Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cassian stood near the altar of the small chapel his soon-to-be father-in-law had arranged for the ceremony, his shoulders drawn, his expression unreadable. He had wanted a smaller wedding, but he knew that his grandmother and Isabella’s stepmother would not have allowed it.
The moment Isabella entered, walking slowly down the aisle with her father at her side, he forgot, for the briefest instant, how to breathe.
I love you, Lady Isabella…
His words from a week ago flashed across his mind until even he began to question if they had been a lie.
She looked like a vision conjured from a place he had never deserved to enter.
Her gown was a waterfall of ivory satin, the neckline modest yet exquisitely cut to frame the long curve of her neck.
Her dark hair was swept back, adorned with small pearls and a pale veil, her cheeks carrying a soft, natural flush that made her appear almost ethereal.
She moved with grace, touched by nerves, but her warm, steady gaze held something that twisted inside him with surprising force.
She reached him, and her father placed her hand into his with a solemn expression, lingering a moment longer than necessary before stepping away.
Cassian felt her fingers tremble, felt something within his chest jolt at the fragile trust pressed into his palm, and just like that, the ceremony went by like a dream.
The vicar stepped forward in his white robes, welcoming everyone to the ceremony as he raised his hand in the air.
His snow-white hair made him look paler than he possibly was as he pushed his half-moon spectacles up his stubby nose.
He had a stout build that almost made him appear square, and Cassian could not help but focus on that.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. Marriage is an institution that is not to be entered into under pretenses or by force. It is to be taken lightly, not should it be treated in a manner that is less than fitting for what it means.” The man’s surprisingly deep voice boomed over the heads of the congregants in the tiny chapel.
Cassian’s hand twitched at his side.
I intend to care for her. That is not false.
He sucked in a silent breath as the vicar continued.
“If anyone present knows of any lawful impediment as to why these two individuals should not be joined together, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.”
The congregation behind them fell silent as not so much as a breath could be heard.
Seemingly pleased with the lack of response, the vicar lowered his arms before reaching into his robes and retrieving a small black book. “We shall now proceed to the exchange of vows.” He paused to clear his throat before turning to Cassian first.
A rush of emotions filtered through Cassian’s chest as he waited with cool reserve.
“Wilt thou, Cassian Brentwood, Duke of Everthorne, have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thy only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?
” The vicar raised his eyebrows in a most serious manner as he waited.
Will I love her?
The question flashed across his mind, bringing the seriousness of the matter to the front of his mind. And then, without thinking, he knew the answer.
I will never allow anything to happen to her.
“I will,” he said boldly, believing it to his core.
The vicar nodded as a small susurration of approval spread through the congregants.
“And wilt thou, Isabella Hunton, have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?
Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thy only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?
” His voice hitched a little as he finished.
Cassian waited with bated breath, wondering what she was thinking, until, in a soft voice, she whispered. “I will.”
Relief flooded his body like a pleasant surprise. Cassian was not certain why, but he did not know what he would have done if she had changed her mind.
More nods came from the vicar before he turned a page in his book. “We shall now proceed to the vows.” He started instantly, addressing Cassian first again. “Turn to your bride and take her hands in yours.”
Doing as he was told, Cassian faced Isabella and waited for the vicar to proceed before continuing.
“Repeat after me, Your Grace. I, Cassian Brentwood, Duke of Everthorne, take thee Isabella Hunton, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth. ” The vicar finished.
Cassian repeated the words, holding her gaze while feeling the slight tremble in her fingers. His pulse slowed as he noted the look of concern in her eyes.
I will have to reassure her of my devotion, if not my love.
Her vows were next as Cassian paid close attention to the way her mouth formed every word with a slight quiver.
“I, Isabella Hunton, take thee, Cassian Brentwood, Duke of Everthorne, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth. ”
It almost did not seem real to Cassian as the vicar proceeded to the exchange of rings. The past week had taken forever, yet this simple ceremony had passed as if in the blink of an eye.
Was it possible that something so Holy and important could be sealed in such a short frame of time?
And then, Lady Isabella Hunton became his wife.
The wedding breakfast at Ironstone townhouse was a mixture of faces and voices, none of which Cassian seemed fully aware of. He barely ate, barely spoke, and barely managed more than a curt nod or stiff half-smile as guests came forward to offer their congratulations.
Even his father-in-law’s expression remained wary of him when they exchanged words earlier. He had taken Cassian’s hand with the grim reserve of a father who was both proud but unconvinced.
At least, Henry had softened the atmosphere when he approached with his warning.
“I suppose if you hurt her, I shall have to challenge you, Your Grace.” The young man had approached him with wisdom beyond his years.
Cassian had blinked, surprised, before replying with a ghost of a nod.
“I shall endeavor to avoid inciting such a duel.”
The boy brightened, despite clearly meaning every word. But the strangest, perhaps the most endearing, interaction came from little Ellie, who marched right up to Cassian, her curls bouncing with her determination.
“You look mean,” she announced matter-of-factly.
Cassian stiffened. “Yes, I have been told this in the past.”
“But you aren’t,” she continued. “Not really. Only on the outside.” Then, with a small, shy smile, “Thank you for helping me.”
He blinked, twice this time, then bowed to her with a solemnity that made a few guests laugh softly.
He found himself glancing toward Isabella at that moment. She stood surrounded by a small cluster of women, smiling politely, her eyes flicking to him briefly. He did not know what she saw on his face, but something in her expression softened.
Tristan appeared soon after and kissed her cheek, offering warm congratulations before leaning in and murmuring something only she could hear. Watching from a distance, Cassian felt something unpleasant twist inside him.
Irritation, perhaps. Or something darker.
Why did he insist on vexing Cassian in such a manner?
Finally, his grandmother swept toward them with her usual mixture of elegance and enthusiasm.
“My darling child,” she exclaimed, embracing Isabella warmly. “You look exquisite. A duchess already.”
Cassian stepped closer. “Grandmother, why are you offering farewells as though you won’t be joining us at the Manor?”
Lady Kendrick lifted her chin with a mischievous smile. “My dear, I would hardly impose on a pair of newlyweds. I shall return home to our country lodgings. I expect you both after the honeymoon, preferably looking very married and happy.”
Isabella, mortified, turned as red as a beet while Cassian nearly choked.
Lady Kendrick patted his cheek as though he were still twelve and then sauntered away.
When the time finally came for their departure, Isabella scarcely knew how she reached the waiting carriage. Her family kissed her goodbye, and then she found herself stepping inside the carriage beside the man who was now her husband.
The door closed, and as the coach lurched forward, silence settled between them, not tense or heavy but an unfamiliar weight of expectation that neither seemed prepared to carry.
Isabella folded her hands in her lap, her heart beating unevenly. She risked a glance at him.
He stared out the window, jaw working, eyes not meeting hers, and her throat tightened.
“Are you regretting this already?” she asked softly.
Cassian’s head snapped toward her, surprise flickering in his eyes, then something else, something that hurt more to look at.
“I do admit that had circumstances been different,” he said slowly, voice controlled, “this would not have happened.”
The words cut deeper than he perhaps intended, and Isabella swallowed around the sudden ache in her chest.
“You certainly know how to woo your bride, Your Grace,” she replied tightly, and his eyes darkened, not with anger but something sharper. He reached out, grasping her chin gently but firmly, turning her face toward him.
“That,” he said with low warning, “is no way to speak to your husband.”
The word husband settled between them like a spark dropped onto dry tinder.
Her breath caught. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered there, then lifted to her eyes again.
“I am a complicated man,” he murmured, releasing her only to sweep his thumb once over her lower lip, barely touching it. “Much too complicated for you, I fear.”
“You underestimate me, Your Grace.” Her pulse fluttered wildly.
A slow, dangerous smile formed at one corner of his mouth. “Do I?”
“I believe you do.” She held his gaze.
He exhaled, a breath that trembled slightly.
“I will do my best to take care of you,” he said quietly, sincerity edging every word, “even if I do not always know the right way to do so.”
She blinked, surprised by the rough honesty in his tone.
“And I will do my best to understand you.” She countered softly.
He leaned closer, the carriage suddenly feeling much too small.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, “I ought to start by taking care of that sharp tongue of yours.”
Her pulse tripped. “How do you intend to do that?” she whispered.
His eyes darkened fully as he leaned in. “Like this.”
His mouth claimed hers. It was not the chaste, polite kiss. It was fierce, consuming, a kiss that made her gasp softly against his lips. His hand slid to the back of her neck, drawing her in, deepening the kiss until she felt as though her entire body leaned helplessly toward him.
Her fingers found his waistcoat, curling into the fabric as his other hand settled on her hip, pulling her closer across the carriage seat. Heat surged through her, dizzying, intoxicating. Her breath came in soft, uneven rushes.
She felt his tongue brush her lower lip and nearly lost all sense of herself.
Cassian pulled back, not far, just enough to breathe against her mouth.
“Isabella…” he whispered, voice hoarse. “We cannot.”
She blinked, breathless.
“Why not? We are husband and wife.”
“Because,” he said, eyes flicking to the narrow space between them, “I will not claim my wife for the first time in a carriage.”
The blush that rushed to her cheeks was so fierce, she felt it in her ears. Dangerous images flashed across her mind unbidden: his mouth on her skin, his hands, the things he had done to her that night beneath the terrace shadows, and then later in the hall.
Her breath shuddered.
He smiled slightly, as though he could read every thought on her face.
“You see?” he murmured. “You tempt me far too easily.”
She looked down, flustered beyond reason, wondering how a man could unravel her so swiftly, so effortlessly, even now, when he barely touched her at all.
He brushed a knuckle along her cheek.
“Soon,” he whispered, and her pulse answered for her.
Isabella scarcely had time to gather her breath before the carriage slowed beneath them, the wheels crunching over the gravel drive of Everthorne Manor.
The looming silhouette of the estate appeared through the window.
It felt almost unreal that this house, this formidable estate with its stone facade and tall windows, was now her home.
The footman opened the door, and Cassian stepped out first. For a moment, he stood there quietly before turning to offer her his hand. His palm enveloped hers, warm and steady, and the simple touch sent a ripple of awareness through her.
“Welcome to Everthorne Manor, Duchess,” he said, his tone formal but low, almost roughened by something she refused to name.
Her heart fluttered.
He helped her descend with care, keeping her close as though the day itself might attempt to steal her away. The cold brushed her cheeks, but Cassian’s nearness ignited something warmer, something that spread through her far too quickly.
The front door swung open, revealing the staff lined up in two rows, bowing as Cassian guided her forward.
“This is your Duchess,” Cassian said, his voice commanding as always. “See to her with utmost care.”
Isabella flushed, a little overwhelmed by the sudden respect and attention. Before she could speak, Cassian stepped back.
“I have matters to attend to,” he said, already turning away. “You will be shown to your chambers.”
She watched him disappear down a corridor, his shoulders tight, his pace brisk, as though distance was the only shield he possessed. Isabella exhaled slowly.
Marriage, she thought, was going to be a far more complicated endeavor than she had prepared for.