Chapter 20
This is it. The day I am married to Miss Charlotte Brown.
The ceremony had been kept small at Charlotte’s request, though Victor privately suspected her mother would have happily invited half of London had she been allowed.
The chapel upon the Mulford Manor grounds glowed softly beneath the pale spring morning. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows in shades of blue and gold, casting coloured light across polished wooden pews and white flower arrangements tied delicately with cream ribbon.
Victor stood beside the vicar at the front of the chapel with his hands clasped behind his back whilst guests slowly settled into place. Elizabeth sat proudly in the first row, wearing lavender silk and pearls, smiling at everyone as though this wedding had been her accomplishment entirely.
Charlotte’s sisters watched with shining eyes from the pews beside Harriet, though Joan occasionally looked moments away from openly crying despite clearly fighting against it. Penelope already dabbed dramatically at her eyes with a handkerchief whilst Irene smiled softly.
Victor found himself strangely pleased by the sight of their families together.
The Browns filled the chapel with warmth and life and constant chatter in a way Mulford Manor had lacked for years.
Elizabeth positively glowed with happiness amongst them, and even Lionel seemed more relaxed than usual.
Lionel and Morgan stood beside him, giving their last words. Lionel looked far more suspiciously emotional than Victor had ever seen him. “It is not too late to flee,” Morgan whispered as he passed Victor.
Victor adjusted his cuffs. “I shall leave fleeing to cowards and Frenchmen.”
“Marriage makes saints of some men and corpses of others,” Morgan replied.
Lionel sighed heavily. “Must you torment him before the ceremony?”
Morgan grinned. “It is my duty as his dearest friend.”
Victor would have replied with something cutting had the chapel doors not opened at that precise moment. The quiet murmur of conversation died instantly.
Charlotte entered upon her uncle Oswald’s arm, and Victor forgot every coherent thought in his head.
God above.
The ivory gown fitted her beautifully, soft satin skimming her figure whilst lace framed her shoulders and throat with elegant simplicity.
Tiny pearls gleamed in her brown hair beneath the delicate veil, and her cheeks carried the faintest flush that made her look lovely.
Victor felt heat stir low in his body with such immediate force that it startled him.
She is beautiful. No. Beautiful does not begin to describe her.
Charlotte’s gaze found his at once as she walked slowly down the aisle, and Victor noticed the exact moment she realized he was staring. Her breath seemed to catch slightly, whilst coy warmth spread into her cheeks. He nearly smiled outright at the sight.
Morgan leaned closer, muttering, “You look positively owned.”
Victor did not take his eyes off Charlotte. “Silence,” he muttered to his friend.
For once, Morgan obeyed.
As Charlotte reached him, Oswald placed her hand into Victor’s with surprising gentleness.
“Take care of her,” the viscount murmured quietly enough that only Victor heard.
Victor met the older man’s gaze steadily. “I shall.”
Charlotte glanced up at him briefly, uncertainty flickering across her face before the vicar cleared his throat.
The ceremony began properly, solemn and warm beneath the soft light.
Victor listened only half attentively at first because Charlotte’s hand remained in his, small and warm and very real.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, “we are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
Victor finally forced himself to focus.
The vows echoed gently through the chapel whilst sunlight warmed the floor between them. Victor had never imagined he would stand at an altar willingly, yet as he looked at Charlotte, something inside him felt unexpectedly steady.
Then the vicar addressed him directly. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy state of matrimony?”
Victor’s gaze remained fixed upon Charlotte. “I will.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly at the firmness in his voice.
The vicar turned toward her. “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband?”
Charlotte swallowed softly before answering. “I will.”
Victor experienced an absurd flicker of satisfaction at hearing the words. Hearing her claim him before God and witnesses stirred something possessive deep inside him all the same.
The vows followed.
“I, Victor, take thee, Charlotte, to my wedded wife,” he repeated steadily.
Charlotte’s fingers trembled slightly in his as she spoke her own vows back to him. Her voice remained soft but clear, and Victor found himself watching her lips far too closely as she promised herself to him. He ought not to enjoy this so much.
Yet I do. Entirely too much.
When the final blessing was given, the vicar smiled warmly at them both. “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
The vicar turned toward Victor with faint amusement in his eyes. “You may kiss your bride.”
At that, Victor looked fully at Charlotte. Her cheeks turned beautifully pink beneath, whilst nervous anticipation flickered across her face. She looked up at him as though uncertain what he might do in front of everyone watching.
Victor fully intended to kiss her properly.
He cupped her cheek with one gloved hand. The moment his fingers touched her skin, Charlotte’s breath caught softly. Victor lowered his head and kissed her with enough tenderness to keep the chapel respectable yet enough heat that her fingers tightened instinctively around his.
A delighted cheer erupted somewhere behind them. Probably Penelope. Possibly Morgan.
Victor pulled back only slightly and murmured against Charlotte’s lips, “Wife.”
Her eyes widened at the word.
Then walked down the aisle together as husband and wife whilst flower petals scattered before them outside the chapel doors. The spring air smelled of roses and fresh grass, and laughter followed them out into the sunlight.
Elizabeth openly wept now whilst Harriet loudly informed anyone listening that the wedding had been perfect because, of course, it had been perfect.
Charlotte looked slightly dazed beside him.
“You appear alarmed, Duchess,” Victor murmured as they descended the chapel steps together.
She looked up sharply. “Do not call me that.”
“You are one now.”
“That hardly seems possible.”
Victor smirked faintly. “You married me before witnesses and God himself. I fear it is too late to reconsider.”
Charlotte huffed softly, though amusement flickered in her eyes. “You seem entirely too pleased by that fact.”
“I am trying to be gracious.”
“You are failing.”
Victor laughed quietly under his breath. He could not stop looking at her. Every time the sunlight struck the pearls in her hair or warmed her flushed cheeks, desire stirred inside him again with dangerous strength. Worse still, beneath the desire lurked something steadier and far more unsettling.
Panic. Remember that she is a wife in name only.
He had to remind himself that this was a match of convenience and nothing more.
Charlotte glanced sideways at him as they walked slowly through the gardens whilst guests spilled out behind them. “You are staring at me.”
“I am your husband. I am entitled.”
“That is not how entitlement works.”
“It is for dukes.”
She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth curved upward. “You are insufferably arrogant.”
“And yet you married me willingly.” he smiled.
Her blush deepened beautifully. Victor leaned slightly closer as they continued along the stone path together. “You realize, of course, that there is no escape from me now.”
Charlotte lifted her chin with mock dignity. “I suppose I shall endure somehow.”
Victor’s gaze darkened at once. “Endure?”
“Perhaps… tolerate,” she teased.
“Careful, wife.” His voice lowered dangerously. “You may wound my pride.”
She laughed softly then, and the sound struck Victor directly in the chest.
God help me, I want to hear that laugh every day for the rest of my life, and that is key to my undoing.
The thought startled him enough that he nearly frowned at himself.
Charlotte glanced up at him curiously. “What are you thinking?”
Victor looked down at his bride in the sunlight and realized, with sudden dangerous certainty, that he had never wanted anything more than he wanted the woman beside him now.
“You truly do not wish to know,” he said quietly.
* * *
The Wedding Breakfast
“Your grandmother appears quite taken with her new granddaughter,” Morgan remarked lazily beside Victor.
Victor glanced toward his friend, who looked entirely too amused by everything. “You say that as though it surprises you.”
“It surprises me that you married at all,” Morgan replied. “I half expected you to leap from the chapel window before the vows were finished.”
Victor snorted softly. “There were no windows large enough.”
Morgan laughed outright at that and lifted his glass in salute. “Well, you looked miserable for only half the ceremony, which is an achievement.”
“I was not miserable.”
“No,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “You looked content instead?”
Victor stood near the long breakfast table with a glass of champagne in his hand as laughter and conversation filled the dining room of Mulford Manor.
The wedding breakfast had become delightfully noisy, exactly as Elizabeth had wished, with Charlotte’s sisters speaking over one another while servants hurried in and out carrying fresh dishes. He had never imagined his home could feel so alive.
Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief while Harriet Brown patted her arm sympathetically beside her.
Charlotte knelt beside the dowager’s chair, smiling softly as she whispered something that made the older woman laugh through her tears.