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Charles did his best to listen. He had heard the words before at other weddings. There, they had been filled with promise, hope, and love. Now, they were filled with dread, emptiness, and a falsehood he could not bear.

“For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s word doth allow, are not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful.”

Miss Oakley remained still and silent beside him, just as she’d done all morning—back when he’d thought a quarter-of-an-hour visit would finally placate his parents to allow him his own future.

Little did he know that fifteen minutes would lead to a lifetime of servitude. He should’ve known something like this would have occurred. He knew deep down this had all been a horrifying misunderstanding. But he couldn’t help but entertain the thought that perhaps Mother had simply chosen ignorance on purpose.

“Charles Shepherd, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?” Mr. Berryman continued.

Charles was only vaguely aware the vicar still spoke, his thoughts remaining on the woman standing beside him.

Why had Miss Oakley agreed to the marriage? He’d been so overcome with shock and frustration he’d not considered this until now. Was she truly so overaged that no one wished to shackle themselves to her? Or was it due to her less-than-enthusiastic personality?

“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep only unto her, for so long as ye both shall live?”

Miss Oakley certainly hadn’t chosen to be single—otherwise she would be choosing to remain single. Had something prevented her from marrying, then? Had she some dark secret hidden behind her beauty? Some personality trait no one could look beyond? What on earth had his parents fettered him to?

“Charles,” whispered a voice from behind.

He glanced at his mother, then back at the vicar, who watched him with an unimpressed look.

“Still not listening?” Mr. Berryman whispered. “Shall I repeat myself?”

“There is no need,” Charles responded.

He knew what had been said—and how he was expected to respond. And yet, his tongue was bound. This was it, his final chance to make a run for it. If he ever wished for his own happiness and his own future, he would have to flee now before he vowed otherwise.

But he already knew he had to make the vow. Whether this was all his parents’ fault or his own, Charles would not ruin this woman, nor her reputation. For what sort of life would he lead knowing he’d destroyed another’s?

Curse his parents for raising him to have a conscience.

“I will,” he finally stated with a firm nod.

Mother breathed an audible sigh of relief behind him, but he ignored it. She should not be feeling such joy at this...this farce of a marriage.

You’ve made your decision, Charles. Stand by it.

And yet, he didn’t really feel as if he was standing at all. He felt as if he’d taken to floating about the room and was now watching someone else exchange vows with Miss Oakley.

“I will,” Miss Oakley responded.

Charles hadn’t even heard Mr. Berryman address her.

“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” the vicar asked next.

Mr. Oakley stood forth, and Mr. Berryman motioned for Charles to take Miss Oakley by her right hand.

Charles did so, but he could not meet her gaze, staring instead at their hands. Both were gloved, a physical barrier between them, and even still, Miss Oakley’s fingers barely rested on his.

“I, Charles,” Mr. Berryman prompted.

“I, Charles.”

“Take thee, Marie.”

“Take thee, M—” Charles hesitated. His mind refused to focus. He’d said Marie, had he not? But what sort of name was that? French? Miss Oakley wasn’t French.

Her eyes seared into him, but Charles stayed focused on her fingers still hovering above his.