“You look lovely,” he added, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek.
A hint of life returned to Phoebe’s eyes as she huffed at that. “Nonsense. I look as well as I can. But come, we mustn’t drag our feet. It wouldn’t do to be late on my wedding day.”
Rising to her feet, Thea quickly put the final touches to Phoebe’s hair as the lady put on her gloves. Then Frederick helped her into her cloak, the gray wool looking out of place next to the pale blue silk, though it would do Phoebe the world of good during the journey to her new home. And in a trice, they had her bundled up and settled into the last vestige of the Vosses’ stables, with the trunks strapped to the boot.
Seated opposite her friend, Thea watched as Dunsby Hall faded from view, but Phoebe did not look back. Hands in her lap, she kept her gaze fixed ahead as her mother babbled about Mr. Godwin’s plans for their journey, bemoaning that the bride and groom had chosen a private service, rather than one on Sunday when the entire parish could partake in the joy. And without even the blessing of a wedding breakfast to celebrate.
Thea glanced at Frederick, but his gaze was fixed just as determinedly to the window as the carriage rolled through the streets of Haverford, and for all that they sat side-by-side, it felt as though they were on opposite sides of the village.
The carriage arrived at St. Augustine’s in a flash, and the passengers made their way into the churchyard. The morning was fair, the sky a soft, endless blue, and the church stood serene amidst its small yard, its ancient stones glowing pale in the sun. There was no gathering of villagers to greet them, no festive air. Only the rustle of wind through the yews and the low murmur of the wedding party.
The ceremony unfolded with brisk solemnity, each word of the service measured and familiar as the marriage took place with hardly a soul to mark the occasion. With so few in attendance, they eschewed the pews and gathered around the couple at the altar, and Thea watched as Phoebe gave her responses clearly, her posture graceful and her voice unwavering—that armor-like composure never slipping.
Yet there was no hiding those lingering signs of the sleepless night and the tear-filled morning written upon the lady’s face.
Then the final benediction was offered, and the church fell silent once more as husband and wife faced one another for a long, silent moment before being ushered away to see to the business of registries and recording. Despite the solemnity of the moment, Mrs. Keats’s voice rang through the nave as she gabbed with Mr. and Mrs. Godwin, that small knot of noise being the only celebration to mark the occasion.
None of them noticed as Frederick wandered away, stepping behind one of the pillars that reached up to the ceiling, marking the area between the nave and the aisles. It did not block him entirely from view, but with the others more concerned with each other, it was private enough, and Thea couldn’t stop herself from following after him.
Frederick stood with his head bowed, one shoulder braced against the cold stone of the pillar, the other hand fisted tightly at his side. From a distance, he might have looked merely quiet and contemplative, but Thea saw the set of his jaw (which warned that he was holding himself too tightly) and the shallow pull of breath (which meant he was fighting to stay still when everything inside him was coming apart).
Gaze fixed on the window, Frederick peered out at the world beyond without seeing any of it, his expression hollow and the skin beneath his eyes darkened after too many sleepless nights. The weight bearing down on him was palpable: the guilt he had no reason to feel, and the unhappiness that was not his doing.
Coming up beside him, Thea brushed her hand against his, yearning to take hold yet not wishing to cause him more pain.
And despite everything that had passed between them, Frederick snatched it up, his fingers wrapping tightly around hers. His expression showed nothing, but the warmth of his hand in hers and the sudden pressure of his fingers said more than any word could, and it echoed through her like a pulse.
“Phoebe made her own choice,” whispered Thea, hardly daring to speak lest the sound carry throughout the cavernous nave.
Curse her wayward tongue! Despite knowing the Vosses so well, Thea couldn’t help the instinct that demanded she do more, and the moment the words left her lips, Frederick released her hand. His expression twisted into a pantomime, and pushing off the column, he dared to turn that wretched smile on her.
As if she would ever believe it.
“You needn’t pretend with me, Frederick. No matter what else has happened, I do hope you still count me as a friend. Not everyone has abandoned you.”
For the briefest instant, the line of his mouth wavered, and the muscle in his jaw tightened as though he’d been struck.Those bright, laughing eyes dimmed, and Thea saw the raw emotion he meant to hide. In a few short months, life had stripped Frederick Voss of everything he loved, some by force and some by choice, and in that moment, Thea saw his heart, cracked and bleeding.
Then it was gone.
Squaring his shoulders, Frederick fixed that smile back in place as though it had never slipped. That familiar lightness of spirit settled over him like a cloak, as though ignoring the heartache allowed it to simply vanish, but Thea had seen the crack in his mask.
“I thank you for your concern, Miss Keats. That is very kind of you.” And with a bow befitting an inferior addressing his superior, Frederick tucked his hands behind him and strode back to the others.
There weren’t curses enough for Mr. Ephraim Voss and the torment he’d rained down on his children’s heads. The devil take him and the greed that had decided thousands a year was insufficient for his needs.
The vestry door opened, and the new couple emerged once more with the wedding certificate firmly in Phoebe’s hand, and those in attendance came forward to offer murmured congratulations. The formality felt oddly heavy, settling thick in the air as though the building itself wished to push them out and have this business concluded.
Thea waited her turn, standing a little apart until Phoebe caught sight of her. Whatever strength had carried her through the ceremony seemed spent now; her face was pale, her movements small and deliberate, yet still, the lady managed a weary smile as Thea stepped forward.
“Promise that you’ll write often,” Phoebe said, grasping her hands tightly.
“I give you my word,” Thea whispered, her throat thick.
There was little else to say. They embraced—briefly but fiercely—and then Phoebe was guided out the door, into the waiting carriage.
Standing at the lychgate, her heart in her throat, Thea watched as they trundled away, the carriage rocking with each bump as it disappeared from sight. Then there was nothing but the empty road stretching ahead, and the faint echo of the horses and jangling tack fading into the distance.
And Thea tried not to wonder if she would ever see her friend again. Instead, she opened her heart, pleading with all her might that Phoebe would find joy.
