Chapter Seventeen – A Wedding Day
Dressed in a simple gown, Elisabeth found herself walking down the aisle at a small church somewhere in London. Hands clamped around a bouquet of flowers, she fought the dizzying notion that none of this was real. Was she dreaming? Everything had happened so fast that her heart and mind could barely keep up.
Only a few weeks ago, she had lost her mother and then come to be employed in the Earl of Radcliffe’s household as a maid, only to discover soon after that she was the man’s long, lost daughter.
And now…
Slightly squinting her eyes, Beth sought the tall man standing at the front by the altar. Next to his friend from the night of the ball, he seemed rather pale, his gaze lowered and his shoulders tense while a dark scowl hung on his face like an immobile mask.
Instantly, Beth’s heart sank. Somewhere deep down, she had hoped that he would smile at her as he had the night of the ball. She had felt so safe with him then. His eyes sparkling, full of awe and tender curiosity, as he had spoken to her, listened to her, wanted to know her.
If only there were a friendly face somewhere around. However, as her gaze shifted from her husband-to-be and his best man to the few people−presumably her future husband’s family seated in the front pew, Beth was met with disapproving and even hostile stares, which chilled her to the bone. Obviously, they, too, believed her to have trapped Lord Elton into marrying her.
Beth pressed her lips together as anger surged through her heart.
How dare they accuse her? After all, had it not been him who had followed her? Uninvited? She had done nothing to encourage him. Too distracted had she been with the goings-on in her own family. Until the moment he had come upon her in her father’s study, she had barely thought of him.
And yet, they blamed her.
As she came to stand before the altar, Beth wanted to meet his eyes, wanted to see the same accusation there that had been so obvious in the eyes of his relations. She wanted to know the truth.
But he would not look at her.
His eyes fixed on the priest, he never even glanced in her direction.
Gritting her teeth, Beth swallowed, wishing her mother were there. Always had she imagined her wedding day with her mother by her side, but only now, when she stood before the priest, moments away from mumbling her consent, did she finally realise that that would never be. Tears came to her eyes at the loss she had suffered, and her heart began to ache with renewed grief.
Averting her gaze, unable to look at her groom’s stony face, Beth stopped as she caught sight of an older woman sitting in the far pew on the left, a veil lifted from her face.
Her grandmother!
Although the dowager countess had reluctantly informed Beth that she could not very well attend the wedding of a maid…or companion, her grandmother had still come, her warm smile the only friendly face among a sea of frowns.
Returning her grandmother’s kind gesture, Beth drew strength from the knowledge that she was not alone after all. Life may be complicated, but it was not hopeless.
As she looked at her future husband yet again, Beth noticed not only the silent anger that seemed to radiate off him, but also the subtle sense of disappointment and loss that clung to him, and her heart softened.
That night at the ball, he had seemed as taken with her as she had been with him. Only when he had learnt her identity, had the glow left his eyes. Did he believe she trapped him for his title and fortune? Considering that that thought had occurred to her, it was only reasonable that he had thought of it as well.
Maybe if she could speak to him and reveal her motivation for attending the ball, he would understand and they could begin again.
A soft smile came to Beth’s lips as she for the first time contemplated the notion of being married, truly being married. Everything had happened so fast, that she had not even thought of what it would mean to have a husband.
Looking at his face, Beth wondered what it would feel like if he kissed her, and her heart sped up. There had definitely been something between them. If only she could reclaim it.
When the priest finally pronounced them man and wife, her husband stepped forward and held out his arm to her. Taking a deep breath, Beth placed her hand on his and allowed him to lead her down the aisle and toward the doors. On their way, she caught her grandmother’s eye and once more drew strength from the woman’s silent encouragement.
Stepping into the waiting carriage, Beth seated herself on the forward-facing seat while her husband climbed into the one opposite her. Then the door closed, and the carriage drew from the kerb and into traffic.
Watching him, Beth did not know what she had hoped for. However, her new husband barely acknowledged her presence, his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze narrowed, focused on the sights passing outside the window.
In answer, her own eyes narrowed. Although she felt a tad of sympathy for him, annoyance bubbled up at his rather childish behaviour. Making up her mind, Beth opened her mouth. “Allow me to apologise,” she began, hoping that he would finally look at her. “What happened that night was not my intention. I only−”
His eyes snapped to hers. “Wasn’t it? Is this not exactly the outcome you had planned?” he demanded, gesturing from her to himself. “For you to become my wife, a viscountess, instead of spending your life as a maid?”
Somewhat taken aback by his hurtful words, Beth remained quiet for a moment, holding his accusing gaze with a mixture of disappointment and outrage. “Why would I want a husband,” she began, her voice harsh and her eyes hard as they held his, “who behaves like a child every time he doesn’t get his way?”
***
Startled, Tristan stared at his new wife, his mouth slightly agape as he took note of the anger burning in her narrowed gaze. Although she had not been angry with him the night of the ball, he found himself reminded of the fire that he had seen in her eyes that night, the fire he had felt drawn to because it spoke of a zest for life, a desire to love and experience what the world had to offer.
After all the darkness that had dominated his life, Tristan had always longed to feel…the good he saw in the lives of others. The good that had been denied him.
That night, he had thought that she might be the one he could share this with.
Only he had been wrong, and that realisation had crushed all his hopes and dreams, painting a permanent frown on his face.
Holding her gaze, Tristan swallowed, torn between the renewed joy of finding a kindred spirit and the betrayal he had suffered. “I have good reason for my anger toward you,” he forced out through gritted teeth, willing himself to remain unaffected by the amused twinkle that came to her eyes. “You tricked me.”
Leaning back, she folded her hands in her lap, then shook her head at him, her lips slightly curling upward. “Do you truly believe that?”
“How could I not?” Tristan demanded, slightly squirming in his seat as his wife’s eyes travelled over his face, not unlike the way they had the night they’d met.
“Listen,” she finally said, her features gentle again, all anger vanished. “I can see that you’re angry, and I admit that at least to a certain degree, you have a right to be.” Tristan scoffed, and again, she shook her head at him, smiling. “But you refuse to listen and learn the circumstances of how everything came to be. Do you truly think that wise? We all have our reasons, and I could tell you mine if you would only listen.”
Feeling his heart soften toward her, Tristan jerked his gaze away and focused it back out the window, pressing his lips into a hard line. “Reasons and intentions do not matter any longer,” he growled out. “What happened happened. Now, we’re husband and wife. There’s no changing that.”
A hint of disappointment on her face, his wife leant back in her seat. However, out of the corner of his eye, Tristan saw her watching him intently as though trying to uncover his resentment toward her.
When the carriage finally pulled up in front of his townhouse, Tristan almost fled the small space and only in the last moment remembered to offer her his assistance in descending to the pavement.
With only his family present−his aunt and uncle as well as his cousin, and of course, his friend−the wedding breakfast passed in uncomfortable silence. While Tristan mostly kept his gaze lowered, stewing in his misery, exchanging the occasional remark with his aunt, his wife sat beside him, her watchful eyes gliding from one to the next as though taking stock.
Without even meeting his uncle’s eyes, Tristan could feel his disapproval like a knife in his heart. Today was truly the worst day of his life. In only one day, he had lost everything: his uncle’s approval, his family’s respect as well as all chance for happiness.
In addition, his uncle bade him into the study before taking his leave.
Forcing his shoulders back and raising his chin, Tristan complied, reluctantly closing the door behind himself before turning to his uncle, who stood by the window, arms linked behind his back, eyes narrowed. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”
Meeting his nephew’s eyes, Randolph Turner inhaled slowly. “I should think that was obvious.” Drawing in another deep breath as though to fortify himself for his next words, he began to stride around the room. “I believe I’ve already made my disappointment abundantly clear,” he finally said, his hard eyes drilling into Tristan. “You acted like a fool and allowed a woman to reveal you as such to the public. You allowed yourself to be manipulated, and then proved to be an even greater fool for marrying such a harlot.”
Gawking at his uncle, Tristan stepped forward. “Are you saying you disapprove of me marrying her?”
His uncle scoffed, shaking his head at him. “I certainly do. I thought I’d made my sentiments perfectly clear when you came to inform me of your misdeeds the other night. Were you not listening?”
Annoyed with his uncle’s overbearing attitude, Tristan drew in a calming breath, his hands curled into fists, pinned to his sides. “I thought you were disapproving of my getting trapped into marriage, but ultimately wanted me to act honourably and marry her despite the circumstances in to avoid a scandal.”
“She’s a maid!” his uncle snapped, his large belly shaking as his face turned red. “Isn’t it an even greater scandal that a viscount would marry one of the working class?” A snarl on his face, he shook his head. “Truly, Tristan, I’d thought you’d have better sense than that. Have you learnt nothing from your father’s misdeeds? Or are you determined to outdo even him?”
Gritting his teeth against the onslaught of insults, Tristan hardly knew what to think. “I did what I thought was right. After all, I had already proposed to her, given her my word, when I learnt of her identity. A gentleman does not go back on his word, no matter what the excuse.”
“A gentleman?” his uncle spat. “I’m not yet convinced that that term applies to you. After all, all your deeds prove you to be of low character.”
“You cannot be serious,” Tristan mumbled, taken aback by his uncle’s outspokenness. Never had he voiced his disapproval in such clear and harsh terms.
“Be that as it may,” his uncle relented, then stepped forward and met Tristan’s eyes. “What is done is done. The only thing that matters now is that you do not allow her to make her triumph over you even greater.”
Tristan frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She may be your wife,” his uncle snarled, anger radiating off him in hot waves, “however, I suggest that you refrain from making her a mother in the future. Although you will have to father an heir eventually, you’re still young−quite frankly, too young as you’ve proved. There will be time for that later. Now, I suggest that you send her to the country, keep her locked away and teach her a lesson. You need to reclaim the upper hand. Do you understand?”