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Lady Camilla Worth had dreamed of marriage ever since she was twelve years of age.
It didn’t have to be marriage. It didn’t have to be romantic. Sometimes she imagined that one of the girls whose acquaintance she made—however briefly—would become her devoted friend, and they would swear a lifelong loyalty to one another. She’d daydreamed when she lived in Leeds about becoming a companion—no, an almost-granddaughter—to an elderly woman who lived three houses down.
“What would I ever do without you, Camilla?” old Mrs. Marsdell would say as Camilla wormed her way into her heart.
But Old Mrs. Marsdell never stopped frowning at her suspiciously, and Camilla had been packed up and shunted off to another family long before she’d had a chance to charm anyone.
That was all she had ever wanted. One person, just one, who promised not to leave her. She didn’t need love. She didn’t need wealth. After nine times packing her bags and boarding trains, braving swaying carts, or even once, walking seven miles with her aging valise in tow… After nine separate families, she would have settled for tolerance and a promise that she would always have a place to stay.
So of course she hoped for marriage. Not the way she might have as a child, dreaming of white knights and houses to look over and china and linen to purchase. She hoped for it in the most basic possible terms.
All she wanted was for someone to choose her.
Hoping for so little, she had believed that surely she could not be disappointed.
It just went to show. Fate had a sense of humor, and she was a capricious bitch.
For here Camilla stood on her wedding day. Wedding night, really. Her gown was not white, as Victoria’s had been. In fact, she was still wearing the apron from the scullery. She had no waiting trousseau, no idea what sort of home—if any—awaited her. And she’d still managed to miss out on her dreams.
Her groom’s face was hidden in the shadows; late as this wedding was, on this particular night, a few candles lit in the nave did more to cast shadows than shed illumination. He adjusted his cuffs, gleaming white against the brown of his skin, and folded his arms in disapproval. She couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, but his eyebrows made grim lines of unhappy resignation.
It might even have been romantic—for versions of romantic that conflated foolhardy with fun—to marry a man she had known for only three days. And what she knew of the groom was not terrible. He’d been kind to her. He had made her laugh. He had even—once—touched her hand and made her heart flutter.
It might have been romantic, but for one tiny little thing.
“Adrian Hunter,” Bishop Cantrell was saying. “Do you take Camilla Worth to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and protect her, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”
She would have overlooked the gown, the trousseau, anything. Anything but…
“No,” said her groom. “I do not consent to this.”
That one tiny little thing. Like everyone else in the world, her intended didn’t want her.
Behind him, Rector Daniels lifted the pistol. His hands gleamed white on the barrel in the candle light, like maggots writhing on tarnished steel.
“It doesn’t matter what you say,” the man said. “You will agree and you will sign the book, damn your eyes.”
“I do this under duress.” His words came out clipped and harsh. “I do not consent.”
Camilla shouldn’t even call him her intended. Intent on his part was woefully lacking.
“I’m sorry,” Camilla whispered.
He didn’t hear her. Maybe he didn’t care.
She wouldn’t have minded if he didn’t love her. She didn’t want white lace and wedding cake. But this wasn’t a marriage, not really. She was being wrapped up like an unwanted package again and sent on to the next unsuspecting soul.
After being passed on—and on—and on—and on—after all these years, she had no illusions about the outcome in this case.
The candlelight made Mr. Hunter’s features seem even darker than they had in the sun. In the sun, after all, he’d smiled at her.
He didn’t smile now.
There it was. Camilla was getting married, and her husband didn’t want her.
Her lungs felt too small. Her hands were shaking. Her corset wasn’t even laced tightly, but still she couldn’t seem to breathe. Little green spots appeared before her eyes. Dancing, whirling.
Don’t faint, Camilla, she admonished herself. Don’t faint. If you faint, he might leave you behind, and then where will you be?
She didn’t faint. She breathed. She said yes, and the spots went away. She managed not to swoon on her way to sign the register. She did everything except look at the unwilling groom whose life had so forcibly been tied to her own.
She followed him out into the cold winter evening. There would be no celebration, no dinner. Behind her back, she heard the clink of coins as the bishop turned to Mr. Hunter.
“There’s an inn a mile away,” the man said. “They might allow you to take rooms for the night. Don’t expect that I’ll give you a character reference.”
Mr. Hunter made no response. He just started walking down the road.
That was how Camilla left the tenth family that had taken her in: on foot, at eleven at night, with a chill in the air and the moon high overhead. She had to half-skip to keep up with her new…husband? Should she call him a husband?
His long legs ate away at the ground. He didn’t look at her.
But halfway to the inn, he stopped. At first, she thought he might finally address her. Instead, he let his own satchel fall to the ground. He looked up at the moon.
His hands made fists at his side. “Fuck.” He spoke softly enough that she likely wasn’t supposed to hear that epithet.
“Mr.
Hunter?”
He turned to her. She still couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel them on her. He’d lost his position and gained a wife, all in the space of a few hours. She didn’t imagine that he was happy with her.
He exhaled. “I suppose this…is what it is. We’ll figure this mess out in the morning.”
The morning. After the wedding came the wedding night. Camilla wasn’t naïve. She just wasn’t ready.
How had her life come to this?
Ah, yes. It had started three days ago, when Bishop Cantrell had arrived on her doorstep with Mr. Hunter in tow…
After the Wedding will be out in late 2016. If you want to know when it’s available, you can sign up for my new release mailing list.
