Chapter 17 #3
Theo moaned and touched her forehead with his. “I can’t.” It was as if the words had been tortured out of him—and then he was gone, a phantasm out of one of her books, and Emmeline remained there like a statue, frozen, lightly trembling, and waiting to crack.
“You look splendid, dear,” the duke said, as he awaited her in front of the small church in Redbridge. She’d wiped her tears, although some redness in her eyes remained; but that could be explained. A bride was supposed to be overwhelmed with emotion.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
He smiled. “In a short while, you may call me Father. I’m very grateful you’re marrying my son. I’ve been worried about mistakes I might have made, choosing this match.”
“It was you?” She’d always thought the duchess had arranged the marriage.
“My wife approved. But yes, it was me.”
She laid her hand on the crook of his elbow, and he patted it.
“It’s hard for parents to know sometimes if what they’re doing is the best for their children.
You think they should know, but I find it’s as easy to be confused in my old age as it was in my youth.
” He blinked. “But, never you worry. Don’t let an old man’s ramblings ruin your day. ”
He led her into the church.
Daniel had gotten his small affair; there were a few friends and acquaintances and family members, but it was nowhere near glamorous.
The scent of roses gathered in bouquets around the nave followed her as she passed pews and people like they were ghosts, illusions.
Daniel awaited at the end of her strange, dreamlike trail.
His hair was perfectly styled, not a lock out of place, and he wore a crisp black coat with a silver-striped waistcoat, matching the silver lace bordering her dress.
He turned to her when she stopped before him, and for a second, before he smiled at her, his face held a strange sadness—one that, perhaps, she’d find easier to understand if she weren’t so busy keeping up her own spirits.
She’d made her choice. Maria may not have wanted this, but Emmeline did. She’d decided she did.
“Dearly beloved …” the priest began.
Emmeline’s eyes passed over the guests, pushing his speech into the background.
Louisa was clutching her hands, bouncing on her feet, as if she couldn’t wait to come and hug her.
The duchess sat dignified, doing her best to ignore Louisa’s behavior.
Two benches behind them sat Mr. Wexley, and as their eyes met, he gave her that half-mysterious, half-amused smile.
“Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined …”
Emmeline’s gaze traveled further still and stopped at the far wall. Theo. He stood next to a couple of villagers, and her knees nearly buckled.
“If any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or forever hold his peace.” The priest paused.
Emmeline’s eyes locked with Theo’s as if held together by a chain. Perhaps that was why he came: to stop the wedding in the most dramatic fashion possible. It would be like Eleanor’s wedding in The Lord of Two Hearts—and Theo had read the book!
But he stayed quiet, and her heart sank.
So he felt nothing for her. Perhaps it served her right. What did she know of her own feelings? What did she know of the world? Of love?
We love you. We want you to be happy, her father’s voice echoed in her mind.
In the end, her parents were right. She didn’t know better. She didn’t know how to make good choices. But she’d wanted to make a choice, at least.
And now her only choice was the one that didn’t leave a scandal in its wake.
She opened her mouth to object to the priest, but he’d already moved on with the vows. She gripped her bouquet tighter, even as her legs trembled and her feet itched. Daniel was a good man, but he wasn’t hers. Maria hadn’t wanted him, but Emmeline didn’t deserve him.
She clenched her teeth to prevent tears unleashing from her eyes. She needed to get out of here. If she claimed nervousness, a bridal emergency, they could perhaps avoid the biggest scandal.
“… in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”
A fleeting shadow passed Daniel’s eyes. “I will.”
The priest repeated the vows to Emmeline and waited for her response.
“I …”
The door to the church slammed open as if a hurricane raged outside. The morning light outlined a figure of a man in a top hat as he marched down the aisle. “Stop! Stop the ceremony!”
Guests gasped and whispered, a wave of shock spreading down the pews toward Emmeline as if the man himself was leading it.
“Sir, the time for objections—” the priest started.
“I don’t care.” The man came closer, revealing a furious face with dark, bushy sideburns. He was around fifty or so, well-dressed underneath his traveling coat—and completely unfamiliar. He stopped a few feet away from Emmeline and Daniel.
“This man and woman cannot marry,” he said, “because this woman is not my daughter. She is not Maria Grey.” His eyes, burning in anger, met Emmeline’s. “She’s an impostor.”