“I’d prefer we dispense with the intimacies of an engaged couple. I have no affection for you and do not wish for any from you. So, if you will, please address me formally.”
“Very well.” Her own pride warred with her guilt. “Thank you, my lord.” She hoped in time he could come to like her again. One day perhaps. Most likely very far into the future. Perhaps when they were presented with grandchildren, or great-grandchildren.
She found Rose and informed her that the deed was done. Hugh knew everything and had said he would still marry her.
It was not anything to celebrate but at least her babies were going to have a father. And they were safe now. She had Rose unpack her trunks so that they could settle in. Most likely, she would not leave here for a very long time. Hugh would probably be happy to consign her to the country for the rest of their lives and go about his life as though he had no wife.
Oh, that sounded horrible!
* * *
Penelope did not seek Hugh out the next day. She assumed he’d had to travel to Plymouth, perhaps, in order to obtain a special license. She hoped the time away would give him pause to reconsider her claims.
It would be so sad for all of them if he persisted in his martyrdom, refusing to believe that he’d had any part in it all.
For he had, yes, he very well had, and lurking beneath Penelope’s guilt was a growing anger at her reluctant fiancé. But as quickly as she acknowledged it, she pushed it back down. She was the villain in it all. All she could do for now was wait, and hope.
Chapter 18
Penelope’s wedding day was not exactly as she’d imagined it would be. Not that, as a girl, she’d ever fantasized about dressing up and what flowers she would carry and how the church would be decorated.
She’d had a different dream altogether. She’d thought she would only marry if she found a man with which she could create a perfect union. She’d always thought her wedding day would be a happy one. She’d not in a million years imagined she’d feel as though she might as well be carrying a shotgun down the aisle, forcing an unwilling man to say, “I do.”
But that was how she felt.
And because there was not only herself to consider, not only herself and even Hugh, but at least two other lives, she proceeded accordingly.
Hugh was dressed somberly and still wore the armband for his mother. Penelope, too, wore all black. On top of everything else, she could not bring herself to wear colors, even a subdued lavender, so soon after his mother’s death.
Rose had tried pressing some flowers into her hand before they entered the small chapel, which had been on Hugh’s estate for centuries, but Penelope refused them.
She believed that any indication of celebration would only anger her fiancé further. And she did not feel celebratory. She’d won a father for her children but not a husband for herself, really. He’d already told her he did not wish for any affection.
No, there was no need to celebrate.
Which left her pledging herself to him with a grim, solemn determination.
The church was dark and cool, set in a thickly forested area. She presumed the sun rarely struck it full on. Hugh informed her earlier that the vicar would meet them at ten in the morning. Rose and his valet would be witness to the event. Hugh’s sister, Lady Margaret, was to be the only guest.
They came into the vestibule and then followed the vicar up to the altar. Rose sat behind her, in the front pew, Margaret across the aisle, behind the groom, and Hugh’s valet stood off to the side, a few feet from Hugh.
The vicar was perfect for the occasion—cold, formal, and humorless. Did he know? Ah, yes, she thought as he looked upon her with what felt like contempt. Her condition was virtually impossible to hide. From the front, a person could not really tell, but when viewed from the side, she was all too aware of what they saw. Her abdomen protruded just slightly more so than her bodice. How could onenotknow?
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, “we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony: which is an honorable estate, instituted by God himself.” At these words, Penelope glanced over at Hugh. Well, perhaps this marriage was not instituted by God, per se…
The vicar continued, “Therefore, it is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly; but reverently, discreetly, soberly, and in the fear of God.” These words felt like a sword piercing her heart. This marriage was commencing on the least happy of circumstances! She could not stop the tear that escaped. She forced her eyes to focus upon the vicar’s Bible as he read.
“I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it.” Penelope was half afraid that Hugh might speak up at this point. Dreadful day of judgement indeed!
But a hollow silence echoed about the chapel instead. No one would stop this marriage.
The vicar turned pointedly to Hugh. “My lord, Hugh Chesterton, Viscount Danbury, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health? And, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Without looking over at his bride, Hugh answered firmly, “I will.”
“And Miss Penelope Beatrice Crone, wilt thou…” His words were lost, and the gravity of the occasion momentarily forgotten when one of the goldfish in her belly fluttered around, feeling more like a trout. She could not help it; a secret smile touched her lips.
“Ma’am?” the vicar prompted.
