Then again, he’d been just as eager before he left for the continent, and yet when he came back, he had not sought her out. She worried the trim on her neckline, too anxious to sit still. Her thoughts buzzed as her heart thudded loudly in her chest.
Had she only seen what she wished to see with him? Had she said something wrong?
The church door opened again and the vicar strode toward her parents, not seeing her sitting on the bench. She should rise, but her knees felt too weak to hold her.
Her parents directed the vicar to her, coming with him.
“Lady Beaumont, as much as I hesitate to say so, I cannot wait any longer. I must be off as I have half a day’s ride. If whatever has kept the groom is rectified, I would be pleased to marry you tomorrow.” Though he was kind, she could see the pity in his eyes. Then he proceeded inside, no doubt to tell their guests that there would be no wedding.
She looked at her mother, who had tears in her own eyes, her father clasping her hand.
This could not be. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as she curled her fingers into her hands. Stubbornly, she refused to accept that he’d leave her at the church. Marcus would not abandon her to face such a public shaming. He loved her. He said he loved her. He even made love to her. The tightness started in her chest just as it had the day her sisters told her he was alive. Betrayed again. Her breath seemed caught in her throat and she forced herself to breathe. She would not faint.
The church door opened again and the guests started to file out. She couldn’t stand and face the pity. Their fake betrothal had been to spare her such pity and yet here she was. She wanted to laugh but she couldn’t, the pain too harsh. And soon, all of London would know of how she was left standing at the altar. She focused on breathing, finding it more difficult by the moment.
Lady Blackmore stopped, looked at her with puzzlement, then continued to her coach.
Did Marcus’ mother think she’d done something? Did she, or was she simply bad luck? Her eyes stung with the need to cry, but she held her tears back, refusing to accept that Marcus didn’t love her.
As people filed out, her family gathered around her like a protective wall. Her mother now dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief, her father’s arm around her waist. Amelia stood arm and arm with Lord Somerset, both of them with sympathy in their eyes. Even the Duke appeared affected and looked saddened by the event. But as she moved her gaze to Joanna, she encountered something different.
Fury.
At the sight of her sister’s anger, she remembered the words she’d written in the letter she’d left with the book.And if Lord Blackmore dares to break your heart again, I promise retribution.
Something inside her shifted. She pressed her hand to her chest and touched the garnet stone around her neck. Her doubt dissipated like the morning mists. Marcus loved her.
Joanna started to pace. “How dare he! How dare he put you through such public humiliation.”
“I’m so sorry, Mariel.” Amelia sat down next to her. “You did nothing to be treated so poorly. He obviously doesn’t respect you.”
That didn’t fit Marcus, the man who would endure a fake betrothal just to save her from being pitied. He wouldn’t do this, not a-purpose. It was something else. He could be hurt. No, he was an expert horseman. He could handle any eventuality, unless… Memories of him scanning the area every time they were in public flashed through her mind.
“Mademoiselle Mariel?”
At the sound of her name, she turned her head toward the open church door. An old woman looked at her around her parents.
She’d never seen the lady before. “Yes?”
The lady bustled forward, forcing her parents to move to the side. “I am Madame Fontaine.”
At her blank look, the woman shook her head. Then she lowered her brows at Amelia, who rose at the unspoken command and allowed Madame Fontaine to sit. The older woman took her hand and held it tight. “Something is wrong, oui? Marcus, he take three bullets and still he lived only because of you. Yet, he is not here now.”
“Lady Fontaine.” Joanna approached. “Please explain who you are.”
Madame Fontaine didn’t look at Joanna, which was surprising in itself. “I am the woman who found him. I drag him back to my home. I nurse him, thinking he will die. But it was you he lived for. He had to come home toyou. You comprendre?”
She did understand. In other words, nothing would keep Marcus from coming to their wedding. The fear that had started in her stomach, skittered up her spine. She squeezed the woman’s hand and gave her a slight nod before pulling her hand from the woman’s grasp.
“I’m leaving.” She stood and pushed through the protective wall that was her family, striding toward the Mabry coach.
“Mariel, what are you doing?” Her mother’s concerned voice stopped her.
She turned around. “I’m going to find Marcus.” She bit down to keep from saying more. Now that the chance he was hurt had taken hold, it wouldn’t let go. She might be wrong, but she’d rather be wrong than do nothing.
Joanna’s eyes lit with delight. “I’m coming, too. I have a few words to say to that man.”
“Oh, I’m not going to miss this.” Amelia started forward with Joanna.
