He drove the carriage through the town toward the parish church on the other side of Banbury. It was a small church with a tower built of sandstone with a timber frame attached to it. It was a simple, non-descript building perfect for their purpose. The vicar had been amenable to his request to marry them using their special license, passing no judgement for the unconventional way they wished to wed.
He turned, knocking on the door of the carriage to give her a chance to gather herself, should she need to. Then, when he opened the door, he gasped. There were no tears visible on her face. In fact, she looked serene. Or perhaps resigned to her fate. His eyes drifted to the silver and white bandeau on her head and he could not help but feel relief at her choice to wear it.
He reached his hand out to her, helped her out of the carriage.
“Thank you,” she said quietly and looked up with wide eyes. “Thank you for this. It is just like hers.” She motioned for the bandeau.
“I know. I never forgot the description of it. When I saw it, I knew that it was perfect.”
He remembered the day he found it. He had accompanied Lady Fernley and one of her daughters into town and came upon the item at the milliner’s shop. When he saw it, he was transported back to that day that they were rummaging through the late Duchess’ armoire in search of the headdress. He recalled her passionate description of it and her desire to wear it when she was to be married.Back then, she had been full of enthusiasm for the idea of marriage—something lost along the way.
He cherished the memory of that day still because it had been the start of their unique connection. Their friendship, already strong, had been strengthened further, to the point where he felt it was unbreakable. But of course, he had been wrong.
She looked at him, blinking. “I was surprised that you remembered. It was such a very long time ago.”
“There is a little about our life together that I have forgotten. I know I have broken much between us, but that you should never doubt. The years I spent with you, Penelope, were among the best of my life and I will never forget anything about them.They shaped me.”
An overwhelming urge rose within him. He wanted to tell her that he loved her and he wanted to tell her the true reasons for why he’d never returned and why he could never truly be with her even now. He wanted to confess that he was a danger to her, but he couldn’t allow himself.
They had no opportunity to discuss the matter further, because the door opened and the vicar appeared.
“Lord Carlton, I thought I heard your voice. And this must be the blushing bride, Lady Penelope. Please, enter.” He motioned for them to go inside and they did as he indicated.
The interior of the church was plain. A row of pews ran down either side of the aisle and at the front was a simple pulpit and a crucifix. Daniel watched as Penelope looked around. He knew this was not how she had imagined this day.
It was not his, either. Not that he’d much entertained the idea of marriage or his wedding day. Even during the brief period when he’d considered making an offer to Bridget Hughes’ father, he’d never imagined their wedding. But her… Even though she claimed marriage was no longer a concern for her, he knew that she could not help but compare. Being as skilled at matchmaking as she was, she had attended a great many weddings. He could not offer her anything akin to what she’d experienced in the past.
“Lord Carlton?” The vicar, who he had only met the previous day, called out to him. “Are you ready? The witnesses have arrived.”
Daniel and Penelope both turned to see two young men appear. They seemed to be farmers, given their state of dress. One had hay in his hair and the other wore a stained pair of pantaloons. They’d evidently come straight from the field, looking to earn the few guineas Daniel had offered to the witnesses.
He stepped beside Penelope and touched her elbow.
“I am sorry, this isn’t much. But it was the best I could do on short notice.”
She nodded and made her way toward the altar as he fell into step.
“It will do for our purposes. It will do.” As they stood at the front, the witnesses sitting in a rather bored fashion behind them, the vicar explained the short service to them. As he pretended to listen, Daniel could not help but look at her. She was a beauty. A sad, dejected beauty. And yet, she was as breathtaking as ever.
If only I was not afflicted by this troublesome ailment. If only I had not inherited my father’s bad temper. I wish I could stand here, with her, and allow her to know my true feelings. Maybe if she knew the truth, she could find it in her heart to forgive me. Maybe she could even love me again one day.
He sighed. It could not be. He could never risk endangering her by letting his guard down. He would have to remind himself of this every day he was near her. A draft wavered through the church then and he shivered, noticing that she did the same. Without a thought, he took off his tail coat and draped it over her shoulders, causing her to flinch at the unexpected touch.
When he stepped back to his own side, he realized she was looking at him. “Thank you,” she mouthed and pulled the coat closer around herself.
The vicar, with the Book of Common Prayer open before him, smiled, mistaking the gesture as one of love. Daniel paused in his thoughts, realized that it was exactly that. A gesture a protective husband would display to his adored wife. He turned his eyes away from her and instead focused on their vicar who led them through the lengthy ceremony.
At the end, after what seemed like an eternity, the vicar turned to Daniel and said the words he’d been longing for and dreading all at once.
“Daniel, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
He opened his mouth to reply when suddenly, his lips quivered and his eyes filled with tears. He steadied himself, turned his head and found himself unable to speak. He wanted to say “I will” with all of his heart, as he meant every word the vicar had said, and yet he knew he could not, must not, mean any of it.
As he stood and looked at the woman he loved, about to pledge himself to her forever, he found that suddenly he could not bring himself to say the words at all.
I cannot. I cannot.
When at last he was able to speak once more, the only words he could bring himself to say were not the ones she expected.
