Emma let the touch anchor her. “Thank you. I’ll put it in my glove.”
“How do you feel?” Melody asked. “Do you need anything? Water? Salt? A wet towel?”
Emma laughed. “Salt?”
“I am here to provide you with whatever you need. Trust me when I say that you can ask for anything, and I will get it for you.” Melody leaned forward, her voice dropping. “Even if it is a dead body.”
Emma laughed, feeling the knot in her chest loosen. “Let us hope I will not needthat.”
Melody nodded.
Soon, they went down the stairs to the waiting carriage. The street shone with last night’s rain. The horses tossed their heads as if they did not care for the smell of the churchyard at the end of the lane. Two boys watched from behind a post and grinned when Emma glanced their way. She chose not to acknowledge them.
She did not need to look twice to know what was going on in their heads.
The lady who punched a man the other day is getting married.
The sinking feeling she had felt earlier returned, even more devastating. She cleared her throat anyway and kept her gaze ahead. Not once did she speak throughout the ride to the church, and when the carriage eventually stopped, she had to clear her throat to check that she had not lost her voice.
The church felt colder than it should. In the antechamber, someone had set out water and a plate of sugared almonds.
Emma stood and listened to the movement beyond the door. She could tell the size of the crowd by the echo. She could tell the mood by the scrape of a shoe and a hush under it.
The vicar came to the door. “The groom and his family are not here yet,” he said.
Emma held her breath, but her father jumped in before she could get a word out.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I am certain it is nothing to fret about. They are probably held at St. James’s. The street after the rain is always a pain to get through.”
Aunt Agnes clasped her hands together. “Thank you for letting us know.”
Emma nodded. “Thank you, Reverend.”
The vicar left them.
Melody did not release her hand. “Do not worry. This wedding will happen,” she said.
Emma drew a slow breath because the words had a shape that made sense. That sinking feeling returned again, but she tried her best to remain calm. She watched the door to the nave. She watched the strip of light at its base. It did not change.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Guests came late and added a murmur that rippled then settled. Someone laughed once and tried to muffle the sound.
The vicar returned, his face twisted in a grimace. He did not look at her dress. He looked into her eyes.
“We will wait a bit longer,” he said. “These matters sometimes take on a life of their own. No need to make a fuss.”
Emma felt the first thread of cold slither up her arms. “Of course,” she said.
Melody drew nearer. “Emma…”
“I know,” Emma muttered.
Aunt Agnes began to adjust the flowers on a side table that needed no adjustment. Her ring tapped the wood. “I am sure it is a slight delay,” she said too loudly. “They would not spoil their own day.”
