Charlotte’s sisters watched with shining eyes from the pews beside Harriet, though Joan occasionally looked moments away from openly crying despite clearly fighting against it. Penelope already dabbed dramatically at her eyes with a handkerchief whilst Irene smiled softly.
Victor found himself strangely pleased by the sight of their families together. The Browns filled the chapel with warmth and life and constant chatter in a way Mulford Manor had lacked for years. Elizabeth positively glowed with happiness amongst them, and even Lionel seemed more relaxed than usual.
Lionel and Morgan stood beside him, giving their last words. Lionel looked far more suspiciously emotional than Victor had ever seen him. “It is not too late to flee,” Morgan whispered as he passed Victor.
Victor adjusted his cuffs. “I shall leave fleeing to cowards and Frenchmen.”
“Marriage makes saints of some men and corpses of others,” Morgan replied.
Lionel sighed heavily. “Must you torment him before the ceremony?”
Morgan grinned. “It is my duty as his dearest friend.”
Victor would have replied with something cutting had the chapel doors not opened at that precise moment. The quiet murmur of conversation died instantly.
Charlotte entered upon her uncle Oswald’s arm, and Victor forgot every coherent thought in his head.
God above.
The ivory gown fitted her beautifully, soft satin skimming her figure whilst lace framed her shoulders and throat with elegant simplicity. Tiny pearls gleamed in her brown hair beneath the delicate veil, and her cheeks carried the faintest flush that made her look lovely. Victor felt heat stir low in his body with such immediate force that it startled him.
She is beautiful. No. Beautiful does not begin to describe her.
Charlotte’s gaze found his at once as she walked slowly down the aisle, and Victor noticed the exact moment she realized he was staring. Her breath seemed to catch slightly, whilst coy warmth spread into her cheeks. He nearly smiled outright at the sight.
Morgan leaned closer, muttering, “You look positively owned.”
Victor did not take his eyes off Charlotte. “Silence,” he muttered to his friend.
For once, Morgan obeyed.
As Charlotte reached him, Oswald placed her hand into Victor’s with surprising gentleness.
“Take care of her,” the viscount murmured quietly enough that only Victor heard.
Victor met the older man’s gaze steadily. “I shall.”
Charlotte glanced up at him briefly, uncertainty flickering across her face before the vicar cleared his throat. The ceremony began properly, solemn and warm beneath the soft light. Victor listened only half attentively at first because Charlotte’s hand remained in his, small and warm and very real.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, “we are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
Victor finally forced himself to focus.
The vows echoed gently through the chapel whilst sunlight warmed the floor between them. Victor had never imagined he would stand at an altar willingly, yet as he looked at Charlotte, something inside him felt unexpectedly steady.
Then the vicar addressed him directly. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy state of matrimony?”
Victor’s gaze remained fixed upon Charlotte. “I will.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly at the firmness in his voice.
The vicar turned toward her. “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband?”
Charlotte swallowed softly before answering. “I will.”
Victor experienced an absurd flicker of satisfaction at hearing the words. Hearing her claim him before God and witnesses stirred something possessive deep inside him all the same.
The vows followed.
