The priest began the traditional words. Anthea let them wash over her, familiar and comforting. Beside the altar, Gregory caught her eye and smiled slightly—reassurance that he was there, that they would handle whatever came next together.
The ceremony progressed smoothly. Vows were exchanged. Rings presented. Mr. Hartley looked at Veronica like she had hung the moon, and Veronica looked back with equal devotion.
It was perfect.
It was beautiful.
And then?—
"I object!"
The voice rang out from the back of the church, sharp and imperious.
Every head turned.
Beatrice stood in the doorway, resplendent in deep purple silk, her expression triumphant.
"I object to this union," she declared, her voice carrying through the sudden silence. "And I demand it be stopped immediately."
The priest looked startled. "Madam, do you have legal grounds for this objection?"
"I do," Beatrice said, moving down the aisle with the confidence of someone who believed she held all the power. "This man—this Mr. Hartley—has been deceiving my daughter about his true circumstances. He is not the respectable gentleman he has claimed to be."
"That is absurd," Mr. Hartley said, his voice tight with anger. "I have been nothing but honest?—"
"Have you?" Beatrice interrupted, stopping several pews away from the altar. "Have you told my daughter about your father's debts? About the scandal that forced your family from Society three years ago? About the whispers that still follow your name?"
Gasps rippled through the assembled guests. Anthea felt her stomach drop.
"My father's actions are not mine," Mr. Hartley said, his jaw clenched. "I have spent years repairing the damage he caused. Making amends. Living honorably."
"And yet you kept this information from your bride," Beatrice said, her smile sharp. "Did you not think she deserved to know what family she was marrying into?"
"I told her everything," Mr. Hartley said firmly. He turned to Veronica. "You know about my father. About what happened. I have been honest with you from the beginning."
"He has," Veronica said, her voice steady despite the tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I know everything about his family. And I love him anyway."
"Then you are a fool," Beatrice said coldly. "Throwing away your prospects for a man whose name is tainted by scandal."
"That is enough," the priest said, his voice stern. "Madam, scandal and gossip are not legal grounds for objection. If the bride is aware of the gentleman's circumstances and chooses to proceed, then?—"
"But surely the church should not sanctify a union built on?—"
"The church sanctifies unions between people who love each other and commit themselves to building a life together," the priest interrupted. "Everything you have described—financial difficulties, family scandal—these are worldly concerns, not spiritual ones. And as the bride has stated she was fully informed and proceeds willingly, I see no grounds to halt this ceremony."
Beatrice's face went red. "You cannot simply dismiss?—"
"I can, and I will," the priest said firmly. "Now, madam, I must ask you to either take your seat or leave the church. This ceremony will continue."
For a moment, Beatrice simply stood there, fury radiating from every line of her body. Then she turned on her heel and stormed down the aisle, her exit lacking the dignity she had clearly intended.
The church remained silent for a long moment after she left.
Then Gregory stepped forward.
His voice, when he spoke, carried through the church with the same command he had once used on battlefields.
"Father, if I may?"
