“You have been very generous with me, Annabelle.”
She shakes her head sadly and looks away from me.
It is useless to argue with her on this point.
“I will have to convince you of my gratitude in the bedchamber,” I say softly.
She does smile a little.
“You may lose things in being married to me that nothing can make up for.”
“Why don’t you let me determine that? Right now, I do not fear any losses.”
She looks at me as if I am very young and very foolish.
“And one last thing, Alfred. You must never expect me to love you. I’m not capable of that.”
The words sting as none of her earlier stipulations did. And they confuse me because, in truth, I know her to be capable of great tenderness. She has shown me love even if she won’t avow it.
Evidently, however, to call such actslove,or to say that she loves me will be very difficult for her. At least she is being clear with me. I want her love, but I will accept what she can offer. I will not expect her to call what she does for me, what she doestome, love.
“I don’t expect you to love me, Annabelle. I only want to be with you. It is enough—more than enough—to be your husband.”
Something flashes in her eyes at my words, at my simple acceptance. And then it is gone.
“Come,” she says. “Mr. Peabody is waiting.”
She moves to the door and into the center of the church.
And then I see it.
When she walks by a row of lighted candles, I see that she is not, after all, dressed in her black silk. Instead it is a dress of a different type altogether, one that I have not seen before. It is black, yes, but it is arrayed with magnificent dark lace over the sleeves, bodice, and skirt. And I realize her hair is done up in a series of braids more intricate than her usual simple coil. I even catch a dark velvet ribbon—the same color as her dress—interwoven in the light strands of her hair.
The occasiondoesmean something to her.
The dress is proof.
It gives me strength. She may not be able to say thatshe loves me.
But her clothing, the care she took in dressing for our hasty nuptials, indicates that this weddingisa matter of importance to her.
I follow her, stand before the altar, and I pledge myself to her for life.
Chapter 36
Annabelle
Ever since my father banished me from Trescott, I resolved to never again be reckless.
Instead I sought to always be vigilant. Contained. Calm.
Never, I told myself, would I let a man control me again.
But a madness has descended upon me.
The sprig of tenderness I first felt for Alfred Saintsbury—Alfredde Laceynow—has blossomed into a riot of ivy. I am ensnared. And I can’t even mourn it.
Because I know the marriage will smooth the way. I meant what I said to him. In this life, I want to have first claim to him. I do not want sanctimonious friends and parents to presume to speak for him in my presence. I want no one nearer him than me.
