“Where is he?” Tabetha whispered beside her.
Bethany had dreamed of marrying, albeit as a distant possibility. But she’d always thought that if such a day came, she would wed in the small chapel at Westerley Crossings with her father at her side. After he’d passed, she’d pictured her brother giving her away.
Instead, she was huddled in a massive pew with her sister, her mother, her Aunt Catherine, and her mother’s companion but no one to give her away. The impressive church was nearly empty, and a fog of guilt and shame hung heavily in the air.
And pity. Ah, yes, she felt that too.
A handful of her brother’s friends were seated in the pew box across the aisle—on the groom’s side. Familiar faces that had existed in her realm for years.
Three of them, arguably the most important, were noticeably absent—her prospective groom, her brother, and Blackheart—who apparently had made all of this possible—by affectively pulling some dukish strings.
Logically, she knew it was for the best that Westerley wasn’t here, but where was Chase?
“He’ll be here,” Lord Greystone mouthed into the silence with a confident nod.
“He damn well better.” Stone Spencer growled not so silently, his voice carrying across the aisle. His younger brother, Peter, elbowed him.
“This is a church, for Christ’s sake,” Lord Manningham-Tissinton grumbled.
Upon which Stone cocked an eyebrow.
Scuttling sounds at the back had Bethany twisting around only for her heart to plummet when it wasn’t him.
“Mother?” Bethany hissed, scowling past Tabetha at the woman who’d brought her into this world, and then back to the newly arrived guests.
Dressed in Sunday finery with colorful plumes and elegant gowns, Lady Ravensdale, along with a few of her mother’s acquaintances had arrived, apparently to witness even more of her humiliation.
This was supposed to be a private ceremony!
Her mother shrugged. “She insisted. I couldn’t very well tell her not to come after all that she’s done.” Her mother rose and greeted Lady Ravensdale and then turned to the older woman, Lady Sheffield. “Josephine. Eleanor.” Those two were accompanied by Lady Hawthorne and Lady Darlington and then a few others Bethany had known for as long as she could remember.
Bethany rose and quietly greeted each of them as they filed into the pew box and arranged themselves comfortably behind her. It was a wonder that her smile didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces.
“We’re waiting on the groom,” her mother explained in a loud whisper.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mary. How are you, dear Bethany? Tabetha?” Lady Chamberlayne reached down and squeezed her shoulder.
“Not to worry, dear. Chaswick is a good many things, but he isn’t a jilt,” Lady Sheffield added optimistically.
Bethany resisted the urge to groan and bury her face in her hands. How had her life come to consist of this series of humiliations? Was this the third in twenty-four hours, or the second? She was beginning to lose count.
The proposal she’d suffered through that morning ought to at least count for half of one.
“What time is it now?” Lady Chamberlayne asked.
“Three minutes to four,” Lady Darlington, the girl who had once been a maid, whispered hastily. She sent Bethany an apologetic smile.
Bethany winced and turned to face the aisle.
“Oh, my!” Concerned whispers from behind echoed her own anxious thoughts
“Would it have killed him to arrive early?” Tabetha squeezed her arm. “What if he doesn’t come? All your planning will have been for naught… with all you suffered through since… the incident.”
“I didn’t plan any of this, you goose.” Bethany straightened her back, preparing herself for the worst. “If he… If he jilts me, we will simply return to Westerley Crossings and make the best of our futures.” It was one thing for her to suffer these consequences alone, but it wasn’t at all fair that her sister would have to as well—and her mother.
And possibly Jules and Charley and any children they might have.
Tabetha winced but squeezed her wrist again. “We’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
