very still, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her thoughts drifting toward the man she would soon call husband. She could not summon his face with any real clarity, only the distant idea of him.
Less than an hour later, the carriage slowed, then stopped.
Emmeline drew in a breath and reached for the door before the driver could open it, stepping down carefully, the gravel shifting beneath her slippers as she lifted her skirts slightly—
“Where the hell have you been?” The voice struck her before she could fully steady herself. It was low and irritated, nothing like what she had expected.
Emmeline looked up, and everything in her stilled.
The man before her was…striking.
He stood tall, broader than any man she had seen before, his presence filling the space with a force that made something tighten low in her stomach. His dark hair was slightly disordered, his gray eyes fixed on her with an intensity that felt almost physical.
She simply looked at him, at a loss for words.
Her pulse quickened as her gaze moved over him before she could stop it, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the rough edge of his beard, the way his coat strained slightly across his shoulders.
Her gaze shifted past him.
This wasn’t the chapel she had been meant to arrive at. This was not her wedding.
And the man before her was not the one she was meant to marry.