As Mary waited in a private room at St. George’s, she wondered if she should be this calm. She almost felt nothing at all.
“I wish your mother were here to see you,” Aunt Sophie said as she adjusted the veil one more time. She alternated between fiddling with the veil and the train, as though each time Mary moved didn’t undo what had just been done. She wanted to tell her aunt to just leave everything alone until the last moment. Instead Mary tolerated her fluttering, drew reassurance from it.
Alicia came in through the door, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. “The church is packed to the rafters.”
Mary had been a pariah, a woman shamed, a woman scorned. Now it appeared she was a romanticized figure. “Of course. Scandalous Lady Mary and the barbaric Duke of Keswick.”
“This wedding shall polish your reputation, m’dear,” her aunt predicted. “And his as well.”
Not that their reputations would matter after today. They’d be holed away at Pembrook. A far cry from the parties and balls of London. She would miss them, but not the gossip. No, she could do without that for the remainder of her life.
A knock sounded on the door. Alicia opened it.
“It’s time,” her father announced in a tone Mary imagined a guard used when telling a condemned man the moment had arrived to pay for one’s sins and head to the gallows.
Her aunt gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, adjusted her veil once more, and headed out the door after Alicia. She would take her place in a pew while Alicia would serve as Mary’s maid of honor. She had no bridesmaids, even though Lady Hermione had offered to stand with her—to be closer to Lord Tristan no doubt. Mary had politely declined. Her cousin would serve her well enough.
Her father stood in the doorway, looking no more comfortable than he had any other time when Sebastian had called. She knew he was here not for her but for image. People would notice if he wasn’t there, and who knew what speculation would follow.
She wanted him to say something. Tell her she was pretty or that he wished her happiness or that the Duke of Keswick was a good choice as a husband.
“Let’s get this done,” he said.
So much for wishes.
She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and tried not to be disappointed that all of this was a result of poor judgment. If only she’d held her silence on what she’d heard at Pembrook, she’d have not been sent to the nunnery; she would have had a Season when she was of a more marriageable age. If only she hadn’t followed Sebastian into the garden. If only she hadn’t traipsed into his residence.
It should have been a day filled with joy and instead, it was simply an attempt to undo harm. Sebastian didn’t love her. Perhaps he never would. Pembrook held his heart. She would always be second fiddle. But that didn’t mean she was doomed to unhappiness. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than contentment.
She placed her hand on her father’s arm and allowed him to lead her into the vestry. She could hear music playing, could see Alicia. She didn’t understand why Alicia had not been spoken for this Season. Perhaps next year without her troublesome cousin at her side, she’d have more luck. She deserved happiness.
Alicia smiled at her. “Ready?”
Mary nodded.
Alicia stepped into the church and the music changed, announcing the bride’s arrival.
“Be happy for me, Papa,” she pleaded.
“What is happiness, daughter? You will not want for anything, he promised me that. He said I was to have your dowry set aside. That it was yours to do with as you pleased. He has no need of it. It is a rare man who will take a woman to wife without a dowry.”
“Yes, it is,” she rasped.
“He has more spine than Fitzwilliam. I’ll give him that.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
He nodded. “As I said earlier, let’s get this done, shall we?”
Before she could even think of a response, he was leading her into the church. She was vaguely aware of the vast number of people standing as she strolled down the aisle. Hundreds crowded onto pews.
At the altar stood the man she was going to marry, facing her completely, because he had no choice if he wanted to watch her approach. His place put his scarred side toward her, toward everyone.
He, who strived so hard to keep his scars hidden, was revealing them now with the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows. He had to have known that they would have a grand audience. Had to have known that he would be denied shadows.
They could have traveled to Pembrook and been married there in a small church in a quiet ceremony. But as she neared and could see him more clearly, she realized that they weren’t being married here because it was convenient, because all the plans had already been made.
No. This was his gift to her. The wedding she’d been dreaming of for months. The gown she had selected, the ceremony she had envisioned. It was more. It was a public acknowledgment that regardless of how tattered her reputation, he would stand proudly beside her.
As she moved her hand from her father’s arm to Sebastian’s, she smiled brightly, fought back the tears. Perhaps theirs would not be a marriage filled with great love, but she realized that they would have moments such as this one when she was ever grateful that he was at her side.