“Are you going to be cold?” she asked, coming up on one elbow.
“I’ll be fine.” He smiled, knowing her concern was a good sign. He’d won this round of cat and mouse.
“Is the floor very hard?”
“No. The rug is quite comfortable.” His grin spread wider. But then it stalled. If he won, did she lose? He was never going to give her the love that she craved, but he inwardly argued that he could give her courtship, excitement, devotion. He could care for her. That would have to be enough.
She lay back down and several minutes passed in silence before she called to him again. “Chad?”
“Yes, my sweet?”
“Are you glad we’re getting married?”
“Yes,” he answered simply. “It’s a good arrangement for both of us.”
“Will you tell me more about your family?”
He winced at that. “You’ll meet my mother at some point when we can’t avoid it any longer.”
“That bad?”
“Yes.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“My uncle tried to sell Eliza on the marriage mart all while stealing from our business. I know a thing or two about terrible family.”
That made his head lift off the pillow. She did. “What did you do?”
“Well.” She nibbled at her lip. “I had my sisters.” Her hand came out from under the covers and it traced the pattern on the duvet by the light of the fire. “I know we bicker a lot, but I love them.”
He turned on his side, leaning toward her. “I could tell. You just want more independence.”
Her fingers plucked at the covers. “I’ve told you all this already.” Then she looked up at him again. “It’s just that…” She drew in a breath. “You and I are going to be a married unit and…” She shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve told you what I want from a marriage. What is it you want?”
Well…it had been her dowry, if he were being honest. But the more time he spent with her, he was becoming increasingly obsessed with the bed sport, and then there were the possessive feelings he was developing… “These are a lot of questions for past two in the morning.”
“I’m trying to get to know you.” She rested her head on her hand, accentuating her tiny waist and the flare of her hip. “How could I ever make you happy if I don’t?”
If he hadn’t been on the floor, he might have fallen over. “Just a few hours ago, you were resisting our match with all your effort.”
“I’m in a room alone with you, there is no going back from this. Even I know that.”
Very true.
“There isn’t much to tell.” He was lying to her and to himself. “And you’ll make me happy just by marrying me.”
“Liar,” she whispered, but then she lay her head down onto her pillow. “I’ll get the truth out of you somehow.”
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Abigail looked about the simple chapel and frowned. Old wood benches that hadn’t been finished or polished in years filled the chapel, sitting on tired wood floors. The curtains had faded from what was once likely a deep red into a drab brown.
After what felt like an hour of sleep, Chad had woken her. It was still dark outside, and she’d been half asleep as he’d dressed her in an ill-fitting riding habit. Which was apparently going to be her wedding dress.
She’d been loaded into a carriage with Chad and Vanity and they’d set off in the dark. Vanity had sat across from them and her head had fallen onto Chad’s shoulder, where she’d fallen in and out of sleep.
And now…
Now she was about to get married.
She wasn’t entirely certain what town they were in.
When had they even obtained the license?
Not that it mattered. They must have had it because the priest moved about lighting candles as she stood next to Chad, her mouth still thick from sleep.
She looked down at the drab brown dress she wore, and she swallowed down the scratchy feeling in her throat. She would not cry.
Not because she was to be wed in an unknown town in an ugly dress and not because her sisters weren’t here.
She wouldn’t complain that her groom was not of her choosing and their witness, Vanity, was a man she’d known for less than twelve hours.
But as the priest handed her a bunch of wilted-looking weeds in place of an actual bouquet, her hand curled into a fist. “What’s this?”
“Early spring,” the man said as he shrugged. “It’s the best I could do.”
She shook her head and looked at Chad. So this was her marriage…
The flowers were damp at the base and water seeped into her glove, the soggy feeling summing up all her emotions. She squeezed them tighter.
She’d been ruined and this…this was the best that she could do. In flowers and in life.
Last night she’d told him that she wanted him to be happy and she still felt that way. But she wished to be happy too, and this was not even close to the wedding that would fill her heart.
Not that she needed anything excessively large or fancy, but a dress that fit and her sisters in attendance didn’t seem too much to ask. “I can’t do this.”
He clenched his jaw. “We’ve discussed this. Several times. You said yourself that a wedding was inevitable.”
“It is. But here? Now? Wearing this?” She plucked at the overly large waist of her dress. “Where did you even get this?”
Vanity cleared his throat. “It belonged to one of my maids. I guess she’s a bit larger than you.”
Interestingly, the dress was too small in the bosom. But she let that detail go. “I’m wearing a maid’s gown?”
Perhaps it was her tone of voice or the way the priest was swaying on his feet, but Vanity began backing toward the entrance of the church.
Chad cleared his throat. “It helps to disguise you, sweetheart.”
That, for whatever reason, was the final straw. She tossed down the flowers. “I am of medium height with brown hair. I don’t need a disguise. You, however, are sporting that unfashionably long mop on the top of your large, very noticeable body. Perhaps you should be in the servant’s attire.”
His brow scrunched. “You wanted to travel in your ballgown? And…you don’t like my hair?”
Men. “That’s not the point. You’re far more likely to draw attention than me. Why do I have to get married in a sack?”
He frowned down at her. “It’s the best—”
“Don’t say it.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she straightened her shoulders, refusing to give in to the tears. “Let’s get this over with.”
“What every man longs to hear on his wedding day,” Chad gritted out as he stooped down to pick up the flowers.
She reached for his hand to stop him. “Don’t bother. I’d rather marry without them.”
“Why?” he asked, but he stopped.
She shook her head. It was like everything else with this wedding. They were wrong. And they reminded her that despite his affirmation she’d have choices, she had none. Her only choice was to abstain from those hideous excuses of a bouquet… “I want to choose one thing in my wedding. And so I choose not to carry weeds down the aisle. It doesn’t seem very good luck does it?”
He winced. “Abby,” he said softly, taking her hand. She jerked it away, looking toward the only bit of stained glass in the entire church located above the altar.
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered. “It was my childhood name, and it doesn’t apply now.”
“Why not?”
Abby was her father’s nickname. The man who, despite all his love for her when he was home, had flitted in and out of her life as he pleased. Besides, what had his favoritism gotten her? “I walk willingly down this aisle with you as a woman ready to face her future.” She clenched her fists in her skirts. “I deserve to be called by my given name.”
“You sound more like you’re being marched to the gallows,” he answered, his words clipped.
It was her turn to wince. She
hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. “I suppose you can’t understand this but a woman’s wedding…” She swallowed a lump. “It’s one of those things she dreams of.”
He didn’t answer and Abigail finally stopped staring at the glass and instead turned her head to sneak a peek at him. His face was set in unreadable lines of granite. “I see.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I wish that I could change the details, but today, I am as powerless as you.”
That tugged at her heart. He was right. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m being petulant. My apologies.”
He gave a stiff nod and then held his hand out to her. She slipped her fingers into his. The door to the church creaked and they both looked back.
Vanity walked into the chapel holding a lovely arrangement of holly and ivy. Red berries added a splash of color. She gasped, a hand coming to cover her mouth.
“I know that this isn’t much, but I thought it might do.” The man gave her a charming smile, his dark hair arranged perfectly, despite the early morning hour.
She nibbled at her lip, tears of gratitude misting her eyes. “It’s lovely. How did you do that so quickly?”
“I’ve a knack for making pretty things and a penchant for perfection. Hence my nickname. Vanity.”
She took the flowers into her trembling hand. Perhaps this wedding wouldn’t be such a complete disaster after all.
* * *
This might be the single worst day of his life, Chad thought as he raked his fingers through his hair. His apparently unattractive hair. He’d thought it rakishly appealing, himself. Perhaps that was what she didn’t like about it.
Chad had to confess that he’d hoped they were gaining ground. He’d done all right with her in the bedroom last night. Though to be fair, it was where he did all his best work.
But here today, he was failing. What did it say about him that the one bright spot in their wedding ceremony was delivered by another man?
He wished to make her happy, but he’d nearly ruined the day. She was right, marrying in a maid’s gown with no family was terrible.
He was an ass…
He barely held back his sigh of frustration as the priest moved behind the altar, swaying on his feet. The man was knackered.
On the one hand, it made pulling off the ceremony easier. A drunk priest didn’t ask very many questions, ones like: Are you a parish member? Why the rush? Do you have a second witness?
But as the man opened his mouth to speak then closed it again, looking confused, Chad closed his eyes.
Next to him, Abigail shifted.
Finally, the service started, though Chad could barely understand most of it. He hoped it was because the man was speaking Latin, but he had a feeling that in fact, he was just slurring his words.
And when he sat after the homily for that moment of prayer, the silence stretched on and on only broken by a faint snore.
“For the love of—” Abigail started next to him.
“I’ll take care of it,” Vanity said and then reached out, knocking a tray from the nearby table. The clatter against the wood floor startled the man awake.
“Where was I?” he asked, looking confused.
“Vows,” Chad said, speaking through his clenched back molars and attempting to hold down his irritation.
“Oh yes.” The priest stood, nearly falling over.
Finally, he and Emily repeated the words that would make them man and wife. She didn’t meet his eye as she softly agreed to love, honor, and cherish him.
He died a bit inside.
Somewhere in his heart he’d wondered if she might teach him if not love, then affection, but now he knew that was not going to happen. He wasn’t a man who inspired such devotion. He didn’t know how. And she wanted those things from a husband—she’d been quite upfront about needing love in a marriage.
“You may kisth the bride,” the priest finally muttered.
Chad swooped down, taking her mouth with his. It was a quick kiss, meant to ensure their union, but the moment her soft lips pressed to his, his chest constricted with an ache. She deserved the best sort of wedding. Hell, she deserved a better marriage.
But she’d gotten him.
Man and wife.
She blinked several times as he lifted his head. “We’ve done it,” she whispered.
“We have,” he answered and then he looked to Vanity. “Can you make certain all the paperwork is filled out correctly?”
“Of course,” he gave them a smile, a dimple forming in his cheek. “Congratulations to you both. Lady Blackwater…” Then he nodded his head and disappeared behind the priest to see the union done properly.
“What do we do next?” Abigail asked. Her hand was in his arm, but she didn’t meet his gaze.
“We eat. You must be famished. And then we’ll continue on. It will take us all of today and most of tomorrow to reach my country estate.”
“Country estate?” Her brows went up. “How many properties do you have?”
“Just the one and it’s in disrepair.” He frowned. Why did he need to add that? She already knew he needed funds. Why belabor the point now?
“Can I ask in what province it’s located?” She was back to looking at the dratted window. When had he started to use the word dratted?
“Dorset,” he answered. “Why are you upset again?”
She shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. “These are things I should know.”
Ah. That. “We’ll have the entire carriage ride today for you to learn what you need to know.”
“Will I be able to ask about your family?”
He drew in a long breath. This conversation got more tedious by the second. “If you must.”
She swallowed. “Where will we sleep tonight?”
“A coaching inn,” he answered. “Vanity will find us when the paperwork is completed. Let’s get something to eat, shall we?”
She gave a single nod as she walked out the church door with him.
No family waited to congratulate them after the most ridiculous ceremony ever performed.
And even a fool could see that his bride was unhappy.
Food wasn’t going to fix that.
The trouble was, he had no idea what would.
Chapter Eight
Vanity now rode outside with the driver, giving the new couple privacy.
Abigail set her chin on her fist as she pretended to look out the window. Privacy, indeed.
They’d yet to speak a word. She was privately thinking this morning had been a complete disaster.
The wedding had been a sham.
She looked down at her drab gown.
The marriage was a sham too.
Born of necessity without any pretension of happiness.
“Didn’t you have any more questions you want to ask me?” Chad’s voice rumbled from the other seat.
She did. But she was too lost in her own thoughts to remember. Giving her head a shake, she sat up straighter.
Last night she’d been determined to try and make him happy.
Drawing in a deep breath, she thought of her sisters. They were pains, Eliza and Isabella, but they also went to great lengths to see her cared for. Even when the situation was difficult.
That made Abigail wince. Had she returned that sort of love? Had she given to her sisters when times were harder?
She thought of her father again. What had he given all of them? Financial security. Yes. But he’d been so absent and even his love of her had created so much tension between her and her siblings. It had been selfish in its own way.
Who had she resembled of late? Her sisters or her father?
She squirmed in shame as she realized the answer. She’d wanted responsibility. Begged for it. But had she done anything to show she deserved it? Drat. She hadn’t.
Even her wedding. Had she made the most of it or complained? Her eyes drifted closed. She’d been a complete baby, she could see that. Her insides twisted in regret.
If she wanted to turn t
his sham wedding into a real one, she didn’t need fancier dresses or prettier flowers. If she wanted the responsibility her sisters got, she needed to start acting more like her sisters.
They sacrificed for other people’s happiness.
Drawing in a deep breath, she looked over at her new husband. “Tell me about your brother. How did he die?”
His face shuttered and his gaze dropped. “It started as an argument in a tavern.”
Her breath hitched. A baron in a bar fight? “How awful.”
“He had a penchant for fighting. So did my father.” Chad clasped his hands as he leaned his elbows on his knees. “They were hard men who were hardest of all on the people closest to them.”
“Tell me,” she answered, scooting further out on her seat.
He shrugged, leaning away again. “There’s nothing much to tell. My father sent me off to school at the first opportunity. I barely saw either of my parents. I was raised by a series of nannies. They quit often because on the rare occasion that my father did turn his eye on me, he rarely liked what he saw.”
“They quit?” she asked, sensing that there was a detail missing.
“He expressed his displeasure mostly with his fists.”
She gasped then, her hands covering her mouth.
“My brother was the bully of Eton. He’s legendary. Made a great many enemies.” He scrubbed the back of his neck. “When he ran out of money, he found a way to continue to supplement his drinking and gambling with my inheritance. Wasn’t legal, of course, but what am I to do about it now?”
She didn’t drop her hands because she didn’t want him to see her face. What would have happened to her if her sisters, rather than protecting her, had used her for their own gain? A shiver ran down her spine. “I shall never be cross with Eliza or Isabella again.”
That made his eyes widen in surprise.
And then he smiled. “You will. I’m sure of it.”
She dropped her hands, returning the smile. “You’re right. I likely will. Once I see them again.” She shook her head. “But I do begin to understand what they’ve done for me and why they act the way they do.”
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