“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
How she’d deftly made biscuits and played with a servant’s dog.
“Which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the tome of man’s innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his church.”
How she’d soundly beaten him at chess and helpfully carved out a spot in the snow for Fergus II to go outside.
“And therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, but reverently, discreetly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained.”
How she’d been so worried for poor Mrs. Goatsocks despite her own troubles, and how she’d thoroughly charmed Mrs. Hamilton.
“First, it was ordained for the procreation of children.”
The rest of the bishop’s words blurred for Christian. They were just a mass of nonsensical sounds that blended together in his mind. Children.Children.Sarah would be having children. Branford’s children.
The words that Monroe had said to Christian yesterday slashed through his mind. And he realized, he finally realized. Monroe had been right. If Christian had everreallyloved one of the other women, he would have fought for her. He would have imagined one of them being the mother of his future children, as he was imagining Sarah right now. He would have fought for true love.
Because, by God, true love was worth fighting for.
The bishop turned toward the congregation. “If any man can show any just cause why these two may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lucy’s elbow headed toward him. “No need,” he whispered, leaning down to her ear.
Then he stood up and in a voice that was full of confidence and loud enough for the entire congregation to hear, he declared, “I can!”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
A collective gasp sounded through the church. The bishop’s mouth fell open. Lord Branford’s face was quickly turning purple. Hart seemed to be trying to squelch a smile. Meg didn’t even attempt to squelch hers. Sarah’s father swung around, looking as if he wanted to punch first and ask questions later.
But Christian was looking only at Sarah. She turned slowly, no doubt recognizing his voice, and when she saw him standing there, she closed her eyes. But not before he saw pain in them. Pain and… regret?
“What is your reason, sir?” the bishop asked, clearing his throat.
Christian stepped out of the pew into the aisle. “I have something to say that may greatly affect the continuation of this wedding.”
Sarah opened her eyes again. Yes. There they were. Pain and regret. Her eyes pleaded with him to stop.
But he couldn’t stop. Even though he knew in that moment that she might never forgive him, he couldn’t stop.
“Out with it, then,” the bishop said.
Sarah’s father stepped out of the first pew, where he’d been sitting. He turned to the side so that he was halfway facing the bishop and halfway facing Christian. “This is preposterous,” the earl said in a booming, angry voice. “This man must leave the church immediately. I don’t think—”
“I want to hear what he has to say.” Branford stepped forward, his face turning more purple by the moment.
“As do I,” the Prince Regent agreed, pulling his embroidered morning coat over his wide belly.
Sarah’s father clearly couldn’t argue with the two most esteemed gentlemen in the church. The earl stepped back, but his eyes burned like hot coals into Christian’s shirtfront.
“The truth is,” Christian intoned, “you all may have heard some rumors several months ago. Rumors about Lady Sarah running away.”
Sarah mouthed the wordNo.
His gaze fell from hers. Instead, he turned his attention to Lord Branford. For Branford was the one who would have every right to call him out after he finished listening to what Christian was about to say.
“The rumors are true,” Christian continued in a voice loud enough for those in the farthest pew to hear. “Lady Sarah did, in fact, run away. She came to Scotland, where I live part of the winter, and she and I were alone together for several days in my hunting lodge there.”
An even louder collective gasp reverberated throughout the church. Before Christian had a chance to take a breath and say another word, Sarah ran. She raised her delicate white skirts and flew down the steps from the altar, past her father, past Christian, down the aisle, and out the back doors of the church. Meg Timmons and Hart quickly ran after her. Sarah’s mother, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth, promptly fainted.
