It took every ounce of self-control she had not to pull at the fur collar of her coat or strip her hands of the white silk gloves.
In front of her, Edward and his mother sat alone on the first pew—precisely where she and her father should be sitting. From the throbbing vein in her father’s neck, it was clear the snub was getting his temper up.
She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to the pasty, bulbous man in front of her.
It was a traditional Christmas sermon. The local clergyman talked on and on in a tone of voice that scraped like chalk on board.
She ground her teeth.
Looking dead ahead of her, she examined the back of Edward’s head. As she’d lain in bed the night before, she’d convinced herself that Edward was going to change his mind. They’d been engaged for more than a decade, since she was just a child; surely that counted for more than some fear of a little gossip.
Those hopes faded when she’d entered the church. He hadn’t looked over when she’d entered. Hadn’t chastised his mother when she refused to stand and let Amelia and her father join them. Hadn’t even flinched when Amelia had slid into the seat behind him. The muscles in his neck and shoulders were stiff and hadn’t moved since the service started.
He was not about to rescue her. So what was she supposed to do now?
She snuck a look at her intended. He sat stony-faced across the aisle. Next to him sat a child—a girl of perhaps ten years? Twelve? She couldn’t tell. She’d never interacted with children, not even when she was one.
They were clearly related. Short of the broken nose and despite the long blond braid, the child was the spitting image of him. Tanned and freckled, she had her blue eyes trained on Amelia, brow furrowed.
Amelia stared back.
The girl cocked her head, her lips pursed.
Amelia cocked an eyebrow. The girl was bold. Most debutantes wouldn’t dream of staring at Amelia so brazenly.
The stare-off continued until, seemingly satisfied, the girl gave a quick nod of her head and turned to Benedict, whispering in his ear. His eyebrows rose, and he turned to look at Amelia in surprise.
She quickly turned her attention back to her lap, her hands twisting in the grey fur muffler that contrasted with the pale pink of her pelisse. It was pretty, but hardly the pearl-encrusted creation she’d planned to wear on her wedding day. No, that dress was at home in a trunk, along with the rest of her trousseau she’d been building over the years—every piece carefully embroidered “Lady Wildeforde.”
As the sermon ended, people stirred in their seats, waiting for the priest to step down so they could leave. It took everything she had not to be the one leading the retreat. She pressed the soles of her trembling feet hard into the floor.
The clergyman paused for a long painful moment before clearing his throat.
“Before we depart, let us stand together for the union of Lady Amelia Elizabeth Crofton and Benedict Asterly.”
There was a collective gasp among the parishioners. A furious muttering almost drowned out her thumping pulse. Almost.
She looked across at Benedict. He stood and then bent down to whisper something in the young girl’s ear. The girl pattedhishand—as ifhislife were being demolished—and stood to allow Benedict to make his way to the altar alone.
How had she gotten into this?
She should move. She should stand. But her body flat-out refused to comply—until her father elbowed her in the side. Hard.
She stood and moved into the aisle. She would not give the congregation further gossip. She walked toward the altar, head high, her light steps at odds with the heaviness of her insides.
Taking her place, she was once again reminded of Benedict’s hulking size. She was hardly a petite woman, yet she was barely as tall as his chin. He was a bear of a man, quite unlike the gentlemen she was used to.
She cast a last glance at Edward. His eyes were averted.
Coward.
The eyes of the rest of the congregation were fixated on her. It was a sea of suspicion and contempt. To hell with them. Whatever their objections, they couldn’t possibly be stronger than hers.
The priest’s rasping voice cut through the chaos of her thoughts. Good grief, it had started.
“…is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly…”
To Amelia, this marriage was highly unadvisable, but her thoughts didn’t signify, apparently. She bit the inside of her lip, considering what little information she’d gleaned of her husband in the past twenty-four hours.
