Chapter 18
“Icannot believe you’re getting married,” Harriet swooned, flattening both hands to her cheek. “To one of the most eligible bachelors of the Season, too!”
“Hattie,” Charlotte scolded her. “That is rather beside the point.”
“Is it?” Harriet said, entirely unrepentant.
“It is.” Charlotte turned to Emma, her expression gentling. “Is this truly what you want?”
Emma slid the last mother-of-pearl comb into her hair and considered the woman looking back at her from the glass. The cream silk sat perfectly at her shoulders, the lace trim catching the thin afternoon light filtering through the antechamber windows.
It had been three days since the duke’s meeting with her grandmother, brother, and Cillian. By the very next morning, Vincent had written to her that he’d received the Special license from Arundel, and now, she was minutes away from walking to the altar and seeing him for the first time in days.
“It is what makes sense. Calling it off would only make things worse,” Emma said finally. The firmness of her own voice surprised her, and she stood a little straighter, smoothing the fabric at her waist. “Besides, it will help my family too.
“You are so brave,” Harriet sighed. “I wish I had your strength to marry someone I didn’t love. I could never be so resigned to sacrifice.”
“It is not resignation… It is just…” Emma paused, searching for the right words. “It is simply the only way forward. Besides, he is a decent man, and I like him.”
Harriet smiled gently. “Your soon-to-be extremely dashing husband will not hesitate to take this gown off you tonight.”
“Harriet!” Charlotte scolded her friend. “That is scandalous!”
“Oh, pish,” Harriet straightened a pin in Emma’s hair. “You know what happens on honeymoons. We are none of us I, Lottie. Emma least of all anymore.”
A knock saved Emma from wherever that particular thread was leading. James pushed the door open with his eyes covered, his deep blue jacket and striped waistcoat sitting slightly askew on his lanky frame.
“Emmy, the priest is waiting for you.”
Emma looked at him and felt something loosen in her chest. “We’ll be out soon, James.”
He ducked back out, and Harriet blinked after him. “Is it me or is he taller?”
Emma and Charlotte shared a look, and at Charlotte’s slight shake of the head, Emma did not press.
Charlotte took up the veil and settled it over her hair, smoothing it carefully as she drew the gossamer silk forward over her face.
The edges, finely embroidered with vines, small flowers, and bees, framed her face beautifully.
Harriet handed her the bouquet of lilies and baby’s breath and smiled tearfully. “We need to go first.”
Charlotte squeezed Emma’s hand once, said nothing, and followed Harriet out.
The organ found its first note somewhere beyond the walls. Then James appeared at the door, offered his arm without ceremony, and Emma took it.
The church opened before them in blue and candlelight.
The aisle was not long, but she noticed everything.
Charlotte and Harriet stood opposite Lockhart and another man she placed as Earl Blackhill, all of them in varying shades of blue.
James peeled away to take his seat beside Grandmama Agnes, who was already pressing a handkerchief to her eyes.
And then there was only Vincent.
He stood near the altar, dark-clad, broad through the shoulders, his hair loose as ever. His eyes, grey as woodsmoke, lingered on her with that same slow, deliberate warmth he sometimes turned on her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Now, she couldn’t look away.
At the altar, he reached out and lifted the veil back over her head. “There are your beautiful eyes,” he said quietly, just for her. “I promised three days, didn’t I?”
He folded the veil aside and took her hand, pressing his lips briefly to her knuckles before turning to face the priest.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
The silence held, and the priest moved into the prayer without ceremony before turning to the vows.
“Vincent Alexander Arundel, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?
“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”
“Emma Elizabeth Haverleigh, wilt thou 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, honour, and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Emma met his eyes. “I… will.”
The rest of the ceremony moved around her in a warm blur of incanted words until the priest nodded to Vincent, and he reached for her hand.
He slid the ring onto her finger slowly, deliberately, his gaze dropping to watch it settle into place before lifting back to hers.
“With this ring, I thee wed.” His voice was low. “With my body I thee worship—” the corner of his mouth curved just slightly, and heat rose on her face, “—and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”