CHAPTER SEVEN
“… a
nd in the eyes of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The words were announced to muted cheers and light applause. A few people sniffed back tears, and most wore a smile that suggested this occasion to be a happy one.
In many ways, it was that. As the priest announced Rose and the Duke to be man and wife, Rose found her sister’s smiling face, and she used that to comfort herself from the thoughts of morosity and dread that had been attacking her these past weeks. That smile, those glimmering eyes. Her sister was happy, and that’s what mattered.
Now what? I am a married woman, but have no idea what that means. How will my life change? What is expected of me, and of my husband, for that matter?
Rose had participated in the marriage ceremony as if she were watching from afar. In the morning, when her sister helped her get dressed, she realized that the Duke was still practically a stranger On the ride over here, her father had warned her against doing anything that might upset her intended. So she walked down the aisle, she stood beside her husband, took his hand, and announced to the world that she wished to join him in wedded matrimony.
The whole day had been a blur, and she hadn’t yet come back to herself now that the ceremony was concluded.
“Rosalind,” the voice spoke softly from beside her.
Rose blinked herself into the moment to find her husband looking at her. “Oh. Yes?”
“Is something the matter?”
“What? No. Why would it be?”
Rose was having a hard time figuring her husband out. He was self-assured, confident, aware of the world around him and his place in it. He was also cold and distant, serious and severe, and in every way typical of his class. On the surface, he was exactly what she expected.
Then moments like this arrived. Moments where he seemed to care, where he softened, where humor and personality found his eyes as if he wanted her to know that this marriage was notsomething to be worried about. But why would he even care? Why would he concern himself at all with Rose’s feelings?
“Come then,” He took her hand; it was large and wrapped around her tiny hand. “Let us get this over with.” His tone was soft, even hesitant, as if today was not the triumph it should be.
Rose followed him down the aisle, eyeing the side of his head, noting the way he smiled and thanked the guests as they went. He was polite. He was particular. He was, once again, the embodiment of everything he should be.
He was also something else that Rose could not quite fathom.
She was likely imagining it, but it looked as if he was fighting the urge to drop her hand, to race from the church, and to never look back. He smiled, and he laughed, but it was forced, and behind his smiling eyes, she could see how difficult it was for him.
At least we have that in common.
This was not a traditional marriage, and Rose was pleased that it was not being pretended otherwise because, unlike with most weddings, there was to be no post-ceremonial feast. Apparently, the Duke had forbidden such things.
For that reason, the morning was spent in the church giving thanks to those who had come, and before Rose knew what was happening, she was being led from the church to a carriage that waited for them both outside.
“Rose!” Marianne pushed through the crowd toward her, and Rose wondered if she had ever seen her sister so happy. “Before you go, I wanted to—” She took Rose’s hands, and her chin trembled. “To thank you.”
“We have been over this, Marianne. There is no need to –”
“There is,” she said. “I know you did not want to do this. Nor did you have to. But that you did,” She sniffed back tears. “You are a better sister than I deserve.”
Rose felt the tears coming, and she sniffed them back. “Just do me one favor.”
“Anything.”
“Make it count.” She touched her sister’s cheek. “Make it count.”
And that is why I did this. When the days become their longest, when the times are their hardest, I will have this moment to comfort me…
Such a moment was brief because, before she knew it, Rose was being ushered toward the carriage where her husband stood waiting. He did not wear a smile. He did not look particularly pleased. He watched her coming, almost with a sense of impatience, and bade her to enter.
She did so, having to hoist up her own gown and climb in.
