Almost in shock, Catherine walked out into the hall, Glenarvon beside her. What had she just done? Sparks flitted before her eyes, and she could nearly feel the heat radiating off the man standing next to her. Everything felt heightened, and yet all was a blur.

As if they had been waiting for Catherine and the marquess to emerge from the sitting room, the rest of the Edmonson family tumbled into view.

"My dear Catherine," said Lady Edmonson. "You look quite flushed." She glanced furtively at Lord Glenarvon. "Is all well?"

Catherine felt very far away, but endeavored to bring herself back to the present. "I am indeed well, Mama. For..." She trailed off. "For Lord Glenarvon and I are to be wed." She brought a smile to her face, and for a second, she almost believed that she was truly happy for her engagement.

"Well that is wonderful news!" cried Lady Edmonson, fluttering her hands. "I can hardly believe it! I would have wished for Anne to be first… But I suppose that is no matter now." She turned to Lord Glenarvon. "We are so pleased that you will be joining our family, Lord Glenarvon, and we hope we can be of any service to you."

Catherine flushed, averting her eyes. She looked to Anne, her bulwark in strange times, to find that her sister's face was nearly euphoric. Her sister stood straighter than she had in months, as if she were Atlas and the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. One good thing would come of this, that was certain. Anne's position was by no means sure, but with Catherine tied to the marquess, her sisters would receive comfort that they had not yet known. Catherine would find a way to help Anne in any way she could, so that her sister might know marital bliss in her place. Filled with new verve, Catherine smiled afresh, her eyes twinkling.

“When will the ceremony be?” Lydia asked in excitement.

Thinking of Anne’s relieved face, Catherine hesitated. It would be cruel of her to drag out her engagement, even if she might want to. It might even be dangerous. She had no way of knowing when, or if, Anne’s secret might come out.

“Soon,” Catherine blurted out. “As soon as possible.”

Lord Glenarvon’s head moved almost imperceptibly, his eyebrows raising. Catherine intrigued the marquess, certainly, but the thought of marrying her so soon scared him. He had been duped once before, and by a woman who had seemed to love him much more than Catherine did.

Then, his thoughts strayed to Daventry. To honor the wager and keep Catherine safe, Glenarvon had no choice but to marry Catherine–and fast–even if it was the most terrifying thing he ever had to do.

“If that is what the lady wishes,” he said coolly, hiding his inner turmoil.

“Oh, wonderful!” said Lady Edmonson. “I shall start planning today, and perhaps you can be married by month’s end. I am all excitement! To think, my Catherine marrying a marquess!”

Catherine’s cheeks flared pink at her mother’s crass words. She peeked at Glenarvon through her thick lashes, and for the briefest moment, she saw a shadow pass across his features. The darkness passed as quickly as it came, and within seconds his face was once again smooth and untroubled. She bit back words. It would do no good to chastise her mother’s poor behavior in front of her husband-to-be. At least Mama was upfront about her aspirations of social grandeur. Catherine, on the other hand, was poised to marry a man she only loved for the wealth and security he would provide for her and her family.

When Catherine remembered the marquess’s words about Lord Daventry, however, she no longer felt so terrible. Her motives for marriage might not be pure, but Lord Glenarvon’s were hardly virtuous, either.

It was a marriage of convenience. And Catherine hoped to make it as convenient as possible.

* * *

The day arrived far sooner than anyone realized, and before she knew it, Catherine was looking up into Lord Glenarvon’s dark eyes, pledging to be his wife. Her hands shook, and she hoped, not for the first time, that she was making the right decision.

The marquess gazed at Catherine as she spoke her vows, taking in her rosy cheeks and fiery hair. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, reminding himself that not all redheads were the same. This would not turn out like before. He wouldn’t allow it to. Even if he had to seal his heart away, Catherine would never hurt him like he was hurt before. For now, he had stopped Lord Daventry from taking purchase on Catherine, and that was all that mattered.

Finally, Catherine finished her troth and there was nothing left to be done but signing the register. Glenarvon took his wife’s trembling hand in his and guided her to the table. Catherine took up the pen, hesitating one last time to peek at the marquess. His face remained a solemn mask.

There was no going back on her word now. Catherine took up the pen and signed her name. Henceforth, she would forever be Lady Glenarvon.

Together, Lord and Lady Glenarvon exited the hall quite somberly. Outside, many townsfolk had gathered to celebrate the new couple, cheering them heartily. Looking around at all the faces, so many of which she recognized, Catherine could not help but feel quite strange. These people were happier for her marriage than she was. They knew what a good match she had made. They knew how lucky she was. So why didn’t she feel that way?

Catherine and Glenarvon tumbled through the crowd, finally reaching their carriage. With one last wave to the assembly, they stepped up into the carriage and drove off.

After the hubbub outside, it felt quiet in the cabin. So quiet. Catherine fumbled with her gloves, daring herself to look at her husband.

Husband. She could hardly believe the word. It felt so foreign to her, even in her mind. To speak it aloud–she wasn’t sure that she would ever be able to. Lord Glenarvon might provide comfort for Catherine and her family, but it was difficult for her to imagine him as fully her husband. But then, she thought, people had married for far less and it was hardly considered a crime.

So why did she feel so awful about it?

Lord Glenarvon is brute, she reminded herself. There was no use in feeling bad about anything where a man like him was concerned.

She turned to look at him, but he was staring out the window, watching the town pass them quickly by. It almost felt as if he were ignoring Catherine, but his face was lost in thought, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. Catherine felt the sudden urge to reach out and take his hand in hers. After all, he was hers to touch, now. Her fingers twitched and she raised her arm, still deciding what she might do. As Catherine outstretched her hand, Glenarvon saw the flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and spun his head sharply to look at her. Ashamed, Catherine dropped her hand to her lap, casting her eyes downward.

“We’re almost there,” said the marquess curtly.

Catherine turned to the window of the carriage, watching as the tree-lined lane gave way to the formidable structure that formed Castle Fen. To think, she was the mistress of this estate now. The thought was an odd one, and yet Catherine could not deny that it pleased her in the most secret part of her heart.

The estate was vast and beautiful, and she was to be its lady. She would endeavor to discover its secrets, to plumb its darkest depths and reach its highest peaks. What might she find in that sweeping tower? The building was an ancient enigma ready for discovering.

There were hundreds of books in the library, and with them she would never grow bored. Characters would be her unceasing companions. Words would be her solace. The smell of paper and ink would fill the air, engulfing her in its warm embrace.

She would have a lady’s maid, certainly, and more if she wanted. Her bed would be made for her every day, her bath drawn for her, and her hair coiffed daintily. Her food would be prepared by the finest cooks from the freshest meat and vegetables in the county. The tenants and farmers on Lord Glenarvon’s land would bow to her as they would bow to her husband.

She would have nearly everything, except love.