Thiswashappening.
And in spite of Elise’s bitter disappointment, Dara wanted it. She wanted him.
At that moment, Gwendolyn returned to the room with the pitcher and Tweedie.
“Come, come,” Tweedie said, clapping her hands like a dance master. “We must prepare you for a wedding. We want you to be a beautiful bride.”
***
The ceremony was swift.
Dara did not know Reverend Lucas and would have been hard-pressed to tell anyone what he looked like even after meeting him. No, her focus was on the man standing in front of her.
She didn’t know when or where Michael had changed, but he was freshly shaved. He wore a jacket of evergreen wool. She liked green on him. It brought out his coloring. His buff breeches seemed molded to him, and his boots shone as if they were newly made. She recognized his gold brocade waistcoat from the Royston ball when Dara had taken him aside and told him to leave her sister alone.
Every square inch of him was a Corinthian, a man of his world... and a man who acted as if he was pleased to be marrying her.
He waited for her at the altar alongside the Reverend Lucas. Apparently, it had been up to Teddy to see her and her family to the church.
As Dara walked into the stone sanctuary and saw Michael’s eyes light up at the sight of her, she felt almost beautiful.
Teddy had helped with the styling of her hair. He had shown a true skill, one that rivaled Molly’s. It was piled on her head with some daisies Gwendolyn had purchased from a flower girl tucked in the curls. The daisies went with Gwendolyn’s yellow gown, which she and Molly had quickly shortened for Dara that morning. There were even matching yellow gloves.
The ensemble was one Gwendolyn had been saving for a special occasion and Dara was touched that her sister had given it to her.
Around her neck was a pendant that Gwendolyn had insisted she borrow. It was a small gold heart threaded onto an emerald ribbon that had belonged to Gwendolyn’s mother. Dara didn’t have anything from her own mother, Lydia. She’d brought Wiltham to the marriage, and if there was anything else, then either Captain Sir John had gambled it away or Gram had sold it to pay for tutors or to keep food on the table.
Dara was a knot of nerves. It didn’t help that,when it was time for her to repeat her vows, she sensed a presence in the back of the church. She glanced in that direction and saw Elise. Her sister had taken a seat by the door. She was accompanied by a woman who appeared to be a servant.
Their gazes did not meet. Elise seemed inwardly focused.
But she washere.
To Dara’s surprise, Michael had a ring for her. It was a thin gold band with a single ruby in the center. She had to remove her glove to put it on. Her hands were shaking as he slipped it on her finger.
This marriage, the words, the ring—it all made the marriage seem real. When Michael had repeated his vows, he’d sounded sincere. His voice had been strong and clear.
Everything would be perfect if only Dara didn’t feel uncomfortable about Elise’s feelings.
Directing the couple to face the few witnesses in the church, Reverend Lucas said in sonorous tones, “I pronounce you man and wife.”
The only person Dara saw was Elise. Elise frowning, looking away. Elise not forgiving her.
Michael had tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. He smiled down at Dara, a look that made her knees weak, and scattered the grief of disappointing her sister.
Then she noticed Elise rise and practically race out of the church. The sight hurt.
Amid the congratulations, if Gwendolyn or Tweedie had noticed Elise wasn’t there, they didn’t say.
Michael took them to the Clarendon Hotel for the wedding breakfast. Reverend Lucas happily joined them, and they all rode in the open barouche Michael had hired for the occasion.
“I never miss a chance of eating at the Clarendon,” Reverend Lucas informed them on the drive. “Jacquiers is the best cook in London. It is the only place you can find a genuine French dinner.”
Since the Lanscarrs had never eaten anything remotely French, they didn’t understand what he meant. They soon found out.
They dined on squabs and champagne. Food had never tasted so grand. Even Tweedie was impressed, and she was not one for praising anything French. She even forwent her sherry.
Most important of all, Dara sat by Michael’s side. He touched her often. His presence served as a bulwark of sorts between her former habit of worrying and accommodating others and this new, slightly unnerving attitude of doing as she pleased.
