Edward’s shoulders pulled forward in exhaustion, the weight of regrets growing heavy. Devil take it, this was a mess, despite his efforts to convince himself otherwise. The one thing he had wanted was a marriage unlike his parents, but already he was setting himself up to mimic their unhappy union. He was, apparently, an idiot. His father would be so proud. Not that the man could blame him. After all, like father, like son, as the saying went.
What was he to do with a wife? What was he to do withthiswife? He would not allow this marriage to become his parents’.
His head came up. Hope was not lost.
It could not be hard to woo Lady Amelia. To manage a marriage his parents had never had. All would be well, he was certain.
At least, he thought he was certain.
Unwilling to put off the inevitable any longer, he stepped from the carriage.
The church was nearly empty, which Edward found odd. It was undoubtedly a strange situation, but he had still anticipated that the duke would invite his friends. If Edward had any in town, he would have ensured they were present. As it was, his only friends were a couple of old ladies and a valet who was seeing to his mother’s health and would probably hit Edward upside the head when he learned of his current circumstances. Come to think of it, the Dowager Lady Cromwell was more likely to hit him than even Barton.
Was Lady Amelia in a similar situation—lacking in friends? Or had her father not allowed her to bring any acquaintances to witness her marriage?
Lady Amelia. Or Amelia. He’d not obtained use of her Christian name, but marrying her had to be permission enough.
He stopped partway down the aisle, recognizing her silhouette already seated on the front row. Her hair was aglow from the light coming through a window, and her chin was tucked, displaying the fine lines of her neck beneath a close-fitting coat of sorts. She turned slightly, staring at something to the side of the church, and he admired the tilt of her nose, the dip of her lips, and the long lashes he could see from where he stood.
His throat became oddly dry.I could certainly do worse.
Her sisters and another woman—he assumed she was the vicar’s wife—sat around her. He’d rather expected she would walk down the aisle as was standard, but it seemed nothing about this marriage would be normal.
The vicar and His Grace came to their feet at his arrival, the former moving through a row of chairs to greet him with a handshake, the latter simply glowering at him with folded arms. The women turned in their seats, but Amelia was lost to his view by the vicar’s rotund form.
“Lord Norwich. We were beginning to wonder if you intended to be late to your own wedding!” The man chuckled at his joke. “Come, come, I believe we are all set to begin. Lady Amelia, if you will join us at the front? Yes, yes, right there, my dear. Thank you.”
Edward situated himself in front of the vicar, standing with all the confidence he possessed in the silence of the drafty building. The gravity of the situation fell with a weight upon his shoulders. How was it that a week ago he did not even know this woman, and now they were standing before each other in a church? He swallowed with difficulty.
It is only marriage. Marriages have started on less an acquaintance than ours.
The vicar began reading the vows, and Edward could not help his gaze landing on Amelia even as he repeated the vicar’s words.
Her eyes were focused somewhere near his right shoulder, but he drank in the sight of her regardless. She was far shorter than his six feet and wore a gown of ivory that set off her bronze, honeyed hair, which was styled into a soft piling of curls atop her head. A few loose tendrils curled about her neck and framed her face. With her creamy skin, high cheekbones, and delicately arched brows, she really was quite beautiful. And her lips. Their soft curves and light color were incredibly enticing. If she had been allowed a true Season, he had no doubt she would have had many suitors.
Maybe she already did. Were there men angry with him for snatching her out from beneath their noses? No doubt he would be more than a match for any such imbecile.
And then she looked at him, and he forgot what he was about.
He was struck, at first, by the light-green color of her eyes. Though striking, he had already learned of their fickle nature; they could also be blue if they wanted. What caused the difference? And were they ever a color but green or blue? But then, the look she was sending him broke through his admiration.
Anger, clear as day, shone from her entrancing eyes. Her lips, which he’d just been studying, pressed into a thin line, and her cheeks pulled in with the extent of her feelings. She was livid. He nearly took a step back with the force of the emotion aimed at him. And then an odd sheen covered her eyes.
Was she about to cry? Good heavens, he hated when women cried. He never had any clue what to do. Usually he did not care much, but now, with a strange stirring in his chest, he found hedidcare.
What an odd sensation.
She blinked a few times, looking away again.
Edward was dumbfounded.
“Lord Norwich, have you a ring?”
He fumbled in his pocket at the vicar’s words, extracting the simple gold band with a colored gemstone set into it. It had been his mother’s. And now it would be his wife’s.
He swallowed hard.
“Very good. Repeat after me, Lord Norwich. ‘With this ring I thee wed.’”
