"I think so. She was babbling. But he saw Ivy and me and told us to hurry along here. Still I'm worried."
Fifi’s blood ran cold. "Aunt danced last night. Often. My uncle too. What can be wrong with her? She's young and lively."
Grace widened her eyes. "Perhaps all the preparations have been too much?"
Fifi shifted, nerves eating at her. "Was Esme there?" Esme adored her mother.
Grace shook her head once, her green gaze stark with dread.
"No. No, no." Fifi's thoughts ran to the discussion she'd had with Esme yesterday. How she questioned this marriage.
"Did you know that Northington and her father had a falling out yesterday?"
Dear God."What about?"
Grace widened her eyes. "No one has said. But there's been talk."
"That says...what?"
"It's money."
Fifi didn't like the sound of that. Gossip had it that Northington's father, the duke, had pressed her uncle for a very large dowry for Esme. Courtland's wealth, some declared, was the only reason the old curmudgeon had approved his son's engagement to a lowly viscount's daughter.
"Worse," Grace whispered. "He's not in attendance."
"He's ill. Unable to travel."
Grace shook her head. "Can you believe him? Mama told me that he was once a notorious roué. Never married until he was fifty and had his way with quite a few ladies before and afterward."
Such tales had been bandied about by her father who had delighted at the escapades he'd shared with the Duke of Brentford.
The tiny church was filling up. Fifi looked around just as a couple took seats across the isle. Behind them, Rory and Lord Collingswood sat down. Rory gave her a searing look that made her cheeks burn and she had to look away.
She reached inside her little reticule and fished out her glasses and her tiny watch piece. Five minutes before nine. "They'll be here soon."
Grace sat back and stared straight at the altar. "I hope so."
At nine o'clock, the vicar entered the church. His dark robes flapping about his tall imperious form, he acknowledged the guests with a curt nod and folded his hands over his Bible.
At ten minutes after nine, those in the pews became utterly silent.
Five minutes later, not one Courtland appeared. Not Fifi's aunt, nor her uncle. Nor the bride.
By nine thirty, the guests began to mutter and shift in the pews. One lady sneezed. A gentleman coughed.
The vicar looked pained. But he said, "Suppose I read the passage about the wedding at Cana? Yes, yes. A good story."
He fumbled through his book and read the miracle of how Lazarus rose from the dead.
"I hope that's not an omen that we must raise Esme," Grace said with doom and gloom.
"Shhh," Diana scolded her. "She'll appear."
But Fifi had no such confidence. Not after the few hints Esme had given her yesterday that all was not well. As the minutes ticked away, she had less and less hope of Esme appearing in any shape or form.
The wooden chapel door creaked open.
A breeze swept over the guests.
