“Of course. Meg will have whatever she needs,” Lucy replied.
“It seems your gamble paid off, Your Grace.” Mother eyed Meg up and down with disgust. “She’ll be well able to repay you now with the money she’ll have as Highgate’s wife.”
“Stop it,” Meg murmured.
“Stop what?” Mother replied. “Isn’t this what you wanted? What you planned for?”
It was so close to the truth and so awful that Meg jumped from her seat and ran for the door. There was no longer any doubt. She was going to retch.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The wedding was held precisely three days later in the drawing room of the Highgates’ town house at nine o’clock in the morning. The wedding party consisted of the nervous bride, who was still convinced she would retch at any moment; the bridegroom, whose face remained an angry mask of stone; the bridegrooms’ parents, who looked as if they were equally torn between anger and retching themselves; the bride’s parents, who both looked completely outraged; the groom’s sister and brother-in-law, who looked worried; the Duke of Claringdon, who looked stoic; and the Duchess of Claringdon, who looked ebullient.
As the archbishop intoned the words that would forever bind Meg to Hart, she fought tears. Not happy tears. It was entirely different from how she’d envisioned this moment in her dreams. This should have been a joyful time, a fantasy-come-true. Instead, as she’d walked the length of the drawing room to meet Hart in the frontnext to the archbishop, she felt as if she walked the gauntlet. She considered running away, hiding even, but those would be cowardly acts. She had to summon the courage to face this.
It was her fault. She’d been the one to ask for Lucy’s help. She’d been the one to go out into the gardens and wait for Lucy to send Hart. Whether she’d known how it would happen or not, she was still the guilty party and she must face the consequences. She’d fretted over the possibility that Hart might run away or hide. Or might not arrive. In the end, however, she’d known Hart would never be so unchivalrous as to hide from this. He wouldn’t run, and she owed it to him not to embarrass him or his family any further by running herself. It would shame him if she refused to appear at the wedding.
Hart didn’t look at her. It was the first time they’d seen each other since that awful moment in Lucy’s garden. Meg had hoped he’d pay a call, come and talk to her, give her a chance to explain, give her a chance to offer him a way out. She’d tell him she would be all right. Her parents had planned to take her to the Continent regardless. She could weather the scandal much better from there. Of course there would be visitors from England and the gossip would eventually spread. She wasn’t naive enough to believe she could save her reputation, but she would be more than willing to live a life of shame if it meant saving Hart from a marriage he didn’t want. She loved him desperately, but she didn’t want a husband who had married her out of obligation.
Hart never paid her a call. The note she’d sent himthrough Sarah, in which she’d asked him to come so they could decide how best to handle this debacle, had gone unanswered until early this morning when Sarah brought her a note with one scrawled line. Meg had been unable to breathe as she’d opened it and her heart had dropped into her slippers. “The wedding is set for nine o’clock.” Not a word to indicate his emotions, but Meg knew. He was furious.
Sarah and Cassandra had attended Meg this morning. Jane had recused herself by saying she had nothing nice to say and didn’t intend to aggravate the situation by being surly, a sentiment that Meg appreciated.
Lucy had been banished by both Meg and Sarah. The duchess showed no remorse for her actions and had merely offered her husband’s experienced help in procuring a quick wedding license.
So it was that Sarah and Cassandra saw Meg outfitted in a pale peach gown, her hair arranged with white rosebuds. The entire time, Meg and Sarah had been on the verge of tears. Poor, dear, sweet Cassandra had looked as if she might cry, too, while trying to say encouraging things like “Won’t it be lovely for the two of you to be sisters-in-law at long last?”
Sarah did her best to muster a smile. Meg couldn’t summon any enthusiasm. Her stomach remained a mass of knots as she imagined facing Hart. What could she possibly say to him? What could she possibly do? She entertained a brief fantasy that involved grabbing his hand and running away with him. They could both run, couldn’t they? She could save him and then leave and cause him no further trouble. But the moment she’d seen his stoic face and his ramrod-straight back as he stoodin the drawing room, her courage fled and the rest of the wedding was a blur of recited words and worry.
When it was over and the vows were said and sealed, her husband turned on his heel and walked out of the drawing room without so much as looking at her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
If drinking too much champagne before noon was incorrect, Meg didn’t want to be correct. The wedding breakfast was held immediately after the ceremony and Meg couldn’t manage to choke down so much as a bite. Hart, who sat like a statue at her side, had no such compunction. He ate and drank as if he hadn’t a care in the world and talked to the Duke of Claringdon and Lord Berkeley as if heweren’tsteadfastly ignoring his wife. Wife. The word made her gulp, made her belly tie into stricter knots. How in the span of three short days had the concept of being Lady Highgate gone from a fantasy to a nightmare?
Sarah sat on Meg’s left and squeezed her hand reassuringly from time to time, but the two friends didn’t speak. Meg downed glass after glass of champagne, nervously contemplating something she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell upon until this moment: her wedding night. Regardless of how a wedding happened, joyful orsolemn, wanted or unwanted, angry or pleasant, a weddingnightwas inevitable. It had to happen. If it didn’t, their marriage wouldn’t be consummated and that would render it unlawful. The thought ofhowit would happen was what kept her tipping back champagne glasses.
Hart wouldn’t look at her. He wouldn’t speak to her. His vows had been recited in a monotone voice while staring straight ahead. She couldn’t think about a cold, unfeeling act in Hart’s bed. Would it be painful? Surely Hart wouldn’t punish her with his body. The only thing that made her feel more calm was the bubbly champagne. Champagne didn’t judge her or ask her questions. Lovely, lovely champagne. When she reached for her fourth glass, Sarah’s hand shot to her wrist to stop her.
“You may want to slow down,” Sarah whispered.
“I’m frightened out of my wits,” Meg whispered back, through a fake smile meant entirely for the archbishop, who eyed her over a heaping plate of salmon and eggs.
“I know, but Hart will have to speak with you eventually.”
“He’ll have to do more thanspeakwith me eventually.” Meg’s voice shook.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Sarah whispered.
Meg managed a wooden nod. “I can hardly think of anything else.”
“Come with me.” Sarah pushed back her chair and grabbed Meg’s hand. They both stood. “Excuse us for a moment, won’t you?” Sarah announced to the table at large. The men stood as the ladies left the room, and even though he stood, too, Hart didn’t make eye contact with Meg.
Sarah pulled Meg from the dining room, through the corridor, past the foyer, and into the front drawing room. She closed the door behind them and turned to face Meg.
“I hate to ask this, but I feel I must.” Sarah smoothed her hands down her skirts. “How much has your mother told you… about your wedding night?”
Meg rubbed her hands up and down her freezing arms. “Absolutely nothing.”
