“But your come-out.”
“I won’t say that I wouldn’t be disappointed—devastated even—but there’s no way you could have foreseen that he’d toss you across his lap like that…” Tabetha’s lips twitched as though she was smothering a giggle but then she collected herself enough to frown.
“I’m so sorry.” Bethany could hardly be angry at such irreverence when she herself had likely ruined Tabetha’s life.
“Pshaw.” Tabetha waved a hand through the air. “You can’t be responsible if he doesn’t show. We’ll muddle through whatever happens. Now stop worrying about me.”
Her sister’s forgiveness nearly brought her to tears, and this wasn’t like her at all. She’d cried more in the past twenty-four hours than she had in the past three years.
Bethany shook her head, gritting her teeth and trying to ignore the anxiety building up inside.
Disgrace. D-i-s-g-r-a-c-e. Eight letters.
J-i-l-t.
B-r-e-a-k.
M-e.
She counted the letters of every word that popped into her mind until a loud banging sound cut into her thoughts followed by a cool rush of air. Every set of eyes swept toward the entrance.
In that instant, the sight of him nearly sent her swooning. Her groom was here. Triston Arthur Corbet, the Baron of Chaswick.Chase.
Not only was he here, but he was running up the aisle toward her, dressed in elegant finery and carrying…
A bouquet made up of daffodils, bluebells, and anemones. It was the prettiest bouquet she’d ever seen.
His hair was slightly disheveled, but his face had been freshly shaven and his right eye, the one that hadn’t been pounded, burned bright and sober as he pinned his stare on her.
Unnerved by his attention, she shifted her focus to his other eye. It didn’t look any better than it had earlier that day. In fact, the purplish bruising had darkened. Which of her brother’s friends had done that? It was difficult to imagine Lord Greystone punching anyone; in addition to his fastidious dress, he always seemed so perfectly in control. Nor could she imagine Peter, who seemed to only have passion for his music. The culprit had to have been either Manningham-Tissinton or Mr. Stone Spencer.
But none of that mattered now that Chase was here. Relieved whispers replaced frowns of concern and the church was all the brighter with him in it.
Chase halted where she sat, dropped to one knee, and then flicked a glance at his timepiece. “I have exactly one minute to spare.” He extended the flowers with an easy smile. “A bride should have flowers, no?”
Her heart raced and all the reasons she’d ever longed for him calmed her fears. His charm, humor, sincerity—his dazzling good looks. She inhaled a shivery breath.
And oh, yes, his scent—woodsy and clean.
She’d never actually expected that all his charismatic weapons would ever be directed at her.
“Are you ready to go ahead with this?” The concern in his voice enfolded her even as she wrapped her fingers around the stems of the flowers, covered with a silk ribbon.
She could barely bring herself to nod, her throat thick with emotion.
Relief. Disbelief. Joy. Sadness.
Confusion.
He wrapped his fingers around hers and half-walked, half-dragged her to where the rector stood patiently at the altar.
“Rector Hodgson. Perfect weather for a wedding, wouldn’t you agree? Many thanks for accommodating us today.” Chase spoke as though a handsome baron marrying a mouse of a woman with less than twenty-four hours’ notice was a perfectly normal course of events.
“Indeed, My Lord. His Grace has explained everything.” The rector smiled amicably.
Chase then turned and bestowed a welcoming smile on those who’d come to witness their hastily arranged nuptials. “Lady Westerley.” He made a short bow toward her mother. “Lady Tabetha. Ah, hello, Lady Ravensdale. Lady Sheffield… Lady Chamberlayne, Lady Hawthorne, Lady Darlington. And Lady Tempest. My thanks to all of you for coming.”
This was something else she’d always admired about him—his ability to appear completely at ease in all situations. She wished she could do the same.
