Chapter 1 #2
Emma drew a slow breath because the words had a shape that made sense. That sinking feeling returned again, but she tried her best to remain calm. She watched the door to the nave. She watched the strip of light at its base. It did not change.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Guests came late and added a murmur that rippled then settled. Someone laughed once and tried to muffle the sound.
The vicar returned, his face twisted in a grimace. He did not look at her dress. He looked into her eyes.
“We will wait a bit longer,” he said. “These matters sometimes take on a life of their own. No need to make a fuss.”
Emma felt the first thread of cold slither up her arms. “Of course,” she said.
Melody drew nearer. “Emma…”
“I know,” Emma muttered.
Aunt Agnes began to adjust the flowers on a side table that needed no adjustment. Her ring tapped the wood. “I am sure it is a slight delay,” she said too loudly. “They would not spoil their own day.”
Emma looked at the door again. A swell of voices came and settled. She saw a shape in her mind. A door closing somewhere else. A man who did not look back.
That sinking feeling returned yet again, more devastating than ever.
She did not want to humiliate herself with hope. She did not want to walk out and find pity in other people’s mouths. She placed her hand on her stomach in a bid to anchor herself.
A footman came to the door. He had the look of a messenger who would rather carry wine. “I am afraid it is bad news, my Lady.”
Emma felt Melody shift beside her but said nothing.
The footman continued anyway. “It appears there was no carriage at St. James’s. There never was. The sacristan made inquiries.”
Aunt Agnes stiffened. “Nonsense.”
The vicar put a hand on the doorframe, his fingers curling slightly. “We will give it five minutes.”
Emma did not say yes or no. She looked at Melody. “Take off my gloves.”
Melody blinked. “Here?”
“Now.”
Melody undid the tiny pearl buttons and slid the gloves free, revealing wrists that looked too pale against the dress. She then folded the gloves and set them on the chair.
Suddenly, the air became suffocating. Emma needed space to breathe. Something to do.
She needed to scream.
But she couldn’t. Not here, and especially not with the statement she was trying to make with this wedding.
She crossed the short distance and opened the door to the nave. It took no effort. The room beyond was full of eyes. Heads turned, and whispers rippled like a sheet being shaken.
She stood on the threshold and let them see her. Her gown was perfect, her hair was fixed, and her face was utterly composed.
She stepped onto the aisle and felt the tile through the soles of her slippers.
There was an empty space at the front, where a man should have stood.
She looked at it and then looked at the faces around it.
A woman pressed a hand to her mouth. A gentleman stared down at the floor, seeming unsure whether to bow.
Emma did not cry. Not at first.
She went very still, feeling the weight of each gaze the way rain collected on a coat. It slid off because she did not give it a seam to catch.
It grew clearer with each stare she had to endure, and the words rang over and over in her head, like the bells fixed to the top of the church she stood in.
He is not coming.
He is not coming.
Her breathing seized for a fraction of a second, and she clenched her hands into tight fists, unable to hold on to anything.
The vicar came to her side. “Lady Emma,” he said quietly. “We can move to the vestry. We can spare you this.”
“No,” she said. “There is nothing to spare.”
She stood there for a heartbeat longer and let the truth settle over her. Then she turned and walked back to the antechamber. Her hands did not shake. Melody followed her and shut the door with care.
In the antechamber, Emma stood before the mirror and looked at the woman in yellow who had believed that a door would open for her if she waited in the right place.
She reached up and removed her veil, then laid it on the chair.
She unpinned the small spray of orange blossoms and set it beside the veil.
She then took the pearl combs out of her hair one by one and placed them in a neat row.
Melody hovered at her shoulder. “We can exit through the side door and cross the mews. Your aunt can speak to the guests. She knows how to make it sound like a sudden illness. You can rest, and then we can think about what went wrong.”
“No,” Emma said.
“Emma, please, there is no need to stand in the street and let them see you. We can wait.”
“For what?” Emma kept her eyes on her own reflection. “For him to find a better reason to be absent?”
Melody’s voice dropped. “You do not have to be brave. Not right now.”
“I am not being brave,” Emma said. “I am being exact.”
She unhooked the bodice and stepped out of her gown with care. Then she folded the skirt over the chair. She snatched a plain day dress from the screen and pulled it on. She buttoned it to her throat and toed off her slippers, then took her walking shoes out of the trunk.
Melody moved to help, but Emma shook her head. “I can do it.”
“Emma—”
“I do not know what I thought was going to happen. For a second there, I thought he was going to come. I thought since he agreed in his letter, he would appear, and we would proceed with the ceremony.”
“Emma, you do not have to think—”
“I cannot believe I let myself hold onto hope,” Emma cut her off. “I cannot believe I let myself think I actually stood a chance because of a clearly misguided notion I had about Scottish men being more honorable.”
Melody sighed, drawing the curtains by the windows. “Maybe he changed his mind. I told you not to be too forthcoming in your letter. Maybe he got apprehensive about the scandal and thought he could not bear it.”
Emma laughed, flattening her palms against the dress. “I could not hide something that significant from a man I am supposed to marry. I needed him to find out, and it needed to come from me first.”
Melody exhaled again and opened her mouth to speak, when a knock sounded at the door, followed by Aunt Agnes’s voice.
“Emma, say the word, and I will tell them all to go. We will send notes tomorrow. We will arrange something quiet for next month.”
Emma opened the door and looked at her aunt for a long moment. “No,” she said. “There will be no quiet arrangement.”
Aunt Agnes swallowed. “For all intents and purposes, I do believe he is a coward. Maybe this is a good thing. A man like that does not deserve you anyway.”
Emma straightened, feeling a chill skitter down her spine. “No.”
Aunt Agnes blinked. “What?”
“I am tired of hearing a bunch of maybes.” Emma threw her hands up in despair. “The vicar, Melody, you. Everyone seems to think they know why he did not appear. Maybe it is this, maybe it is that.”
A brief silence followed, before Emma spoke again, her determination growing.
“I do not intend to live the next few days on maybes. I want the truth this time, and I intend to find it out.”
Aunt Agnes adjusted the hem of her gown. “Whatever are you talking about, dear?”
Emma cleared her throat. “I will go to him. To Scotland.”
Melody’s head snapped up. “What?”
“If he thinks I am not worth the journey, I will make it for him,” Emma declared.
Aunt Agnes stared at her, saying nothing.
Melody reached for Emma’s cloak and draped it over her shoulders. “Emma, you cannot possibly be serious.”
Emma shook her head. “There is nothing left here for me anymore. I want to look that bastard in the face while he tells me why he did not come to his own wedding.”
The silence that followed was more tense than the weather.
Melody broke it first, the resignation in her voice clear. “Well, you cannot go alone.”
“I cannot have you do that, Melody,” Emma said. “That is simply out of the question.”
Melody arched an eyebrow. “You forget that I also live in the Highlands. I will take you there in my carriage. And I will hear no argument.”
Emma took the handkerchief with the blue thread and put it in her pocket. “Thank you.”
Aunt Agnes finally found her voice. “People will talk.”
“They already are,” Emma said, her voice steely. “This time, I would prefer to give them the right story to repeat.”