I snapped my mouth closed. To a casual onlooker, the observation was not enough to send the rush of nerves shivering down the spine. But it was his tone. That note of distaste.
“They did an amazing job,” I defended myself, hoping he didn’t know I hadn’t actually seen the result of their hard work. “I appreciate them pulling it together on such short notice.”
My father hummed under his breath.
If there was ever a man who hated poverty, who detested blue-collar workers, it was Archy Loring. They were a stark reminder of the world he left behind when he climbed the social ladder.
“Did you finalize the contracts for Steven’s estate?” I kept my voice quiet as the bridesmaids paired with the groomsmen ahead of us.
At the signal from Bill, Carole was escorted to the seat of honor. Dad watched her leave before turning to me.
“I did. You’ll be given your title later this summer, but there’s still the contingency clause.” His critical gaze swept over me.
Bill scooted over to help me pull the veil over my face. I chewed the inside of my cheek as he fussed and fluffed my dress. When the first groomsman returned from escorting Carole and paired with Denver, the music through the doors beyond changed. Bill rushed to do a final check of each of my friends as they left.
“Contingency clause?” I whispered. “What are the terms?”
My father crooked his elbow, and I slid my hand through his. “You and Steven didn’t see the final draft?”
There were only two ways to play this. I hated to admit to my father that Steven hadn’t even told me about the situation in the first place. That he had to have a bride to inherit the lands, estate, and title. So if I said no, that I hadn’t seen the damned contract, my father would quite possibly put a halt to this whole charade until negotiations pushed the contract in our favor.
“I didn’t see the final, but he told me last night,” I lied.
Dad hummed again. “I must admit, it’s old fashioned. But we shouldn’t expect anything less from the Brits, right, honey?”
I laughed hoarsely at his attempt at a joke.
We paused as the last pair of the bridal party ventured out.
That should have been Nicole and Cristiano. Forcing that painful thought away took some effort. I almost didn’t hear what my dad said next.
“I do look forward to my first grandbaby being born. That will mean you keep the noble title and honors in the family, no matter what happens in this marriage.”
I nearly tripped over the threshold as we began to move. “A baby?”
“You said you read the contract?” My father pulled up short, missing the cue of the music that was supposed to march us down the aisle. “My first grandchild will seal the ancient lineage, and if it’s a boy, he’ll be an earl just like Steven.”
He didn’t seem to remember my sister was pregnant.
But that was because he’d disowned her.
No, it was I who would bear the next generation in his eyes.
I regretted not drinking this morning. I wanted to be numb. I muttered something about getting right on that tonight, to which my father laughed, and we began moving, but the whole time I fought to stay upright. This was all a game. A farce, where I married the wrong man, bore his children, and made the Loring name great.
I don’t even lovehim.
It wasn’t something I thought bothered me. Marrying for love wasn’t safe. I swore it would never happen to me, but this? This! Where my success depended on breeding with a man I hadn’t even slept with, who kissed me like a sloppy ice cream cone?
My gaze leapt about wildly as we walked across freshly strewn rose petals. More evidence that Carole got her way whenever she wanted it. When we rounded the side, I stared hard at the black suit standing at the end of the aisle. Blood roared in my ears. I couldn’t draw a proper breath. I didn’t love him—Ishouldlove the man I married.
This is all a mistake.
“What is going on?” Dad stopped, and I stumbled into him.
My heart was in my throat, blocking the precious oxygen. I tore my gaze from the groom’s broad back and tried to see what displeased my father now. The temperature had dropped tens of degrees. It would be easier if Dad had a temper. If he was physically abusive. But that frigid disappointment leaching from his every pore was the most dreadful form of spite.
I opened my mouth to tell him everything was fine, but the words died on my tongue. There probably wasn’t enough air to form them in the first place. None of that mattered.
