Demanded. Instructed. Forced.
One of the downstairs maids popped her head into the room. “The carriage is ready and waiting for you, Lady Tabitha.”
“Should I pack extra clothes?” Mary Frances whispered.
Tabitha shook her head. “Not this time, I’m afraid. I shan’t be running away again.”
She suspected measures had nonetheless been put into place to prevent just that.
The carriage felt like a coffin. Too dark, too close, too confined. Carrying her to the death of her old life. Trundling her far away from any hope of happiness.
When the horses paused before the church, a full retinue of footmen rushed forward to escort her into the chapel. From the looks of things, she wouldn’t even be allowed to duck behind a privacy screen or glance out of a window, much less visit the ladies’ retiring room on her own.
Inside the chapel, two men stood at the altar—but only one of them was a true gentleman.
Society would disagree about which one that was.
Viscount Oldfield was visibly nettled. Annoyed to be here at all, when all he wanted was her dowry—and a chance to paw at her in his bed. The mere sight of him made Tabitha’s gorgeous gown feel more like a strait-jacket. She was not to become a viscountess, but a prisoner of Bedlam. Caged against her will. Inflicted with nightly visits. Expected to be dutiful and nothing else.
Hudson Frampton, on the other hand, looked like danger personified. His tall form and hulking muscles seemed to vibrate with barely contained rage. He did not want her to be here. He—
No, that was not quite it. His eyes melted at the first sight of her. He did want her here. The person he wished to kick through the closest wall was his employer. Hudson wanted to stay exactly where he was, right there at the altar. He wanted Tabitha to walk down the aisle to him.
He loved her, she realized in surprise and wonder. Truly, truly loved her.
He hadn’t said the words, but the truth was evident in every action he made—or refrained from making. He loved her so much, he would even step aside and let her marry another man if it was what she chose to do. Because he believed she should have the right to choose her own future. Whether her decision aligned with what he wanted or not.
Dear God, she adored this man. If only others could see what she did. If only her father also believed women should have a voice in determining their own future.
If only it wasn’t too late.
Chapter 26
“Step back,” Viscount Oldfield snapped at Hudson. “Sit down in one of the pews.”
Hudson didn’t move. He couldn’t. His legs were rooted to the floor, right here at the altar. Tabitha was walking toward them, her eyes on Hudson rather than his employer. No force on earth could’ve convinced Hudson to break that connection and walk away.
Even the priest seemed to accept Hudson’s presence as part of the process. Or perhaps he’d been instructed not to allow anything or anyone to delay the ceremony a single minute longer than necessary.
The moment Tabitha was within arm’s reach of the alter, the priest immediately began to speak. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here…”
Hudson blocked out the horrendous words and concentrated instead on the pounding of his heart and the beautiful woman standing before him. Oh, the words themselves weren’t horrific. It was the thought of Tabitha belonging to the viscount that was the tragedy.
He wanted these words to be spoken to him, not to his employer. Not because he wanted to possess Tabitha. The opposite. Hudson wanted to pledge his own life to her. To make any vow she asked for. To belong to her, wholly and completely, now and always, from this day forward.
“…this man and this woman in holy matrimony…” the priest droned on.
Tabitha’s eyes were still locked on Hudson’s. As if the only way she was managing to stomach the ceremony at all was because she, too, was imagining Hudson was her groom, and Viscount Oldfield the insignificant fly buzzing about them.
Vaguely, Hudson was aware of the others in the audience. The Marquess of Brigsby, in his wheeled chaise, surrounded by maids and footmen and his physician. Tabitha’s lady’s maid, Mary Frances. Brigsby’s own man of business, who would serve as witness to the ceremony, just as Hudson was meant to do.
No family. No friends. Either they hadn’t been invited, or they too saw this mésalliance for the abomination it was, and refused to bear witness to a young woman coerced against her will to become property of a man who wasn’t even trying to hide his annoyance at having to saddle himself with a bride just to get his hands on her money.
Hudson could barely keep himself from reaching for Tabitha and whisking her out of there.
The priest closed his Bible and raised his voice. “If anyone here should know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye must now confess it. For on this day—”
“I do,” Hudson burst out, shocking the entire chapel into silence. Speak now or forever hold your peace was a formality, not an invitation. But he could contain himself no longer.
