Chapter 10
Charlotte
“On behalf of God and his church, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
There’s a collective sigh as Arthur leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips.
His hand squeezes mine, a silent show of support, before the organ starts up again.
I inhale sharply at the sound, and Arthur chuckles, the light in his eyes making me feel as if we’re the only two people standing within the expansive church.
The resonant music encourages us down the aisle, and I’m fortunate Arthur is there to lend a hand, as my head is feeling light.
We pass our gathered family and acquaintances seated in the pews.
I don’t look directly at them, knowing my mother would chastise me for forgetting etiquette, but I have no doubt there are many glassy eyes watching us.
I wonder, briefly, if I should feel poorly for not crying myself. It is, after all, one of the happiest moments of my life, truly .
But a single glance at Arthur and those still-teasing eyes sets me at immediate ease. My husband does not judge me for my lack of tears. He understands me more than I could have ever known to hope for.
My husband.
Arthur gives the hand I have resting on his forearm a squeeze, as if sensing I may be in need of it. I smile at him softly before refocusing on the exit in front of us, not wanting to trip in my heels so close to escape. I might never get up again, considering the heft of my skirts.
We’re collected outside of the church, a buggy waiting to take us to a home I won’t return to again after today, not unless I’m a guest. Arthur helps me to board the buggy, and then he follows, both of us seated on the plush bench facing forward.
With a whip of the reins, our coachman sets us into motion.
“How do you fare, my love?” Arthur’s voice is quiet but carries over the clomp of hooves.
“I can’t breathe,” I tell him truthfully.
He lets out a gentle laugh, his hand clasping mine tight. “I’ll see if I can help with that once we’re inside.”
“Will you really?”
Those clever brown eyes smile at me in that way I’m so used to. “Really, truly. No wife of mine shall be forced to lose her breath for the enjoyment of others.”
My throat feels tight, and I bring my hand to our joined ones, squeezing Arthur with both. It’s not the easiest position to manage considering the bulk of my dress, but Arthur looks pleased at the gesture. And like he very much would like to kiss me again.
Arthur keeps his voice low, mindful of our company, even as his thumb strokes over my gloved palm. “You look lovely, my dear Charlotte. I’ve never in my life been graced by a more beautiful sight.”
“I look like a powder puff.”
Arthur laughs, a loud boom that causes the coachman to clear his throat. My husband quiets quickly, but my lips twitch as his shoulders continue to shake.
He leans close to whisper at my ear. “The loveliest powder puff.”
I hold my tongue, knowing the extravagance of my wedding gown is a luxury I should be grateful for.
Not only is it bleached starkly white, a fortune in and of itself, but the fabric is hand-stitched with light blue flowers along the hemlines and veil.
Even my pristine white gloves have a blue flower each near my elbows.
No expense was spared, and I’m honored by that.
But it doesn’t change the fact that all I want is to get out of this corset and to throw the stiff crinoline under my skirts into the river so that I never have to wear the uncomfortable garment again.
A woman—especially a bride—is supposed to want to look beautiful. Delicate and proper.
All I want is to breathe.
Arthur holds my hand all the way to my parents’ manor.
We’re the first to arrive, of course, everyone else following us from the church.
The butler opens the door before we’ve even departed the buggy, his arm held behind his back, the epitome of poise.
Arthur assists me to the ground, and I wobble on my heel before righting myself and walking with him to the door.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Kane,” the butler says, bowing low.
My heart stutters. Kane . No longer Valentine .
“How do you do, Clarence.” Arthur’s greeting is casual. He’s never been one to stick to formalities, not even those expected from one of his station.
“More than fine, sir,” Clarence answers, waving us inside. “Please. The drawing room is ready for you.”
Arthur thanks the butler as we pass, his arm held aloft as a guide.
Instead of leading me into the drawing room, Arthur walks down the hall into the downstairs bath not generally used by guests of the house.
He closes the door, the two of us barely fitting inside, my skirts pressed to both the wall and the small sink.
“Arthur?”
“Turn around. We don’t have much time before our reception guests are to arrive.”
With a skip in my chest, I spin, wondering if it’s possible to fall more in love with this man with every passing day.
I knew early in our courtship that Arthur was special.
That I could have a marriage based on what my heart desired, the kind you only hear about in romantic tales.
It’s rare to find that, I know. I’m lucky Arthur met my father when he did.
And yet, no matter how many hours we share, no matter how many days, my affection for Arthur Kane only seems to flourish more wildly. Will that ever come to an end? I can’t bear to think of a time where I might not love him so.
Arthur’s fingers slide lightly over my shoulder blades before he begins unbuttoning the top of my gown. It takes time, but his movements are deft and practiced. It’s certainly not the first occasion in which he’s undressed me, not that my parents are aware of such.
Once through the fabric of my dress, he tackles my corset. At the first loosen of the laces holding it tight, I draw in a breath, my lungs stinging in both relief and aching pain .
“Better?”
“So much,” I say, sucking in gentle breaths as Arthur reties the laces, ensuring my corset is looser than before. He begins the arduous task of relooping the small fabric hooks over the delicate buttons on my bodice next, not once complaining. If anything, he seems happy simply because I am.
He tugs me back around once done, eyes roaming over me from top to bottom. “If we had time for it, my love, I would gladly climb under your skirts.”
“Arthur,” I admonish, even as my cheeks heat. “Please don’t make me feel so when I must stand in front of everyone we’ve ever known and pretend as if my newlywed husband doesn’t already know precisely what’s under my skirts.”
His eyes dance, his handsome face the picture of devotion and joy. Plus no small amount of mischief.
I would capture it for all of eternity if I could.
Arthur’s voice is gentle as he opens the door, his hand holding mine. “Come, my dear. Let us receive our guests so that we may be alone once more.”
I surely won’t argue against that.
Arthur and I find a place to stand in the drawing room, and for the next many hours, we accept well wishes, congratulations on our union being given to Arthur only.
To speak the words to me would be considered rude, as a bride is meant to be a prize.
My mother looks proud to have a daughter married into such a respected, highborn family, whereas my father wears a small smile I suspect is equal parts pride for having found me such a good match and happiness at knowing my marriage is one I so heartily approve of.
It will be strange not to come back to this house except to visit.
My home will be with Arthur now. I will live in his manor with his staff and a bed we call our own.
I’ve never had that: the chance to simply sleep by this man’s side.
To love him openly, instead of under the watchful eye of others.
There will be no more sneaking around simply because we couldn’t wait to see one another again.
No more trysts in the most uncomfortable of locations.
This man is tied to me. For the rest of our lives. He is my husband, and I… I am his wife.
Arthur catches my eye, a tiny smile on his face as he mouths, “Breathe.”
The reminder is welcome. I pull in a breath as Arthur’s hand discreetly smooths down my spine. It’s a quick and subtle caress, but my tension abates nonetheless, and I return my focus to talk of the university where both Arthur and my father teach.
After breakfast is served, of which I barely eat any courtesy of my corset not allowing for such, my mother collects me from Arthur’s side under the guise of helping me to freshen up before we’re to travel.
She leads me to the bath upstairs, which has a large, standing tub, and then closes the door.
I’ve barely sat on the toilet, my mother helping to hold my skirts out of the way, when she says, “Are you aware of what’s expected of you tonight, Charlotte?”
My pulse skitters before I force a calming breath through my body. “Yes, Mother.”
“You’re to be at the disposal of your husband. Whenever he pleases. It is not your place to express disapproval at any time. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say quietly.
“We have our duties,” she continues, dropping my skirts as I stand. “It’s best to remember that. Your husband will not appreciate your…flights of fancy. You’re a wed woman now, and you’ll need to behave as such. ”
I keep my eyes on the sink basin as I wash my hands, the urge to correct my mother that Arthur is different, that he loves me for me, bit back like so many other words I don’t dare speak aloud. My mother wouldn’t understand. No one would.
“Charlotte,” she says, voice firm. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Mother,” I respond, my eyes catching my reflection in the mirror. Fair skin. Pink cheeks. Chestnut hair pulled up in curls and blue eyes that hold my own for only a second before skittering away. I turn for the door, swallowing heavily. “I heard you.”