Madeline found that a lump had lodged in her throat, preventing her from swallowing.
“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered. “That means a great deal.”
He stepped forward again, kissing her on the forehead. “Are you still ready to get married?”
Madeline let out a shaky breath and glanced at herself once more. She thought of Betty and Anthony, of the promise she’d made, and of how right it felt when she held Adam in her arms.
“Well, it would be a shame to waste the dress,” Madeline said, and smiled faintly.
The wretched girl was late. Tristan was furious. Yes, yes, it was common for brides to be late on their wedding day, but frankly,he did not agree with such a ridiculous custom. Grooms weren’t allowed to be late, were they? No, they had to be on time, or else.
All this to make an entrance,Tristan thought glumly.Unless, of course, she really has changed her mind.
That was something to consider. He wouldn’t have been surprised, not truly, if he had received a note that morning, hastily scrawled, informing him that the wedding was off. If that happened, the nurse he’d hired would be faithful to her employer and bring Adam directly to Tristan’s home.
He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, however. That was a nasty end to things.
At last, the great double doors to the church creaked open, and Tristan was amazed to feel a rush of relief.
She hadn’t jilted him at the altar, then. That would have been inconvenient, not to say embarrassing. He heard a murmur ripple through the crowd, and the sound of voluminous skirts rustling as everybody got to their feet.
Isaac stood beside him as best man, of course. He twisted to look around first and clucked his tongue.
“She looks very pretty, Tristan. I’m rather glad she kept the spectacles on. I’d hate to see her careen into the crowd.”
It was expected that a groom should turn around to look at his bride. Half of the congregation would be waiting to see what Tristan did. While it mattered not at all to him what she was wearing or what she looked like, tradition was important, so he turned dutifully around. He had a pleasant, encouraging smile ready. It died on his lips.
Tristan found himself struggling to breathe. He knew, of course, that Madeline was a pretty girl, pleasant enough to look at. This, however, was something different.
She wore a rich, gauzy gown of a pale green, the exact same shade as her eyes. Had that been done deliberately? Her bouquet was of colored flowers, with greenery trailing down. He could smell the faint scent of lavender as she approached, and noticed that sprigs of lavender and a few other flowers were laced into the braids at the sides of her head.
He’d never seen her with such an elaborate hairstyle. It wasn’t too much, but it was exquisitely done, all braids and twists and neat falls of curls. She walked briskly, not mincing down the aisle as some brides did. She was arm in arm with her father, whose eyes were misty.
She had her chin up, eyes set determinedly ahead. As Isaac had mentioned, she had kept her spectacles, an endearing little choice which sent a shockingly powerful wave of affection through Tristan’s chest. The strength of the feeling made him shiver, and he abruptly turned around, facing toward the altar and the rector.
He caught the rector’s eye by accident. The fellow seemed confused about why Tristan was looking at him rather than his bride.
“Oh, no,” Isaac mumbled, quietly enough that only Tristan could hear.
Tristan swallowed hard, finding that his throat was dry. “Why, what has happened? Has she turned tail and fled? I wouldn’t blame her.”
“Not her, you fool,” Isaac chuckled. “You. I saw the look on your face just now.”
Tristan cursed himself. Isaac was right. Hewasa fool.
“What look?” he asked, keeping his voice mild. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Oh yes, you do,” Isaac snorted. The rector shot him a glare, which Isaac duly ignored. “I’ve seen that look in your eyes before, Tristan. I know what it means. Heavens, that poor girl doesn’t stand a chance.”
Tristan allowed himself a small, wry smile. “I think perhaps you underestimate her, Isaac.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is. You give her far too little credit.”
He could feel his friend’s amused gaze lingering on his face, but Tristan would not give him the satisfaction of turning to look at him.
At that moment, Madeline reached the top of the aisle. The congregation sat down, rustling their skirts and squeaking their boot heels on the stone floor. Lord Beaufort kissed his daughter on the cheek and turned hastily away, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. Madeline had her head turned, watching her father bustle toward the front pew.
