CHAPTER 18
"If you attempt to see her before the ceremony, I will personally ensure you walk down that aisle with a pronounced limp, and given that the entire county has already wagered on whether you'll actually go through with this matrimony or bolt like the emotionally stunted thoroughbred you are, I'd prefer not to give them additional ammunition for gossip. "
Edmund stood guard outside Clara's door like a particularly well-dressed sentry, arms crossed, expression suggesting he'd been dealing with Gabriel's attempts at tradition-breaking since dawn, which was accurate since Gabriel had indeed been trying to see his bride since approximately four in the morning when anxiety had driven him from his bed.
"I just want to make sure she hasn't changed her mind," Gabriel protested, pacing the hallway like a caged panther who'd been forced into morning dress.
"It's been an entire night. She's had hours to reconsider the insanity of entering matrimony with someone who talks to roses and once tried to cancel Tuesday. "
"She's had three weeks to reconsider, during which you've been loud, difficult, occasionally impossible, and yet she's still putting on the wedding dress as we speak, so perhaps you could display a modicum of faith in the woman who's already demonstrated superhuman tolerance for your particular brand of dramatics. "
"What if she's putting on the wedding dress to make her escape more theatrical? Clara has a tendency toward grand gestures when cornered."
"She's not escaping, Gabriel. Mary confirmed she's been ready since seven, on the hour, which is more than I can say for you given that your cravat looks like you tied it during an earthquake."
Gabriel's hand went to his neck. "It's fine."
"It's a disaster that perfectly represents your mental state, which is to say barely holding together through sheer force of will and likely to unravel at the slightest provocation."
"Your support is overwhelming."
"My support is the only reason you're not currently breaking down Clara's door like some unhinged hero who's forgotten that the wedding is in an hour and he should probably be at the church rather than terrorizing his bride."
"An hour," Gabriel repeated, the words carrying the weight of both eternity and instant. "In an hour, she'll be my wife."
"Assuming you don't do something spectacularly self-destructive in the next sixty minutes, yes."
"Why would I do something self-destructive?"
"Because you're you, and happiness makes you suspicious, and you've been looking for ways this could go wrong since the moment she said yes in the garden."
Gabriel stopped pacing to stare at his friend. "That's disturbingly perceptive."
"I've known you for fifteen years. I've watched you sabotage every good thing that's ever happened to you except your military service, and you only didn't sabotage that because there was a war on and self-destruction would have been unpatriotic."
"I didn't sabotage Clara."
“She knows you better than anyone else.”
Before Gabriel could formulate a response, Mrs. Potter appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing what appeared to be her best dress and an expression of barely suppressed emotion.
"Your Grace, you need to leave for the church now or you'll be late, and given that half the county is already taking bets on whether this wedding will actually occur, arriving after the bride would be poor form."
"How do you know about the betting?"
"Because I have five pounds on you arriving early and pacing the altar like a man awaiting execution, which you're currently making me lose, so please, for the sake of my gambling reputation, make haste to the chapel.”
"You bet on my wedding behavior?"
"Everyone's bet on your wedding behavior. Cook has money on you crying during the vows, Peter thinks you'll forget Clara's name from nerves, and Mary's convinced you'll kiss her before the vicar gives permission."
"That's... actually all quite possible."
"Which is why the odds are so interesting. Now go, before I have to explain to your bride why her groom was late to his own wedding because he was having an existential crisis in the hallway."
Gabriel took one last look at Clara's door, then allowed Edmund to steer him toward the stairs. "What if…"
"No what-ifs," Edmund said firmly. "You've had three weeks of what-ifs. Today is about actually entering into matrimony with the woman you love without overthinking it into disaster."
"I don't overthink."
"You once spent three hours analyzing whether Clara meant 'good morning' as a greeting or a observation about the weather."
They reached the entrance where the carriage waited, decorated with white ribbons that someone, probably Mary had added despite Gabriel's insistence that they weren't "decoration people."
"I'm to be wedded. Gabriel said, the reality hitting him anew.
"Yes, we've established that. Get in the carriage before you have another revelation and we miss the ceremony entirely."
"Edmund, what if I'm terrible at being a husband?"
"You'll be terrible at it in new and interesting ways that Clara will find alternately charming and infuriating, just like everything else about you."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's not meant to be reassuring. It's meant to be honest. You're difficult, dramatic, and occasionally impossible, but Clara knows that and loves you anyway, which makes her either a saint or slightly mad herself."
"Probably the latter."
"Definitely the latter, but it's a compatible madness, which is the best anyone can hope for in marriage."
The ride to the church was both eternal and instant. Gabriel found himself cataloguing every detail, the way the morning sun caught on frost, the fact that someone had cleared the road of debris, the small clusters of villagers already heading toward the church dressed in their finest.
"They're all coming to bear witness,” Gabriel observed.
"Of course they are. The mysterious scarred duke taking his housekeeper as his wife after a courtship that included public proposals, family confrontations, and enough scandal to fuel gossip for the next decade?”
"I hate being a spectacle."
The church came into view, and Gabriel's stomach performed an elaborate acrobatic routine that would have been impressive if it weren't so nauseating.
They pulled up to the church, and Gabriel could see it was already fuller than he'd expected. Not just the villagers but neighboring gentry, some London faces he recognised, and…
"Is that Miss Ashworth?" Gabriel asked, spotting the young woman near the entrance.
"Penelope had insisted on attending. She said watching true love triumph over family machination was better than any novel."
"And her parents?"
"Conveniently elsewhere. I believe Edmund arranged for them to receive urgent news about an investment opportunity in Scotland that required immediate attention."
"You bribed them to leave?"
"I provided alternative incentives for their absence. There's a difference."
Gabriel climbed from the carriage, trying not to notice how many eyes were upon him. The crowd parted as he walked toward the church, whispers following in his wake:
"Look at his scar…" "Still handsome though…" "Can't believe he's marrying the housekeeper…" "Heard she's an heiress now…" "Heard other things about their courtship…"
Edmund's hand on his elbow steered him through the church doors before he could respond to any of the gossip, which was probably for the best since his responses would have ranged from sarcastic to violent.
The church interior was transformed. Someone, probably Mrs. Potter and Mary had decorated with winter roses and holly, creating something both elegant and wild, much like Clara herself. The pews were full of faces both friendly and curious, all turned toward him as he walked to the altar.
The vicar, Mr. Thornbury, stood waiting with an expression that suggested he'd been thoroughly briefed on the possibility of drama and was prepared to perform the ceremony at speed if necessary.
"Your Grace," he said quietly as Gabriel took his position. "Any concerns I should be aware of?"
"Beyond my general unsuitability for matrimony and tendency toward dramatic declarations at inappropriate moments?"
"I was thinking more of potential interruptions from disapproving relatives."
"Lady Agatha won't show. She's too proud to witness what she considers my downfall."
"And Lord Pemberton?"
"Has been thoroughly handled by Edmund, who apparently has enough blackmail material to keep him cowering in his estate for the foreseeable future."
"Excellent. Then we should have a straightforward ceremony."
Gabriel laughed, slightly hysterical. "Nothing about Clara and me has ever been straightforward."
"No, but that's what makes it interesting."
Edmund took his position as best man, and Gabriel tried to calm his racing heart. The church was warm, almost stifling with all the bodies packed in, and he could hear the whispers building like a wave:
"When's the bride arriving?" "Think she'll actually go through with it?" "Five pounds says someone objects…" "Ten says the duke faints…"
"I can hear you all," Gabriel said loudly, not turning around. "And for the record, I don't faint. I strategically lose consciousness when overwhelmed by emotion."
Nervous laughter rippled through the church, and Edmund muttered, "Could you try not to antagonize the audience before your bride arrives?"
"They're placing bets on our wedding. They're already antagonized."
"They're invested. There's a difference."
Before Gabriel could argue about yet another thing that was or wasn't mutually exclusive, the church doors opened, and the entire congregation turned as one.
For a moment, there was absolute silence.
Then Clara appeared, and Gabriel forgot how to breathe.