With one arm anchored to my father, I walked down the long aisle to the altar. The smell of incense penetrated the air, while the massive ceiling and stone walls made the space feel cold,lifeless, and barren. Nothing like the Bruton Parish Church in Williamsburg.
The processional felt like it took an eternity, and then we arrived and Lord Cumberland was waiting with the rector, the Reverend Ernest Milmore Stires.
I didn’t even look at Lord Cumberland as my father and I waited for the music to come to an end and the ceremony to start. When the rector asked who gave this woman to be married, I clung to my father’s arm as if my life depended on it.
Father looked at me, and I could see the question in his eyes. Was I sure I wanted to go through with this? He would stop everything, if I only said the word.
But how could I do that to him?
I lowered my gaze and let go of his arm. Slowly, he stepped back and went to sit with Mother.
Standing there alone, every instinct screamed for escape. Each exit from the church looked like a beacon of hope—but what would I gain? I’d made my decision, and it was final. I was doing this for Father.
My only consolation was knowing that Mama was keeping vigil over me through the long night in Williamsburg. Though she was not physically with me, I could still feel her prayers and love. They sustained me through the tedious ceremony.
When Lord Cumberland lifted my veil at the end of the ceremony to place a chaste kiss upon my cheek, I saw the shock in his eyes at the sight of my tears, and I felt a measure of gladness that he knew I was miserable.
And then it was over.
I was Anna Elizabeth Fairhaven, the Marchioness of Cumberland. No longer Libby Wells, for I would not give Lord Cumberland the pleasure of calling me Libby. That name was reserved for those I cared most about in the world.
13
WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA
AUGUST 2, 1774
Even before I opened my eyes the next morning, tears were wetting my pillow. I had cried myself to sleep in 1914 and woken up with the same tears in 1774.
“Libby?” Mama was sitting near my bed.
I turned toward her voice, and she climbed into the bed to hold me. I clung to her and wept.
She soothed my brow with her gentle fingers and let me cry. “Let it all out, Libby. The girls are sleeping in my bed, so you won’t disturb them.”
The room was still dim, and the sun had not yet peeked over the horizon. I tried not to let the images and experiences from my wedding day enter my mind, but I could not force them away.
“Tell me what happened,” she finally said.
I swallowed, trying to control my tears. “It’s too awful.”
She continued to hold me, allowing my heart and mind to settle.
When I was finally able to speak, I said, “We were married.” I didn’t even try to describe the ceremony or the people or thechurch. None of it mattered. “Afterward, there was a wedding breakfast at the mansion. When everyone left, Lord Cumberland informed me that he didn’t have a moment to lose and we would board a ship to return to England by day’s end.”
“Did he not see your distress?”
“If he did, he did not care. He had come to get his prize, and with all the formalities finished, he saw no reason to linger.”
Mama ran a tendril of my hair through her fingers as she listened to me. She’d done it often when I was a child to soothe me.
“We boarded the RMSAquitania.” Lord Cumberland had boasted that it was one of the newest luxury ocean liners, and I suspected our passage cost a great deal, but he was no longer a pauper. He had been overly generous in his attention after the wedding, and I wondered if my tears had played a part in his attentiveness, though his behavior later would prove that his memory was short-lived.
Mama did not speak, and as the room brightened enough to see her face, I could tell she hadn’t slept all night.
“Did you stay awake for me?” I whispered.
She nodded, a sad smile on her lips. “I prayed for you all night, Libby.”
